Prologue

“Alan Francis Doyle, I need you here now!” Buffy said urgently, nearly frantic, into the phone to her beloved husband.

“Lass, I’m on my way. I’m comin’, just relax,” the dark haired Irishman with the piercing blue eyes said into his cell phone as he stripped off his white “Pediatrician’s Garb” to reveal a crisp white button down. “I’m puttin’ on my suit jacket now and I’ll be on my way.”

“Hurry, please, I’m nervous.”

Doyle smiled, she sounded more than nervous. She sounded downright terrified. “I would have been leavin’ sooner had Billy not decided to throw up everywhere.”

“Oh God! Did he throw up on you? Do you smell?”

He laughed into the phone, “No, lass, I don’t smell. He got it on the floor before we could get him to the bathroom.”

“Is he okay?”

“He’s fine, sweets.”

“Flu?”

“Ay, just like I had last week.”

He could practically hear Buffy smiling on the other end. “And I nursed you back to health didn’t I?” she said saucily, conjuring up all sorts of memories that would have had Doyle straining in his pants if he continued to travel down that path and reminisce.

“Ay you did, but let’s not talk about that now.”

Buffy laughed then, an angelic laugh that made his heart soar. “Okay. Just get here, I need you.”

“Then you’re going to have to let me go, sweets.”

“Okay, hurry.”

Clicking off his cell, he quickly closed down his office and grabbed his backpack filled with the essentials: book, stethoscope he always took with him, a change of clothes and his wedding ring. The idea of losing the silver ring with the inscription 'Gra geal mo chroi' meaning ‘Love of My Heart’ in Gaelic, made Doyle panicky. He was a superstitious man at times, even if Buffy did chide him for it, and he felt that it would not bode well for them to have one part of that set lost. So, he opted to put his ring in his backpack in a beaten up, faded and well used navy velvet box. He set it at the bottom of his bag where he’d know it would be protected and safe. The last thing he wanted was for it to get lost while he poked and prodded the wee tots that tramped in and out of his small office in Sunnydale General Hospital. Reaching down into the bag, he moved his hand around, feeling for it.

“Where the--?” he muttered, feeling his heart kick up at the idea that it might not be there. Frustrated because he was already late, he grabbed the bag and turned it upside down, dumping the belongings onto his desk. The velvet box tumbled out and he sighed in relief. Opening it, he slid it on and smiled. Buffy had the same ring; just a smaller, daintier version and he felt the bond of their union instantly. He knew right about now she was twisting her ring around on her finger nervously as she waited for him.

Stuffing his things back in his bag, he waved goodnight to his receptionist and nurse and trotted to his car. Hopefully he had enough time to make it to the florist before meeting up with the love of his life.

********
Buffy Summers - Doyle twisted her silver wedding ring around and around on her hand, and gnawed on her bottom lip. Raising her wrist, she looked at her watch. Five forty-five.

“Buffy, he’ll be here,” her best friend Anya Jenkins, told her reassuringly as she set out a platter of scallops wrapped in bacon at the refreshments table. “However, if my waiters do not get here, I will be serving their balls as hors d’ oeuvre’s.”

Buffy giggled despite the nervousness she felt and glanced one more time at her watch. Walking to the front of her mother’s art gallery, she pushed the curtain aside carefully, careful not to draw attention to the natives outside waiting patiently for the doors to open.

No sign of her husband.

She jumped a mile when Anya laid a hand on her shoulder and put pressure on it, giving her the signal to turn around.

Buffy swiveled and faced her. “What?”

Anya had that face, ‘that face’ meaning she was about to give her a pep talk slash lecture. “Buffy Summers – Doyle. You need to relax. This place looks fantastic. You have done a fantastic job of carrying on your mother’s legacy. You should be proud of yourself. Those people out there are going to be singing you praises for bringing this gallery back to life.”

Buffy nodded, swallowing despite how dry her throat felt. “I know, I just . . .”

“Stop being so nervous. And stop twisting that ring before you burn a hole in it. You know Doyle would freak if anything happened to either one of your rings.”

Buffy grinned. “I know.”

“Now take a deep breath—“

“I’m going to call him again,” Buffy said and started for the phone.

“Buffy—“

“I just want to see how close he is!” Buffy called out and went to the back to get her cell phone. Pressing in the redial, she put the phone to her ear and tapped her foot impatiently.

“Lass, I’m comin’,” Doyle said immediately.

“Doyle, there’s so many people outside and I need you here. I’m scared.”

“I know, and I’m almost there.”

“If you left when I last spoke with you, you should have been here already. What are you doing?”

“Lass—“

“Don’t ‘lass’ me. Doyle, what are you doing?” she demanded.

“You’re going to make me later than I already am,” he pointed out calmly.

“Oh don’t do that!”

“You know I hate talking on this blasted thing while driving,” he muttered and she could see him in her minds eye talking out the side of his mouth.

She smiled, “Suck it up. I want to hear your voice until you can be here in the flesh. You soothe me.”

“I’m sure I – shit!”

There was a horrible screeching sound in the background and Buffy’s eyes widened, “Doyle?” Silence. “Doyle?”

The phone made a clicking sound and she looked at it. “Call Ended” it flashed. She tried calling him again and it rang and rang. Again she tried. It rang and rang. Twisting her ring, Buffy rushed to the front a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Something was wrong; horribly wrong.

“Anya, I have to go—“

“You are not going—“

“Something’s wrong with Doyle. I was talking to him and he swore and the call ended.”

“Call him back!”

“I tried that! I’m going.”

“Buffy, I’m sure he’s fine, he probably disconnected to avoid an accident.”

“I want to make sure.”

“Buffy!” Anya shouted as Buffy ran to the back and ran out the back door to her car in search of her husband.

One year later

Buffy hadn’t meant to do it. Really, she hadn’t. She’d been doing some cleaning, mostly trying to unearth the grill she’d shoved in the basement for the barbecue she was having in the afternoon, and she’d had to take a trip up to the attic.

That was her first mistake.

It was while she was up there, lugging a box up and trying to spy a space to put it that it all went downhill. She tried not to look at the side of the attic or as Faith, Doyle’s stepsister called it --“Doyle’s Side”. She kept her eyes clear from that side, knowing that tears would inevitably follow. It was the whole reason why Anya had insisted she clean out his things and shove it up in the attic. She said she was tired of coming over and seeing Buffy a mass of tears with snot running out of her nose and not even having the presence of mind to grab a tissue.

“It’s not healthy for you, Buffy,” Anya told her sympathetically and yet firmly. “You go to bed with his things surrounding you, and you wake up with his things surrounding you. I understand you’re grieving, but it’s my job as your best friend to help you through it. And the first thing we’re doing is boxing it up and putting it away.”

It had helped, but only a little. Often times when grief became too much for her to bare and the ache of missing Doyle threatened to overcome her, she’d rush up to the attic and grab one of his shirts in a box and bury her face in it, trying desperately to find a trace of his scent, to feel him. As the months went by, she started to spend less time in the attic as the musky scent of the attic had started creeping into his belongings causing Buffy to stay away. She had started the healing process because of that.

So, as Buffy plopped the box down in a spot, she started heading for the drop down stairs that led up to the attic when her eye caught on something across the room. Their wedding album was open and on top of a box.

“Now, that’s not right. It’ll get ruined,” she muttered to herself and marched over, intent on taking the album and just shoving it in a box to be done with.

Until it flipped open and landed on them smiling at each other with their hands entwined and their noses practically touching in an Eskimo kiss. Her, all in white and lace, him in his tux . . . Unable to help herself, she reached out to stroke his image. Then she plopped herself down on the floor and started flipping through the pages.

And she started to weep. Even her crying, she noted, had changed. Before it would be huge sobs that wracked her body and hurt her ribcage, left her eyes dry and her body tired. Now, her cries were softer, gentler.

That made her start to sob. It meant she was forgetting and while Anya claimed she only wanted Buffy to ‘heal’, Buffy felt healing to Anya meant putting it completely behind her as if it had never happened. As if she’d never met Doyle.

She landed on a picture of herself, Doyle having manned the camera on that particular day of their honeymoon. She was sitting on a grassy knoll, in jeans, a t-shirt and sunglasses. She was propped up on her elbows, her legs stretched out before her, her ankles crossed. A storm was brewing in the background as clouds were darkening and rolling in. After he’d shot the picture, they’d made love, right there on the knoll just as the storm rolled fully in. It rained on them and Doyle had said the rain was blessing them.

She’d chided him for being so superstitious.

They’d gone to Ireland on their honeymoon, back to his roots, to meet the extended family and for Buffy to familiarize herself with his world. Her husband had come to the States when he was, basically, a fetus. His father passed away when he was five and his mother had remarried and Faith was part of the package. His mother had moved back to Ireland just recently and Faith stayed in Sunnydale, often coming over and keeping Buffy company, the two of them having shared a lot of time together trying to cope with Doyle’s death.

“I miss you,” she whispered through snot and tears. Reaching into a nearby box she knew was filled with his shirts, she reached in and grabbed one out, burying her face in it and rocking back and forth. “I shouldn’t have made you talk to me. I shouldn’t have pushed you to rush. I shouldn’t have . . . “

Remembering what she found when she came upon the accident tore her to shreds. Doyle’s body, bloody and broken, trapped in his car, his wedding ring shining under a streetlight. He had twitched and she thought ‘He’s going to be okay, he’s going to be okay’.

But he wasn’t okay. Life support was not for Alan Francis Doyle and so she’d respected his wishes, though she railed and screamed, ranted and raved, and pulled the plug, giving away his organs, as he was an organ donor. Of course he was, she thought, he was a pediatrician for Christ’s Sake.

Buffy never heard the front door open, never heard footsteps coming up the stairs or the ‘Oh shit’ that came, muttered, through Anya’s mouth. It wasn’t until she was wrapped up in the woman’s arms that Buffy started and realized she was there. She held onto her friend and looked up, seeing a tall man with bleached blond hair, sharp cheekbones, and striking blue eyes filled with concern staring down at her.

She tried to reign in her sobs, pushing at Anya to release her.

“Buffy, what happened?”

Buffy shook her head, allowing Anya to take Doyle’s rumpled shirt from her grasp. “I came up here to put some boxes away –“

“Oh Buffy,” Anya said sympathetically.

“And I found our wedding album out on a box and I came over,” hiccup, “To put it away and. . . “ And her eyes welled with fresh tears.

“Come on, let’s get you up,” Anya said, jumping to her feet and holding out her hand. Buffy took it and wiped at her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I’m sorry you had to find me like this.” She turned to the blond man. “Hi.” she looked around her, feeling very suddenly lost. “Sorry,” she murmured.

“No, luv, it’s okay. Anya told me about your, uh . . .”

“Husband?” Buffy supplied. “It’s okay. You can say it. I don’t always fall apart at the mention of it.”

“Sometimes things like that can take you by surprise, right?” he supplied gently, the corners of his full mouth turning up.

Buffy nodded, “Quite.”

Their eyes met as an understanding that was beyond them passed between them before Buffy shook her head to clear it and stuck out her hand. “Buffy. You must be Spike.”

He took her hand in his warm one and squeezed it gently, giving it a gentle shake. “Nice to meet you,” he said, his voice deep, calming and gentle.

“My husband kept his accent long despite the fact that he grew up here. How long have you been here?” Buffy asked.

“He’s been here since he was ten,” Anya supplied and wrapped her arms about his waist, giving him a small hug before taking Buffy’s hand and guiding her toward the stairs. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Where’s the grill?”

“Basement.”

“I’ll get it,” Spike volunteered.

Buffy shot him a grateful smile and allowed Anya to lead her to her bedroom.

********
If there was one thing that annoyed Buffy while at the same time made her thankful, was the way Anya took care of her. Or rather, mothered her. She dragged Buffy in her room and shut the door, making her sit on her bed while she went to the bathroom to wet a washcloth. She came back with said washcloth and a brush. While Buffy wiped her face, Anya knelt behind her on the bed and brushed Buffy’s long golden locks. Buffy figured it had to be a throwback to the days when Buffy could barely manage to get out of bed to do anything save relieve herself. Anya had all but dragged her in the shower and practically force fed her in those days shortly after Doyle’s passing.

Buffy sat still and let Anya do her thing, feeling just plain tired. No wonder she would sleep so much in the beginning. Crying took a lot out of a person. That, of course along with the depression and grief. It took its toll that was for sure.

“He seems nice. Handsome,” Buffy said after a while, nodding slightly.

“He is nice. And sweet. And he’s not handsome. He’s bloody gorgeous,” Anya replied, tugging out a knot with the brush.

Buffy smiled. “Spoken like a Brit. He must be rubbing off on you.”

“So many things rub –“

Buffy held up a hand, “Stop right there, please.”

“Sorry. When you’re feeling better, I’ll be happy to tell you all about it.”

“Deal.”

“Now, let’s get you changed, shall we?”

Chapter Two


Spike never told Anya this, but he'd felt a pull towards Buffy Summers - Doyle from the moment Anya had told him about her. He knew something of loss and grief, in fact, he knew a lot about it having lost both his parents to carbon monoxide poisoning when he was fourteen. He'd been staying at a friend's house down the street that night and he'd come home the following afternoon to find both his parents dead in their bed, limbs wrapped around each other in their final rest.

Yeah, he knew something about grief.

It was why his heart constricted in his chest - something that under normal circumstances would have been cause for alarm seeing as how his heart was only a year old - at the sight of the pretty young woman sitting cross-legged on the floor of her attic, sobbing as if they'd just put her husband in the ground that day. He understood all too well how you could be fine one minute and then lose it the next.

Seemed his old heart was proof positive of that as well.

When she looked up at him, her green eyes brimming over with tears, he'd nearly gasped. He thought "My but she's so young to have been through so much." And beautiful. Buffy Summers-Doyle was beautiful.

Anya had warned him coming in that she was still very much the grieving widow and to be careful what he said around her. That had annoyed him. What was he? Some insensitive prat that would be prodding her with questions about her late husband? What would he say "So, Buffy, tell me about how you found his body at the accident. Or, what was it like to hear his voice on the phone as he was actually getting in the accident?" As if. He knew that while Anya could be a supportive bird, she could also be a clueless one as well.

Spike knew the last thing Buffy probably wanted was to be treated with kid gloves. The worst thing was to have people treat you as if you were fragile and would break at any moment even when you felt as though you would.
What Spike wanted to do when he saw her there, was gather her up in his own arms and tell her he understood and that it was okay to cry. You had to cry. You had to let the demons out somehow. Otherwise they stayed in you like caged animals, clawing for escape. People had a tendency though to make you stop when you started, and that was unfair. Catharsis was all part of the process.

She'd put on a brave face, Buffy did, as she stood and introduced herself, apologizing to him for having lost it. He didn't want her apologies for that. He wanted her to know he understood; and, he hoped he had. When their eyes had met he'd sent her the message, hoping she'd gotten it.

Now he stood outside, setting up the grill as his girlfriend 'got Buffy ready' for the barbecue. He checked his watch; he needed to take his meds soon. As a heart transplant survivor it was imperative to take your meds at the same time every day religiously. He did not want his body to reject the heart inside him. He had a life to live, goals to make, and a future to look forward to; he did not want to jeopardize any of that.

"Do you need some help?"

Looking over his shoulder he found a dusted off and free of tears Buffy standing on the deck before him. She had changed, no doubt Anya's doing, into khaki capri's and a simple green t-shirt, which made her eyes stand out brilliantly.

"I think I can figure it out," he told her, smiling.

"Anya's inside getting the food ready on trays and stuff. Everyone else should be arriving in a half hour or so." She came over to him, her eyes on the grill and frowned, "Now, you'd think I'd know how to use it considering how my husband loved to grill, but I'm clueless."

"Well, if he loved to grill then he did all the grilling didn't he?" Spike countered.

Buffy smiled, "Yes, but he did try and teach me. I was just never very good at it. Honestly, it intimidates me."

Spike chuckled, "Why?"

"Anything I don't know intimidates me."

"I hope I don't intimidate you."

She looked at him funny.

"Well, you don't know me," he explained.

She smiled, a genuine smile, and Spike was pleased to see it. "I know a little bit about you from Anya. But yes, you are still a little intimidating."

"So, you're shy huh?"

"Very. Doyle was - sorry," she said, shaking her head. "You probably don't need to listen to the widow go on and on about her late husband, do you?"

He placed a hand on her forearm in a manner that he hoped was comforting and not creepy. "I don't mind Buffy. You can tell me anything you want about him. He might be gone, but he's still alive in your heart where it counts. It helps to talk about those that have passed. It keeps them around. Helps you not to forget what they meant to you." He took his hand off her and waited to see what she'd do. He hoped she didn't cry, but understood if she had to.

She bit her bottom lip and nodded, "Yes, you're exactly right. That's why I . . . That's why I lost it today. I was afraid that I would forget. It'd been so long since I'd allowed myself to go up there with his things."

"You won't forget, Buffy. You loved him."

She nodded slowly, looking down. Looking back up at him she asked, "Have you ever lost someone?"

He nodded, taking a deep breath, "Yeah, my parents when I was fourteen."

Her eyes widened, "Oh God, what happened?"

"Carbon monoxide poisoning."

"I'm so sorry to hear that."

He gave her a soft, understanding smile, "Thanks."

"I lost my mom just before I married Doyle."

Now his eyes widened. "What happened?"

"Aneurysm. My aunt found her on the couch with her eyes open."

"Jesus, Buffy, I'm sorry."

"Part of life, right? That's what everyone likes to tell me."

He shook his head, "Fuck that. I hate being told that. It doesn't make you feel any better, just makes you angrier."

She nodded, "My personal favorite is 'they're in a better place'."

He nodded earnestly, "You want to tell them 'I don't want them in a better place, I want them with me!'"

She laughed, a true laugh, and Spike beamed at the sound.

She dug her hands in her pockets, "Well, I should help Anya. Thanks, Spike."

He grinned, "Anytime."

"I'll be sure to tell Anya I approve," she teased cheekily and he chuckled.

************
Buffy listened on as her little group of friends chatted and joked and coupled off - Anya leaning her head on Spike's shoulder and their friend Xander holding Willow's hand. It was at gatherings like this that Doyle would tell them an Irish limerick and take the stage so to speak. And she was his biggest fan. Seeing her friends all coupled off made her realize how very alone she felt.

Looking down at her watch, she frowned. Faith should have been there a half hour ago. She hoped her 'little sister' hadn't forgotten. Or, that she hadn't gotten-stop, Buffy. Stop that train of thought right now. Life would not be that cruel.

Ha. Yeah, it would.

Getting up, she discreetly made her way into the house to call Faith. Reaching for the phone she jumped a mile when she heard "Buffy?" behind her.

She spun to see Spike standing there, looking at her with concern. "You all right?" he asked her.

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine. My sister - in - law was supposed to have been here a half hour ago and I was just getting a little worried."

He nodded, "Gotcha."

"Why? Did I look upset?" she asked, frowning. She had gotten better at letting every emotion pass on her face. At least, she thought she had.

"A little," he said truthfully.

"Oh," she said, not sure what to make of that.

"I don't think anyone else noticed."

"But you did?" she asked curiously.

He shrugged, "I was paying attention."

She wasn't sure what to make of that, but then she didn't have to ask why he was paying attention because a loud female voice boomed into the kitchen, "Hey B, who's the hottie?"

Buffy smiled. Faith had arrived.

Chapter Three

“About time you showed up,” Buffy scolded Faith lightly as she smiled at the buxom brunette with the ruby red lips. “I was getting worried.”

Faith came into the kitchen with a little shrug, “I got tied up at work. You could have called.”

“I was just about to call your house.”

“No, B, my cell.”

Buffy shook her head, “You know how I feel about those things.”

“Buffy . . . “ Faith started and then stopped, peering at Spike. “Hi. Who are you?”

Spike cleared his throat, “I’m Spike, Anya’s boyfriend.”

“Spike?” Faith snorted. “Please tell me that’s not your real name.”

He scowled slightly at her, which caused Buffy to smile softly. She’d been wondering about his nickname as well but hadn’t felt quite comfortable enough to ask him about it. Anya, God love her, had never asked. She’d just been stuck on the fact that it was kinky and sexy and had proceeded to color Buffy a picture of what he could ‘spike’ her with. Buffy had asked her to please stop as hearing about Anya’s sexcapades were oftentimes too much for her. Especially since Buffy herself wasn’t getting any and probably wouldn’t for a very long time.

“No, my real name is William. William Gardner. I’ve had my nickname since I was born. Actually, since I was a fetus.”

Leaning her hip against the kitchen counter, Faith eyed him, “Really?”

He smiled sheepishly at Buffy. “My Aunt Jenny used to tease my Mum when my Mum was trying to pick out names for me that she was just going to call me Spike. No one knew why, it was just a name that popped out. She teased my Mum relentlessly about it so when I was born she was the only one that would call me that. Much to my mother’s chagrin—“

“Your mom’s what?” Faith said, knitting her brows together.

“Disappointment; distress,” Buffy supplied.

Spike grinned at her, “Thanks, pet.”

Buffy shrugged, “Anytime. So, the name stuck for a long time huh?”

Spike nodded, “It did. Mostly because when I was in school I got bullied a lot for being something of a nerd. By high school I was pretty fed up with it so I kind of changed my persona one summer. Took kickboxing and learned how to defend myself. After I got teased as soon as school started, I kicked the guy’s ass. I started calling myself Spike from then on. Put fear in the hearts of the little kiddies,” he said with a smirk.

Buffy giggled. “Spike the Big Bad, I get it.”

He smiled warmly at her and nodded, “Thanks pet. I like that.”

“So was the hair part of the ‘change’? Cause no way is that natural,” Faith drawled.

He chuckled, “Yeah that was part of it.”

Faith shrugged, “All right. I hate to break this party up and all, but I’m starving. Food left?”

Buffy nodded, “Yep, all on the deck with everyone.”

“Shit, Xander didn’t eat all the hamburgers did he?” Faith whined.

“I’ll grill up some more for you, Faith,” Spike volunteered.

Faith eyed him suspiciously, “Thanks.”

“Thank you Spike, you don’t have to –“ Buffy started.

“Nonsense, I want to. Plus I could go for a burger as well. Hey, kitten, can you show me where the bathroom is? Just dawned on me I haven’t used it since I got here.”

Buffy jumped into action, “Oh sure, of course. Follow me. “

Faith watched them leave and narrowed her eyes. “Kitten?” she said softly to the empty kitchen.

************

“Buffy, luv?” Spike asked just before Buffy could walk away and leave him to the bathroom.

“Yeah?” she asked, turning around.

“You still won’t use a cell phone?”

Buffy looked down, “No, I won’t. After . . . after that night, I threw mine against a tree, repeatedly, making sure it completely fell apart. And I hate calling anyone on theirs. The idea that . . . “ She shook her head, “I just can’t make myself do it.”

“Buffy, it was a drunk driver that hit Doyle,” Spike reminded her softly. As if he had any right to remind her. He didn’t. So why was he?

“Yeah, but if I hadn’t been talking to him on his cell, he would have been able to focus better on what was going on. He,” she broke off, her voice clogged with emotion, “he hated talking on those things in the car.”

Spike reached out and touched her shoulder, glided his hand down her arm to her hand and took it in his own, giving it a squeeze. “It’s not your fault, Buffy.”

“So I’ve been told. Repeatedly,” she said, slightly bitter. “Doesn’t help my conscience much.”

Spike nodded, “Until you can reconcile yourself with it, hearing it won’t make it better.”

“Exactly.”

“I had the same problem with my parents. I sometimes think if I hadn’t begged to go visit my friends, maybe it wouldn’t have happened. Like somehow fate was changed by my leaving.”

Buffy cocked her head to the side, “Like a wrinkle in time? Like somehow the act of your leaving caused something to shift and set a ball in motion that otherwise wouldn’t have happened?”

“Exactly,” Spike breathed, amazed by the petite woman in front of him. She understood. She knew. Maybe he could tell her about the transplant . . . God, no. He hadn’t even told Anya about that. Thankfully, she allowed him to keep his shirt on during sex. And she’d never asked. How was it that she never asked? Just said “That’s kinky” and moved on. Buffy though, she would ask—whoa there, Spike. Not good to be thinking of Buffy in terms of making love to her. She’s your girlfriend’s best friend, he scolded himself. He shouldn’t even have to tell himself that. He should just know, and his traitorous mind shouldn’t have even gone there to have to scold himself. Going around in circles now mate, he thought.

“I do the same thing,” Buffy admitted softly. “I wonder if there was something I could have done differently. Not just that day but everything leading up to it.”

“Does it keep you up at night, wondering what you could have done?”

Relief flooded her eyes, “Yes,” she whispered.

Their eyes met and held and Spike thought for the second time that day – So young and so beautiful to have such tragedy.

Clearing her throat and disengaging her hand from his grasp she shook her head and gestured to the soft yellow colored bathroom. “I’m going to check on my guests.”

He nodded, suddenly feeling his throat clogged with some kind of emotion he couldn’t put a name to. All he knew was that he felt something for Buffy; felt her to be a kindred spirit. Anya was a caring woman, pretty and kind and -- again Spike, he thought scornfully, stop comparing the two women!

Yet he couldn’t help himself from saying before she walked away from him completely, “When I get outside, I’ll teach you how to use the grill. Sound good?”

Buffy broke into a wide smile, “Perfect.”

Chapter Four

“Guess what Buffster? It’s time for a new car,” Xander said cheerfully to a perplexed Buffy later.

Buffy was not taking kindly to his chipper tone and scowled at him and then at her now dead, beloved, white Chevy.

After Faith had eaten her fill of burgers she’d asked Buffy if she had ice cream for dessert. Having been completely out, the idea caught fire and everyone decided to go out as a group to get it.

Buffy had offered to drive Anya, Spike and Faith only to find her car dead.

Spike lifted the hood and started poking around, telling Buffy to get in and try starting it. Only nothing worked.

He’d shut the hood and proclaimed it gone.

“That’s just great,” Buffy muttered irritably. “I don’t know anything about getting a new car. I never know what to ask, what to do. . . “ She sighed, frustrated and glared at her car. She’d had the thing longer than she’d been married to Doyle for crying out loud.

“We’ll go next weekend—“ Anya started to offer but Buffy cut her off with a snap.

“I don’t want to wait until next weekend. I’ll take the bus into town.”

“I’ll help you get one if you want,” Spike jumped in.

Buffy looked up, startled, at Spike. “What?”

“I’ll help. I know about cars.”

Anya nodded enthusiastically, “He really does. He loves to restore old cars, put them back together and make them all shiny and new. People hire him for it. You’d be surprised how lucrative it can really be and how much some of these rich bastards are willing to pay to have someone restore their vintage cars for them. You’ve seen the DeSoto,” and she gestured to Spike’s old, but surprisingly new looking, black car. “He’ll take you out Buffy,” Anya chirped and slung her arm through Spike’s. “He’s so nice, isn’t he?”

“You don’t have to do that Spike,” Buffy told him kindly, “Really, you don’t. I mean, I should learn how to do it on my own—“

“Well, think of it as a learning experience then. I’ll go with you this time so that next time, you’ll know how to do it.”

It was a great offer and it’d help a lot. The idea of going out to be eaten alive by car salesmen petrified her. Didn’t they eat clueless women like her for breakfast, lunch and dinner?

“Okay, thank you,” Buffy agreed. “I can pay you—“

“Don’t you dare,” Spike nearly growled. “I’m not taking your money for that. You’re Anya’s best bird so that makes you all right in my book. I’m helping you because I want to.”

Buffy smiled, “Thanks.”

“Well, I say we climb in that DeSoto of his and find out just how good he is,” Faith said cheekily. “What do you say B?”

Buffy laughed, “It’s up to Spike, not me.”

“Let’s go,” Spike grinned.

Putting her head on Buffy’s shoulder and wrapping an arm about her waist, Faith leaned slightly in to Buffy as they walked to Spike’s car. “Love you B.”

Buffy smiled, “Love you too, Faithy,” she said, calling her the special name her husband used to call his younger stepsister.

***********

Spike jogged up to Buffy’s front door the next morning, whistling. His fist hadn’t even made contact with the door when the door flew open.

Buffy stood there, all ready to go, in pink capri’s and some kind of flowered, ruffly top, with light make up and pretty pink gloss on her lips. Her hair was pulled back into a low ponytail. She smiled up at him, “Hi, I saw you coming up the walk. You ready?”

He nodded, smiling down at her, gosh but she could pass for a sixteen year old. “How old are you exactly, pet?”

“Twenty-eight, same as Anya, why?”

“No reason,” he said non-chalantly.

“How old are you?” she asked, narrowing her eyes up at him.

“Twenty-two.”

Buffy gasped, “Still a baby!” she teased.

Spike laughed. “Come on old lady; let me help you to the car. Or would you prefer your cane?”

Swatting him playfully, Buffy laughed and locked up the house. “Make sure you tell me when you’re tired and need to take your afternoon nap,” she teased back.

Spike laughed and opened his car door for her, “Mi’lady.”

“Such a gentleman. Anya must adore that,” Buffy said, beaming up at him from the passenger seat.

He shut the door, wondering if he’d ever held the door open for Anya. He didn’t think he had. Interesting.

***************

After teasing one another over kids menu’s and senior citizen’s menu’s, Buffy and Spike relaxed into a pleasant lunch after some heavy car shopping.

“I always thought it was easy; you go to one place, you pick your car, and you’re done,” Buffy told Spike, popping a fry in her mouth.

“It can be like that if you’re really lucky. But it’s good to shop around and get an idea. You don’t want to get swindled and you want to get the best deal. How are you paying for this anyway?”

Buffy blushed and Spike thought how adorable that was. “Some money I put away for a rainy day.”

“Gotcha. Can I ask you a question, Buffy?”

“Sure.”

“Anya told me you still have your mother’s gallery. What do you do with it?”

“I have employee’s that take care of it for me. I stop by once in a while to see how it’s doing, put my two cents in and help manage where I can, but mostly they do everything. I just enjoy the fruits of their labors so to speak. Though I do pay them handsomely. I’d be lost without them. Willow is one of them that work for me.”

“Do you ever desire to do more?”

She looked down, chewing thoughtfully. Swallowing she shrugged, “Sometimes. I’ve started going in a lot more than I used to. After Doyle, I couldn’t bear to go in there at all. I – “ She shook her head, “You don’t want to—what about you? Do you do something other than refurbish old cars?”

Spike couldn’t help it, he reached across the table and took her hand in his, “Buffy you can tell me,” he said softly.

She moved her hand away, “I know, I just don’t want to right now, okay?”

He nodded, “Anything you want.”

She regarded him silently for a long time and he watched her, watching him. “What is it about you?” she finally said. “I only met you yesterday and I feel like –“

“You can tell me anything?”

“Yeah. What is it?”

“I reckon it comes from a place of understanding. Of having been there, in more ways than one. I’m a good listener.”

“You really are,” she said, almost sounding awed by it.

“So are you, you know. You’re the same for me. You get it, you get what I say.”

“Doesn’t Anya?”

“She does, but, she’s never had to deal with loss herself. In that I mean, she’s lost someone through another – like Doyle through you. She grieved for him, yes, but she’s never felt it as acutely as you do. I s’pose that’s where my understanding comes from.”

“She’s a good listener too, you know,” Buffy pointed out, “She really is. She was there for me through some horribly dark times. I might not be here if it wasn’t for her.”

“I don’t think that’s true at all,” Spike mused.

“No?”

“No, not at all. I think you’re a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for. You never truly know your own strength until you’re forced to use it. I think you’ve used it, just haven’t been aware of it. You’re not here because of Anya, Buffy. You’re here because of you.”

Silence, then, “So what is it you do besides refurbish cars?”

Spike chuckled, “I got the hint there, luv. Okay, well, I don’t do much. I uh- my uncle who took me in after my parents passed, got sick quite suddenly a couple years ago while I was going to school, and I left school to take care of him and help my aunt out for a bit. Decided life was too short to be doing something I didn’t enjoy – like teaching history as my father had done—so I started doing the refurbishing as a fun thing to get paid for once in a while.”

“Do you have – I mean, do you have--?”

“Money?”

“Yes, from my inheritance. Though, aside from fixing up old cars, I help out at garages and such, repairing cars, buying cars at auctions and selling them to some garages to sell.”

“Wow. You love cars, huh?”

“It relaxes me,” he smiled. “What do you do to relax?”

“Paint. Just like my mom.”

“Have any pieces up at that gallery of yours?”

“Oh God, no. Not good like that.”

He cocked his head to the side, “I bet you are.”

She blushed again and he warmed at the sight. “No, I’m not,” she said firmly this time. “So, is your aunt the aunt that nicknamed you Spike?”

He grinned “Sure is.”

“Is your uncle okay now?”

“My Uncle Giles? Yeah, he’s fine now.”

“What was it?”

Yeah, Spike, what was it? “He had a heart transplant,” he lied.

Buffy gasped, “Wow. That’s. . . that’s amazing. And he’s okay now?”

“Healthy as a horse.”

“Wow,” she shook her head in wonder, “just wow.”

He warmed at the thought of Buffy responding that way when – no, if-- he told her that it was really him. It had always been a touchy subject for him, his transplant. He felt . . impaired somehow because of it. Not to mention self conscious of the huge scar across his chest and the Gortex in the wall of his chest. Not that she’d ever see the Gortex—here we go again, eh mate? Nothing said Buffy was ever going to see your chest at all.

“So, you ready to go out and do this again?” he blurted out, ready to get off this topic and train of thought.

Buffy nodded, smiling. “Let’s get to it.”

*******

“You hate it,” Buffy said, grinning from ear to ear as she slid a finger down the smooth surface of her lime green Volkswagon bug.

He chuckled, “Well, it’s kind of girly for me.”

She shrugged, “You don’t have to drive it, remember?”

He nodded, “That is true. But I can tell you’re very happy with it.”

“I love it!” And she flung herself in his arms in gratitude. “Thank you!” She held onto him longer than she needed to and thought, Wow, he’s strong. Solid. Her mind registered: Safe; secure. Feeling a tingle of something kindle inside of her at the feel of being in his arms, she released him quickly. “I think I’ve held you hostage long enough. You can go now if you want.”

She marveled in wonder at the look of hurt that passed over his face.

“No, kitten. I’m gonna stay until you’re all set on the road. Going to the RMV and all that is no fun; I’ll keep you company.”

Now she marveled at the relief she felt at his words and readily agreed.

Chapter Five



Anya was waiting for them on the porch when Buffy, followed by Spike, pulled into her driveway. Excitedly, she waved to her friend as soon as she jumped out. “Look what I got!”



Anya smiled and made her way over to Buffy who was gesturing to her car like Vanna White. “Very nice Buffy. It’s so you.”



“Isn’t it though? I love. And it’s all thanks to your boyfriend,” Buffy gushed.



Spike chuckled as he sauntered up to the pair, “Not so much me as Buffy. She caught on fast and knocked the guy down a few hundred on the car.”



Anya looked at Buffy, impressed, “Very nice. Go Buffy. Do you feel empowered now?”



“I do. Let me take you guys out for dinner, please? As a thank you. I insist.”



Anya laughed, “Why are you thanking me?”



“Cause you lent out Spike to me for the day.”



“Oi, what am I? A servant? I told you, it was no problem and you didn’t have to pay me-“



“Listen bleach boy, I want to, so accept my gratitude in the form of dinner all right?” Buffy said firmly, with a slight teasing tone.



He nodded and smiled at her tenderly. “Okay.”



Buffy beamed up at him, getting lost in those blue eyes of his. So like Doyle’s and yet somehow different. She’d thought when she’d first noticed his baby blue’s that it would be hard to look at him and not think of Doyle, but she only looked in Spike’s eyes and thought ‘Spike’.



“So,” Anya said, jarring Buffy out her stare fest with Spike, “Where are you taking us?”



“How about Chinese?”



*****************



Lying on his back and staring up the ceiling with Anya sleeping peacefully next to him, Spike found his mind drifting.



To Buffy.



Anya had commented that night at dinner how nice it was to see Buffy laughing and smiling so much; that it had been a long time since she’d seen it.



Spike hoped it had something to do with him. He hoped, but he wasn’t betting on it. He opted not to ponder why he was hoping it was him that was the cause of her smiling and frequent laughing. And it was with that hoping he was doing, that his mind rested on something unsettling.



Buffy needed her hedges trimmed badly.



She had commented that night that she’d been putting it off and putting it off and then kept forgetting about it. Her white picket fence needed some painting done to it too, something else she’d neglected and then put off.



With his mind made up, Spike planned to pay Buffy a visit tomorrow and help her do all those things she’d been neglecting. He’d just nonchalantly run it by Anya in the morning and he knew she’d think he was being wonderfully sweet again. Especially when he told her while they were having sex. She gave into anything then.



*********



Buffy opened the door, surprised to see Spike standing on her doorstep. “Spike, what are you doing here?”



He grinned, taking off his sunglasses, “What kind of welcome is that?”



“I didn’t expect to see you – did you forget something?”



He shook his head, “Nope. I decided to trim your hedges and paint your fence.”



She shook her head, “No, Spike. I can’t ask you to do that.”



“You didn’t ask me, I offered.”



“Well, I can’t let you offer – are you pouting?”



“Yeah, I am. Is it working?” he grinned unrepentantly.



She laughed, “Is that how you get your way with Anya?”



He shrugged, “Sometimes. Come on, kitten, let me help.”



“Spike,” she said on a sigh, “I don’t know.”



“Really, it’s a benefit to you to say yes.”



“Yeah, but—“



“No buts.”



“My but you’re stubborn,” she said, raising a brow.



He pointed at himself, “Me? Have you listened to you? You’re arguing with me while I’m standing out here in the blistering heat.”



She laughed again, “Blistering? You’re standing under the awning. And it’s far from blistering. It’s a cool seventy-five.”



“I’m from the Mother Land, pet. This is blistering.”



“Then it must be too hot for you to do all that yard work—“



“Okay, okay. I lied. It’s not blistering, but I could really go for that lemonade you made for the party. Got any?”



Regarding him for a minute with a slight ‘You’re a pain, you know that?’ face, she stepped aside and let him in.



**************



Buffy Summers-Doyle was absolutely adorable with paint splattered across her cheek. So adorable in fact, he couldn’t help but lean over with a big grin on his face and tap her nose with the tip of his paint brush, leaving a little white dot on the tip of her nose.



“Hey!” she giggled, “What was that for?”



“Because you’re adorable,” he blurted out. Her eyes widened at the same time his did after that comment flew out of his mouth and he rushed to gloss that over. “I just meant that I think you are cute. I thought Willow was a cute bird too, but it doesn’t mean that I’m going to leave Anya, because she’s the one I’m with and –“



“Spike.”



“Yeah?”



“It’s okay. No reason to make a big deal out of it. I’d like to think we’re friends, you and I.”



“Definitely friends,” he agreed. Though God woman, I can’t stop missing those curves underneath those baggy, paint splattered overalls.



“Did Anya know you were coming over today?” she asked lightly, the slight lilt to her voice letting him know she was slightly concerned about it. She focused on the fence before her, painting with long strokes up and down as she gripped the brush in her fist.



“She did,” he said, gulping slightly. His traitorous mind was going in overdrive with the words ‘long strokes’ playing out in his mind in connection with ‘Buffy’.



“Maybe when she’s done with work she can come over and I can treat you to dinner again?”



“Maybe I could – I mean, we, as in Anya and I, could treat you to dinner.”



She looked at him slightly perplexed, “Why? You trimmed the hedges, mowed my lawn and now you’re helping me paint—“



“You made me lunch,” he told her huskily, getting lost in the green of her eyes. The thought, she’s an angel came unbidden in his mind. My angel.



“That hardly seems adequate enough for all you’ve done for me over the past two days.”



“Then I will let you make it up to me.”



“How?”



“You can come with me tomorrow.”



“Where?” she asked hesitantly.



“I need to pick up some things for a 55’ Chevy I’m redoing for a ‘client’. It’s always so tedious to actually have to order parts and such, so maybe you could keep me company.”



“Spike, I don’t know. I mean, we’re friends and all, but don’t you think Anya would be weirded out by us spending all this time together? She’s my best friend and I don’t want her to get the wrong idea.”



“Buffy,” he said shifting so he could look at her fully, “There is no wrong idea to get here. Especially since you’re aware of the ‘wrong idea’ that could be gotten. Neither one of us would do anything to hurt Anya, right?”



“Right,” she nodded definitively, chewing on her bottom lips.



God, he wanted to take that lip between his own lips . . . “Right. So, hey, we’ll run it by Anya if you feel better about it, okay?”



“Yes, please.”



“Okay, then that’s what we’ll do,” he said, turning back to the fence.



“Spike—“ she started and then stopped abruptly.



“Yeah?”



“Thank you.”



“You don’t have to—“



“I know, but I want to. You’ve been so nice to me. Just please tell me it’s not pity you’re feeling for me?”



He turned back to her, shaking his head, “No, kitten, no. God, no, that’s not it at all. I—“



She pressed a finger to his mouth and he resisted the urge to suck it in his mouth. “That’s all I need to know,” she whispered, meeting his eyes for a brief moment before turning back to the fence and resuming painting.



Spike too, turned back to the fence and thought, I’m drowning.

Chapter Six

Buffy sat on her bed long after Spike had left and she had showered. Reaching over on her nightstand, she took the picture of Doyle and placed it in her lap, studying it.

Her eyes welled up in tears. Guilty tears. Guilt over finding Spike attractive, for feeling drawn to him. She felt guilt over Anya for that, but mostly for Doyle. She felt as if she were betraying him and that sat in her gut like lead.

Tracing the lines of Doyle’s face, huge drops of tears fell on the glossy, glass surface and her vision blurred completely until she couldn’t make out his face.

“I’ll always remember you, baby. I wouldn’t ever betray you,” she whispered through her salty tears, catching some in her mouth. “He’s kind, honey, he really is,” she told the picture, “He’s been so kind to me and understanding. It’s so nice to talk to someone that understands and has been there, ya know? But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you, baby. I miss you every day. Every single day and that won’t change.”

For the second time that week, she sobbed hard. She felt something inside her shifting and it scared her, scared her because she was afraid to let that shift take over; she was afraid of what it meant.

Afraid she was betraying Doyle and leaving him behind. She couldn’t ever leave him behind like that.

“Gra geal mo chroi,” she whispered, “Love of my heart.” Laying down on her bed, she held his picture to her chest and cried until she had no more energy to cry. When she was done, she reached over and grabbed the phone.

“Faithy? What are you doing tomorrow? . . . Can you come with me and Spike to run some errands? . . . Don’t ask, Faithy. Not now.”

**********

“You’ve sure taken a vested interest in Buffy,” Anya mused as she watched Spike make their dinner.

He shrugged in a manner he hoped was blasé. “Have I?”

Anya rolled her eyes, “Oh come on. You took her car shopping; you trimmed her hedges, mowed her lawn, and helped paint her fence.” She came over to him and placed a hand on his back, causing him to look at her. “Am I losing you?”

His heart leapt to his throat, an uncomfortable feeling, “No, why would you say that?”

She laughed airily, “I’m just kidding.” She wrapped her arms around him from behind and Spike focused on the cabinet in front of him, staring at it, boring a hole in it. “I feel sorry for her, don’t you?”

“Sorry for her? Why do you—why do you say that?” he asked tightly.

“Her loss. She’s in so much pain, I mean, trust me, she’s gotten a lot better than she used to be, but she’s still hurting. And Buffy’s so loyal, I wonder if she’ll ever move on or stay alone.”

That angered Spike and he jerked away, causing Anya to release him. He whipped around and looked at her. “That was a little cold, Anyanka,” he said, trying to keep his anger to a simmer.

“Wh—what do you—“

“She might still be hurting, yes, but it takes time. It’s not like she’ll be better overnight. And she doesn’t need pitying or molly coddling. Trust me, she doesn’t want or need to be pitied.”

Anya’s expression softened, “Your parents, right?”

No, not just my parents, not just my bloody parents! He was screaming in his head at her. But he couldn’t give too much away, if he did, he wouldn’t be able to spend any more time with Buffy. Alone. So, he nodded and let her rush to him, holding onto him and whispering soothing, yet meaningless –at least to him-- words of comfort.

*********
Spike was disappointed. The last thing he expected to see when he pulled into Buffy’s driveway was Faith’s car. His heart plummeted at the sight. Did that mean Buffy wasn’t coming out with him today after all?

Forcing himself to exude a cheerful exterior, he jogged up to the door and wasn’t the least bit surprised when Faith flung the door open to greet him. “Hey.”

“Hi, Faith, how are you?”

There was a harder edge about her today, she seemed almost confrontational.

She snapped the gum she was chewing, “Fine, and you?”

“Good,” he said slowly, “Can I come in? Where’s Buffy?”

“I’m here!” he heard her shout from upstairs, “Just putting in my earrings. You don’t mind if Faith joins us do you?”

Act normal, Spike. “No, not at all. That sounds like fun.”

Faith stepped aside and Spike entered, smiling at the brunette who was eyeing him warily.

“Come here,” Faith said, grabbing his arm and all but dragging him in the kitchen.

“What?” Spike asked, slightly annoyed.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“What are you talking about?”

“What are you doing with my sister in law?”

“What are you even talking –“

“Faith? Spike?” Buffy called out, her voice closer.

Faith pointed a finger in his face and leaned her curvy body into his, “I’m onto you.”

He wanted to snarl at her, but couldn’t. Not then. When they got a moment alone, she’d be meeting the ‘Big Bad’.

********

Despite the fact that Buffy took the back seat, leaving Faith to sit up front with him, and despite the fact that Buffy seemed to avoid making eye contact with him and having any alone time with him at all, the day went fine.

When they arrived back to her house, he got the message loud and clear that it was time for him to go. Mainly from Faith; from Buffy he just felt a general sense of uncomfortableness radiating from her. He desperately wanted to ask her why, but she wasn’t giving him that opportunity. He was finding it rather frustrating. He felt like a kid on a date, Faith being the chaperone.

“I’ll walk him out,” Faith told Buffy. “I’m heading out anyway. Okay, B?”

“Of course, honey. Thanks for coming out with us today,” Buffy said, hugging Faith. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Once the door was shut and they were a few feet away, Spike hissed “You want to tell me what exactly it is you’re ‘on’ to?”

“You’re after Buffy,” she said simply.

“Are you completely off your bird? I’m with Anya!”

“Cut the shit, Spikey. I see the way you look at her, the way you call her ‘kitten’ and ‘pet’ and ‘love’. Don’t fucking give me the innocent shit. I perfected it so I can see right through it.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. I like Buffy, I truly like her—“

“Yeah, and she just lost her husband. My brother. Anya is her best friend, and she is Anya’s. Don’t presume to think you know anything about Buffy. You don’t. Leave her be.”

Spike’s eyes narrowed, “She say something to you? Is she uncomfortable with me around?”

If Spike hadn’t been studying Faith closely, he would have missed the hesistant look that floated across her features. Thankfully, he was studying Faith and hadn’t missed it.

“Maybe you should stop fighting her battles,” Spike snapped.

“She asked me to come today. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

“She tell you why?”

“No, and she doesn’t have to.”

Spike held up his hands in surrender. “Fine, I’m backing off. Watch me back off,” and he marched to his car.

He drove to the end of the street and turned around, saw Faith’s car was gone, and pulled back in Buffy’s driveway.

Chapter Seven



“Spike? Did you forget—“ Buffy began, startled by seeing him back.



His jaw was clenching and his eyes were like ice. He was angry, apparently. He pushed past her. “Why did you ask Faith to come with us today?”



She opened her mouth but no sound came out. She tried several times to say something, but couldn’t find the words.



That’s when it happened. When he reached for her and hauled her into his arms, wrapping his arms around her like bands and, as if in slow motion, she watched his lips descend to hers.


To quote Xander, Ye Gods!



His lips were hot, firm, and yet soft and full. It’d been so long since she’d been touched, kissed, held . . . oh God, she wanted to weep from the feeling of his arms around her, of his lips on hers, of his sudden hardness pulsing against her stomach. He wound his hands in her hair and tilted her head, deepening the kiss, his hot tongue gliding along the seam of her mouth, demanding entrance. She opened her mouth with a moan and fell into the kiss all over again. His tongue battled hers, and she tasted him. Spicy from the wings he’d had earlier, sweet from the Coke and something uniquely him. My God, he was devouring her.



This is not Doyle! her mind screamed. And what of Anya?



That was like a bucket of cold water and she shoved him off her. He reeled back, startled, panting.



She wiped at her mouth, “What are you doing?” she gasped.



“I can’t – God, Buffy, I’m sorry.” He reached for her and she stepped back, shaking her head.



“Why did you do that?”



“I don’t – I don’t know.”



“Obviously, you do. Don’t play innocent with me! Why did you storm in here and do that?”



“I – I have feelings for you, Buffy. And God help me, I can’t stop them,” he confessed hoarsely.



She swallowed hard, “You can’t have feelings for me.”



“I do, I can’t stop—“



“You have to! You’re with Anya, who just happens to be my best friend. And, Doyle – I can’t,” she shook her head. “I think you should leave. We’ll pretend this never happened.”



“Buffy, wait, please—“



“Why were you so angry with me when you came in?” she demanded.



“Faith, she told me—“



“Told you what exactly?”



“That you asked her to come with us today. Why Buffy? Why did you do that?”



Tears came unbidden to her eyes, and she gestured between them. “Because of this,” she whispered.



His eyes widened, “Buffy, you feel it too, don’t you? I knew you—“



“Spike, stop! This is crazy. You need to go. You need to go and you need to not come back unless you’re with Anya and I just, I just think you should stay away for a while.”



His head dropped in shame and he nodded, “I’m sorry,” he whispered.



When she had shut the door and locked it after him, she slid to the floor and cried.



****************



In her dreams, she was spinning in Spike’s arms, her head thrown back, smiling up at the sky. Spike was grinning down at her, happiness apparent on his handsome features.



Up in the sky, Doyle’s face, resplendent like the moon, shone down on them.



*****************************



It’d been several days since the earth shattering, life altering kiss they’d shared. Spike snorted, life altering. There was a good word. He leaned over the Chevy he was working on and his watch went off.



Time for the meds. The meds that kept his heart in his chest and the meds that countered the side effects of those drugs. It was a process, but honestly, he’d gotten pretty used to it. He wanted to live, ergo; he did what he had to do to make sure his body did not reject the heart living inside him. So, he took his scheduled trips to the doctor, took his temp and blood pressure every day, and kept a log on everything.



He knew how it felt to have the rug ripped out from under you. How your life was going along just fine one minute, and then it fell apart the next. He’d been as healthy as a horse, or so he thought, and then one day, his heart was giving out on him due to dilated cardiomyopathy. Basically, his heart had enlarged and just wasn’t pumping as hard anymore.



It made him think back to all the things he could have done differently to take care of himself, the parties and wild child lifestyle that could have been avoided. However, he was told, it was something that built over time and it would have happened either way.



Then there was the treatments, and spending all the time at the hospital. God, it felt like forever. Then came the news that the best thing that could be done was for him to have a new heart. And one night, lying in a hospital bed, he was told his new heart was on its way. After that, it was all a matter of adjusting to a routine and living with the fear for many months after that his body could reject the heart inside him.



Thankfully, he’d gone without incident.



He supposed he felt impaired somehow because of the huge scar on his chest, a constant reminder of his heart problems, a constant reminder that he’d been literally fighting for his life because something in him had failed.



Failure had always been a touchy subject with him after his parents died. Probably because he’d felt for so long that he’d failed them by not being with them. To what, Spike? He asked himself. To maybe, possibly die along with them?



His aunt and uncle told him how lucky he was after the transplant, and that he should be happy for the things he had and he was; he was thrilled to be alive. The euphoria he felt when he came out of surgery was indescribable.



He was just afraid he’d receive the look of pity he’d seen so many times when his parents had died and when he was sick. He wasn’t much for drawing attention to himself. He bore things on his own, kept them in. Except when it came to sharing with Buffy it seemed.



Truth be told, he was also vain concerning the huge scar the transplant had left. He was afraid of the rejection he’d receive if a woman – Anya – saw the scar. She was all about ‘pretty things’ and what if she thought him hideous? What if she molly coddled him the way she did Buffy? He knew how to take care of himself just fine; he didn’t need her to do it. Or anyone for that matter. He didn’t want to be treated with kid gloves, even he contradicted himself and treated himself with kid gloves by feeling ‘impaired’.



“You make sense, mate,” he muttered as he swallowed down his pills.



So, he sometimes missed his wild, teenage ways. Like now, when he was missing Buffy and feeling guilt over Anya, over pushing Buffy to admit something was there between them, for pushing himself on her—he wanted a drink. But he wouldn’t indulge.



The phone ringing took him out of his deep thoughts. Picking it up, he said “Hello?”



“Hi honey, it’s me.”



“Hey Ahn,” he muttered.



“Are you very busy?” she chirped.



“Yeah, kinda, what’s up?”



“Well, I have an idea and I need you for it.”



“I already don’t like the sound of this.”



“I want to introduce Buffy to someone.”



“Who?” he barked into the phone.



“His name is Riley. He just lost his wife, Samantha, a year ago. I figure it’d give her someone to relate to. Aren’t you proud of me? I took your advice!”



Spike bit his tongue. He wanted to shout at her and tell her that he was doing just fine relating to her and that Buffy would whole-heartedly reject this idea. She’d see ‘Set Up’ all over it and go running for the hills.



“Anya –“ Spike began.



“So, come by after you’re all clean and get me. No later than five. I’m not going to give Buffy a chance to back out. I’m bringing him with us.”



“Anyanka Jenkins—“



“Bye honey!”



Spike flung his phone, breaking it as it hit the wall. “Fuck!”



************



Spike was gritting his teeth as he followed Anya and Whitebread, his nickname for Riley Finn, up the walk to Buffy’s door.



He’d gotten to Anya’s after he’d showered to rail at her for setting up her friend in this manner, but he found he couldn’t since the man she was setting Buffy up with was already there and they were waiting for him, patiently.



He was an all right looking bloke, sandy brown hair, kind eyes, he didn’t have an oppressive presence, but he rubbed Spike the wrong way.



Because he was meant to be Buffy’s date that evening.



He didn’t engage the man in much conversation if only because Anya seemed to dominate all the talking. That was fine, he thought, I’ll just bide my time.



When Buffy opened the door to let them in, he saw the surprise pass over her features at the introduction of Riley. He studied her for signs of distress. At the first sign, he was bagging this whole thing and sending Riley packing. No offence to the man, but Jesus. .. Buffy was -- no Spike, he thought, Buffy is not yours.



His girl -- dammit -- Buffy rolled with the punches though. She smiled politely at Riley and took his arm when he offered it and allowed him to lead her to the car.



Anya went on and on in the car, highlighting all of Riley’s good –but in Spike’s opinion, boring—features. He was an army recruit, he was first of his class in college, and he could hop up and down on one foot blindfolded with his arms tied behind his back. Okay, so that was what he added in his head, imitating Anya’s feminine high pitched voice, but with the rap sheet Anya had on the guy, Spike wanted to ask if she could do a Powerpoint presentation on him.



Buffy just smiled, a fake smile, couldn’t Anya see that it was a fake smile? How was she missing it? He’d known Buffy for a hell of a lot shorter time and he could see the smile was fake!



At dinner, at of course the poshest restaurant Anya could choose, Spike sat directly across from Buffy, studying her. “So, Buffy, how are you? Haven’t seen you in a few days,” he said casually.



Buffy looked up at him, but without meeting his eyes. “I’m good, thanks. You?”



“Bloody wonderful,” he said, not able to keep the sarcasm out completely. She kicked him under the table.



He tried to keep his surprise at that down. Grinning to himself, he ran his shoe covered foot up her leg, delighting in her gasp of surprise before she moved away from his reach.



“You okay, Buffy?” Anya asked.



“Just the, uh, prices,” Buffy covered.



“Don’t worry, Elizabeth, I’ll take care of it,” Riley assured her.



“It’s Buffy, mate,” Spike corrected him.



“Well, I feel that I shouldn’t call her by her nickname unless she says it’s all right,” Riley explained politely.



Spike rolled his eyes behind his menu.



“You can call me Buffy, Riley, it’s all right. Everyone does. I barely recognize ‘Elizabeth’. It sounds so stuffy, don’t you think?”



“I think it’s a perfectly beautiful and respectful name,” Riley told her sounding like a sodding schoolmaster.



Spike wanted to throttle him. Even more when he laid a hand on Buffy’s arm to show her something on the menu. He didn’t need to put his grubby paws on her, he could have just pointed. He felt a growl itching to surface. Buffy’s head shot up as if she sensed it and gave him a warning glare. He smirked back at her. Closing the menu, she told Riley what she wanted and excused herself to the bathroom. Spike waited for a hint from her, all he needed was a look, and he was going to follow shortly after.



Only she didn’t even glance in his direction. Hell, I’m going anyway, he thought. “Buffy, I’ll go with you. You’ve been here before, right? Maybe you could show me where the restrooms are?”



She looked trapped, “Uh, I – yeah. Of course.”



Bloody bint practically ran to the bathrooms, rushing ahead of him to get to the ladies. With a growl, Spike reached out and grabbed her arm, hauling her back to him and pushing her inside the men’s room.


“Spike!” she exclaimed in protest.



He brought her against him and kissed her, hard. He want to possess her, wanted to mark her as his, wanted Riley and every sodding wanker that passed by her to know that she was his. His.



She struggled against him for a minute and he held her tighter against him, not giving her room to move, letting her know he meant to have this and have it, he would.



Finally, she relented, melting against him.



He parted slowly, knowing it wasn’t wise to deny himself air for very long. “Buffy,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers. “Open your eyes and look at me, luv.”



She shook her head and single tear dropped from her closed eyes. He cupped her cheek and wiped it away with his thumb, “Buffy, baby, please. Please look at me. Why won’t you look at me?”



“I’m betraying him,” she whispered.



He knew she didn’t mean Riley. Doyle. Of course, Doyle. God, how insensitive could he be? This wasn’t easy for her and not just because of her loyalty to Anya, but Doyle, her husband. Her latehusband.



“I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m sorry, please Buffy. Forgive me, please, don’t hate me, I couldn’t bear it—“



She surprised him by kissing him quickly, but soundly. She finally opened her eyes, her beautiful green eyes swimming in tears, “I don’t hate you. It would be easier if I did, but I don’t.”



“What does that mean, Buffy?” he rasped.



She shook her head, “I don’t know.”



“I won’t force you for anything –“



“You can’t force me at all -- ”



“I won’t, I won’t,” he breathed and kissed her again, slowly and softly this time. He just held her then, held her in his arms and tried not to let her tears over Doyle bother him.

Chapter Eight

Shame filled Buffy when she sat down across from Spike back at dinner. He'd gone ahead of her and told her to wait for a few minutes to gather herself and to make sure it didn't look odd them being gone so long.

Looking over at Anya, who smiled at her, Buffy wanted to die. She wanted to crawl under the table and die. What kind of person had she become? What was happening to her?

Looking discreetly at Spike, she studied him briefly. He was just a baby. Maybe six years wasn't a lot, but he was still just a baby. She'd been married, she'd had a whole other life. A life very different than the one she was currently leading with having make out sessions in the men's bathroom with her best friend's boyfriend. This was not her, this was someone else.

She was loyal, always had been. In her five years of marriage to Doyle she had never once looked at another man with the intent of doing anything with them. She'd never understood it, especially after her father had left when she was still a child to take up with his several years younger girlfriend. Her mother had been devastated, but had also thought that she had it coming to her. After all Joyce Summers had taken up with Hank Summers when Hank had already been married.

What was it her mother used to say when Buffy's father left? 'If they'll do it with you, they'll do it to you.'

Where are you going with this, Buffy? she thought. It's not like you're planning to be with Spike. You had two indiscretions with him that you need to put a stop to. No matter how good it felt, no matter if being in his company makes you feel lighter and happier than you have in months. He's Anya's boyfriend and you are not that type of woman!

Doyle would be disgusted with her.

Suddenly, she felt trapped. Trapped and alone and suffocated. She had to get out of there, and she had to get out now. Do not pass go; do not collect two hundred dollars. She didn't even care at this point about upsetting the people around her, she felt as if the walls were closing in on her and she could not, in good conscience, sit here knowing what she'd done behind Anya's back and pretend that she was okay with it.

And then the food came over. Oh God, I need to go, this man next to me, this stranger is buying me dinner and I'm sitting across from the man whose tongue I just had in my mouth while he sits next to the woman he fucks on a nightly basis. I need to go.

She stood on shaky legs and focused in on Anya, "Ahn, can I talk to you?"

Anya immediately sensed something was wrong and nodded quickly, following Buffy to the lobby.

"I can't do this," Buffy blurted out and tears started to roll down her cheeks. She was so close to the door, to escaping that she felt relief flood her and the tears came from relief. From almost being able to escape.

"Buffy, what--?"

"Just get my stuff, please, I don't want to cause a scene. I need to go," Buffy pleaded with her. "Please Anya. I don't ask for very much of you but I am asking you this. Please get my things and let me go."

"Buffy, how are you going to get home?"

"A cab. I'll call a cab."

"Nonsense, I can have Spike-"

"No!"

"Okay, okay honey, calm down. I'll get your stuff and make your excuses. Why don't you go to the desk and call a cab okay?"

Buffy nodded and walked, trembling, to the desk with a mixture of anxiety and relief coursing through her. The hostess smiled as she approached.

"Everything all right, miss?"

"Can I just use the phone, please?"

"Of course!"

Dialing information and then calling a cab, Buffy waited for Anya to return. Peering discreetly into the restaurant she spied Spike standing up, looking ready to bolt from the table. God no, Buffy pleaded, please do not come out here. He sat back down, due to what looked like Anya's intense demand, scowling. She let out a breath of relief and watched Anya march to her with purse in hand.

"Buffy-"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"But-"

"Not now, Anya."

"Can I come over later?"

"I just want to be alone, Ahn."

"Buffy!"

Embracing her friend, Buffy held her tight, "I'm sorry," she whispered. "Forgive me." And she ran out the door, needing escape desperately.

**************

Spike himself was running the gamut of emotions. He was worried about Buffy; that was number one. Then he felt guilt for having snogged her in the bathroom, for having forced her to snog him. He felt guilt over Anya and guilt over not respecting and realizing what Buffy must be going through. It was one thing to admit she had feelings for him too, but quite another to be okay with it concerning not only Anya, but Doyle as well. Of course she felt as if she were betraying him, of course she was afraid of moving on for that very reason! And how did he feel about that? Jealous. Jealous over someone he'd never meet, over someone who had died tragically, over someone who Buffy had met before him.

You stupid, fucking sod, he scolded himself. You selfish prat. Ignorant fool!

Then, then watching her, seeing the play of emotions on her beautiful face and knowing he couldn't do anything to soothe her, it killed him. And she'd left. He could see her guilt over Anya, over Doyle, and her fear of her feelings for him. He'd wanted to go to her, to talk it out, but she clearly needed to get away from him.

He felt useless, powerless and feeling that way made him angry. He was mad at Anya for having set up this little dinner; mad for meeting her first when he should have met Buffy first. For the first time since he'd been given a new heart, he wanted something more than just life itself. He wanted life to share with Buffy.

Oh God. He was falling with the speed of a plummeting plane.

He had to fix this, he just didn't know how. He'd do whatever Buffy told him to do. He only wanted to make her happy after all.

************

Buffy sat in her living room in the dark, sipping a glass of wine. The TV was on, but so low it might as well have been muted. She wasn't even looking at it for all the good it did to have it on. She just couldn't bring herself to turn it off. She felt by sitting in complete darkness it would be like submitting completely to the despair she felt.

The ringing of her doorbell startled her and she nearly dropped some of the red wine on herself. "Dammit," she hissed. Settling her glass down, she got up and peered through the window. She saw nothing as a tree blocked her view of the driveway. Damn tree. She was going to have that removed.

Going to the door, she called out "Who is it?"

"It's Spike."

"Go away."

"No, Buffy, I can't do that."

"Yes, actually, you can. You put one foot in front of the other and you walk to your car."

"Buffy, please, let me in."

"No. I'm not letting you in here ever again without Anya. Maybe not even then. I might tell her that I hate you."

"You don't mean that."

"Which part?"

"The part where you hate me."

She pursed her lips together and glared at the door.

"Buffy, I'm not going anywhere until you let me in. I'll stay out here all sodding night if I have to."

"Does Anya know you're here?"

"Yes."

"You're lying."

"Well, yeah. Buffy, let me in!"

"No!"

"If you don't let me in so we can sodding talking about this, I will . . . "

"Will what?" she challenged and narrowed her eyes at the door.

"I'll climb this tree out here and hop up on the landing and right into your bedroom. And don't think I won't-"

She flung the door open, glaring at him icily. And then, then she was in his arms.

"You make me so crazy? I’m so crazy about you, Buffy," he murmured, peppering her face with kisses. "Buffy, I was so worried about you and I came here to talk, just talk, and I see you and I can't help myself. I just want to hold you and protect you from all the bad things in the world. You fit in my arms like no other-"

She shoved him away from her. "You need to stop."

He hung his head, "I'm sorry."

"We don't have anything to talk about Spike. This," she gestured between them, "cannot happen. You're with Anya-"

"I'll break up with her."

She let out a bitter laugh. "So, what? We can date? No. That's horrible! She's my best friend. What am I supposed to say if you do that? 'Oh, yeah, I'm dating Spike now by the way Ahn, thanks so much for dating him first and bringing him by for me'! Are you crazy?"

"Probably."

"No. Forget it. You're staying with her, you understand me?"

"I don't love her, Buffy!"

"You're not in love with me either! You're fucking twenty two, you're just looking to . . . to stick your dick someplace!"

His jaw was clenching, and his eyes narrowed, "How dare you say that to me after everything we've talked about. About all the stuff I've told you that I've never told Anya."

“Why not tell the grieving widow? She’s gotta be hard up for sex, right?”

“Let me tell you something, sweetheart," he drawled, "The last person I'd choose is a hard up grieving widow. Especially if they're this hard to get in the sack."

Rage, pure unadulterated rage coursed through her and Buffy marched up to him, drew her hand back and slapped him loudly across the face. "Get out."

He straightened, glaring at her, "Gladly," and marched out.

Chapter Nine





Buffy tugged on the weeds in the garden, the garden she'd been neglecting doing anything with for a year. She sat back on her heels and surveyed her work. She'd done a lot in an hour. The soil was completely dug up and weeds lay in a heap in the wheelbarrow next to her.



"Hey, B, you want to take a rest? Maybe have some lemonade?" Faith called from the deck.



Buffy sighed, feeling the strain in her arms from all the tugging. She lifted them over her head and stretched. "Yeah, sure."



Getting up, she dusted off and meandered over to the deck, taking off her gardening gloves and accepting the tall glass of cool lemonade from Faith. "Thanks."



"So, you want to tell me why you're giving that garden a work out?"



Buffy shrugged, "It's time, don't you think?"



Faith sat down in the plastic lawn chair and squinted up at her, "Think so?"



Buffy took a few long gulps of lemonade and sat down across from Faith. "Why do I get the feeling we're not talking about the garden?"



"Maybe because we're not."



"You want to tell me what it is you are talking about?"



"Spike and my brother."



Buffy shook her head, "I don't know what you're talking about. There's nothing going on."



"So you don't have the hots for him?"



"I don't want to have this discussion with you," Buffy said and got up, heading towards the kitchen.



"Buffy-"



"What?" she exclaimed spinning to face her, "What? You going to get on me too? Going to make me feel guilty for having feelings I can't control?"



"So you admit it!"



Buffy fell silent.



"Who else is making you feel guilty?"



Buffy looked down, "Me. Just me. I look at your brother's picture every night and I think . . . I think . . ."



"You think about how you made a promise to my brother. How you made vows, right? Stood in front of a whole bunch of people and made promises to each other to be together forever."



Buffy shut her eyes, "Yes," she whispered.



"And then you think of how he's not here and wonder how he'd feel if you moved on."



"Yes."



"And?"



Buffy shook her head, "I don't know." She looked up at Faith, "What do you think?"



"I can't tell you how to live your life, Buffy."



"You're upset with me though."



Faith looked away, "I don't think this is a conversation we should be having right now."



"Why not?"



"Because . . . because one half of me says that the vows you took also state 'till death do us part' and he's . . . he's gone." Faith started to cry then, huge drops of tears cascading down her round cheeks. "And I hate seeing you so unhappy all the time and . . . and that jackass made you smile and laugh. The part that misses my brother so much everyday hates that someone else is there making you happy and I want to keep him away from you because you're Doyle's, but," she heaved in some air as the sobs wracked her body, "but I love you and I want you to be happy and I know Doyle's not here!"



Buffy, crying right along with her, took Faith in her arms and stroked her hair, trying to find the right words to say, but feeling bereft of any. Instead the two girls stood there holding onto each other, crying. They felt the shift beginning to happen, knew that the day was coming when the step toward moving on was fast approaching and that it had to happen eventually. They were filled with trepidation, and fear. Fear of the change; fear of letting go-- for what did it mean to let go? It was often easier to hold onto things; even it was grief, because the unknown could be so much scarier. Buffy was afraid she'd forget Doyle, forget what he meant to her, how happy they were and the life she had with him.



Faith was afraid she was losing the woman she had adopted as her sister; and afraid that she was betraying her brother by 'approving' of Buffy finding happiness with another man.



"We'll do this together," Buffy promised on a whisper.



Faith lifted her head and nodded, wiping away her tears.



"Come on, you can help me with the garden."



***************



Buffy was stunned when two days later Anya showed up with some news. She hadn't seen her since her escape from the restaurant, Anya having only called to see if she was all right. Buffy had merely explained it was too soon for her to be dating and did not appreciate being set up the way she had. Her friend had apologized and then stayed away.



Buffy wondered if perhaps she had insulted her. Anya tended to not like when things didn't go her way and Buffy neglected to take her advice. It was a facet of hers that had always annoyed Buffy, but at one point in time, she had needed someone to direct her in the task of everyday living since she hadn't been able to function. They'd gotten into a habit of sorts and it was a habit Buffy was looking to put the kibosh on.



Spike aside, setting her up in the manner she had was wrong. She was not a child and did not need to be told when to do things and be forced to do them when Anya felt it was ‘time’. She planned to explain herself better when they had a moment, but her friend’s news took the backseat to that particular discussion.



"He what?" Buffy said; her mouth agape as she plunked down on the couch.



"He broke up with me," Anya said again, sniffling slightly.



"Did he say why?" Buffy's heart was racing, had he said anything? Ratted her out?



"He said he wasn't in love with me."



"But-"



"I knew something was wrong, I just knew it."



"H-how?"



"He stopped having sex with me. Just stopped. That day he came to fix your fence? He gave me a nice send off and then refused to put out anymore."



"Well, Ahn, there is more to relationships than sex," Buffy said diplomatically.



"But it's quite an enjoyable part! I'm a sexual being, Buffy; I have needs. He has to go all high and mighty on me with his 'I'm not in love with you' speech. Nothing said he had to be in love with me. Not right away! We'd only been together a short time; I didn't expect him to love me right away!"



"Did you--?"



"Love him? No. I could have, I think, in time. But he didn't even give us a chance. We were having fun."



"Did you-did you say all that?"



"Of course I did."



"And?"



"And he said he was sorry and he left."



"Wow."



"Yeah. So would you talk to him for me?"



"Huh? What?"



"He liked you. I just want you to casually stop by and see him and let him know that I've moved on. I don't want him to think I'm still crying over him."



"You were crying over him?"



"Just a little."



"Anya, is it your ego that's hurt more or is it really Spike that you were crying about?"



"A little of both. Sixty- ego, forty- Spike. He gave really good orga-"



"Stop right there!" Buffy exclaimed, holding up her hands. "I'm not going to go over and talk to him."



"Please?"



"No."

"Buffy Summers - Doyle. Have I ever asked you for anything?" Anya demanded.



"No," Buffy replied weakly.



“I even have an excuse all set for you to see him,” Anya said, reaching into the plastic bag she’d brought in with her. She handed the items to Buffy proudly.



“A shirt –his, I presume. And a – Anya,” Buffy finished on a whine.



“What?” her friend said innocently.



“A box of condoms?”



“Yes, it was a box we’d—“



“I said stop with that already!”



“Look inside.”



“Do I have to?”



“Yes.”



Buffy gingerly opened the box, not wanting to think of Spike and Anya having sex for the sheer fact that she found herself jealous at the idea. “There’s a – one condom?” she looked up her in question.



Anya nodded smugly, “I want him to know that I’ve moved on and will be using – or already am using--the other ones.”



"You're unbelievable," Buffy grumbled. But then started to laugh. Only Anya could pull something like that and get away with it.



“Will you do it then?”



Heaving a sigh, Buffy nodded, “Yeah, I’ll do it.”



“You’re a life saver! Thank you!” And she swept Buffy up in a hug.



“You owe me big.”



*************



Buffy figured the longer she put off seeing Spike for Anya, the harder it’d be later on. So, she forced herself to see him the very next day.



Anya had given her the address for his home and told her to just go straight to the garage as that’s where he’d most likely be.



Taking a deep breath and trying to gather her wits about her, Buffy clutched the shirt, with the box of condoms wrapped inside and marched up to the white garage. He lived in a small house that appeared to fit maybe three bedrooms tops. It was all one level and colored pale yellow with white trim around the windows. It was cute she decided. She remembered Anya saying how huge the backyard was and that he had a small deck, a hammock, and an above ground pool. The way she was sweating from anxiety at the moment, she could have used a dip in that pool.



Knocking on the glass, she spied Spike peering around the corner from the Chevy he’d been working on. She waved to him and his eyebrow rose. It took him no time to stride across the garage and lift the gate. He wore a green t-shirt smeared with dried oil and grease, and ripped blue jeans also smeared. He was wiping his hands on a blue rag as he regarded her blankly for a minute and then ushered her in and closed the gate.



God, he looked good. Hot.



It was cool inside, and slightly dank, with shelves against the walls and tools cluttering them. He had a small fridge inside and the car itself took up a lot of the room.



“Buffy, what are you—“



“I came to give you this,” she said and handed over the items with a stiff arm.



He took them and put them on the trunk of the car, “Okay.”



“Don’t you want to look inside the shirt?”



One brow rose and, not taking his eyes off her, he opened the shirt. He chuckled, opened the box, and then laughed, “This supposed to be a subtle hint?”



“Yeah, she, uh, she wanted me to tell you that she’s not crying over you anymore.”



Spike shrugged, “Didn’t think she would be anymore.”



Nodding, Buffy clutched her purse tightly, “Well, I had a message to deliver so I did it. If you run into her, can you just let her know that I did it all stealth like instead of just blurting out what she wanted you to know?”



“Sure,” he nodded, and leaned his hip against the car.



“Okay, well then, I’m just gonna—“ she said, turning toward the gate and attempting to try and figure it out.



“Don’t go yet.”



She spun to him, the question having been on the tip of her tongue since she’d arrived. “Why did you do it? I told you not to break up with her.”



“I’m not in the business of taking orders, luv.”



“But—why? Weren’t you happy with her, at all? Even a little?”



“I was, for a while.”



“Don’t you think you could have stayed and feelings could have developed over time?”



He shook his head, “No.”



“Weren’t you, you know, having fun?”



“For a bit, yeah.”



“So, you just dump her? Sowed that oat and onto the next, is that it?”



“You just love to think the absolute worse of me, don’t you?”



“Spike—“



“Keeps you safe, doesn’t it? Makes it easier for you to distance yourself from me if you hate me.”



“What about you and the things you said to me?” she asked incredulously.



“Seems we both said some things we didn’t mean, don’t you think?” he asked softly, looking down.



“Under the circumstances, you can’t blame me.”



He looked up and nodded in agreement. “You’re right at that.”



“But, for what it’s worth, I am sorry. I know you’re not a . . . . oat sower.”



“Thank you. You saved me a trip, you know.”



She cocked her head to the side, “To Anya’s?”



He smiled gently, “No, kitten, to see you.”



“Me?”



He nodded and pushed off from the car and started stalking slowly towards her.



“You were going to see me? Why?”



“You underestimate yourself, you know that?” he whispered as he came upon her.



She looked up at him, feeling suddenly that the air was thick and she could not breathe. His blue eyes searched hers and her heart started hammering in her chest. “I—I do?”



He nodded and ever so lightly trailed his fingertips down her bare arm. Great job, Buffy, wearing the spaghetti strapped sundress when you’re coming to see Spike.



“You underestimate your allure,” he told her softly and leaned in so that she could feel his breath on her lips, “You call to me.”



“I – I do?” she croaked.



“Mmmm, so much. I’m drowning in you, Buffy,” he said a mere second before his lips covered hers in a searing kiss.



She could not stop herself from falling into the kiss with fervor. His kisses, oh God, his kisses filled her with such fire and now, now with his hands hot on her skin, she felt she was going to combust.



Someone groaned, she wasn’t sure who, as Spike sucked her tongue in his mouth. Weaving her arms around his neck she felt her feet lift off the ground and instinctively she wrapped her legs around his waist, feeling his erection between her legs.



“Spike,” she gasped, when he placed her on the trunk of the car.



Standing between her legs, he kissed her, hard, and yet sweetly, his lips trailing to her jaw, up to her ear and down her neck to across her collar bone.



“Buffy, my sweet Buffy,” he murmured and slid her straps down baring her breasts to his gaze.



She opened her mouth to protest when his lips covered her breast and he sucked her nipple in his mouth and then swirled his tongue around it. It sent shivers through her, delightful, pleasurable shivers that she hadn’t felt in a long time. While his mouth laved one breast, his hand was busy cupping her other breast and brushing his thumbs across her nipple, sending her body on pleasure overload. Her fingers twined in his curls, feeling the softness there.



She moaned. It was not going to take much for her to cum.



He looked up at her, his gaze intense, hot, lust-filled and needy. How so many emotions could be on the face of one man, she’d never know, but Spike did it effortlessly.



“You’re the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” he whispered and leaned in to nuzzle her neck.



“You need to get out more,” she managed to say and he chuckled, sliding his hands under her dress and up her thighs.



“Spike . . . “ she moaned when his hands made contact with her panty clad pussy.



“Just feel, Buffy. Let me make you feel good.” Slipping a finger inside her panties, she gasped when he slid a finger inside her pussy and grazed her clit. Startled by the intense sensation, she clutched his shoulders.



“Yes, that’s my girl. Hold on to me. Hold onto me and I’ll make you feel so good,” he coaxed.



She heard the distinct sound of material ripping and realized he’d torn her panties off. “Spike!”



He grinned, “I’ll buy you more. All in. . . “he looked at the material in his hands. He groaned, “White.”



He kissed her hungrily, as he pumped her with his finger, adding another finger and circling her clit with his thumb.

“Oh God,” she moaned, closing her eyes and throwing her head back, losing herself to the sensations, to the way he was playing her body like a finely tuned instrument.



Hearing the sound of a zipper she looked down just as his erection popped free and his pants dropped to the floor. He was huge! He looked at her in question, asking her permission and she nodded, giving it eagerly.



Reaching over to the box of condoms, she fumbled with the box and took out the condom. She handed it to him and he growled, taking his fingers out of her core, and tore open the package, encasing himself in the latex quickly.



Putting his hands on her hips, he pulled her closer and her legs widened instinctively. His erection nudged her folds as he pulled her dress up higher.



“I can make love to you, right baby? Say yes, say you’ll let me make love to you . . . “ he whispered hotly in her ear, nibbling on it.



“Yes, yes,” she gasped. “Slow, it’s . . . it’s been a while.”



He looked her in the eyes, “I’ll never hurt you, Buffy. Take care of you, I will.” He started to slide in slowly, “Always.”



He moved in short strokes, working himself inside, and she thanked him for it. She felt very much like a virgin all over again. He peppered her face with kisses and murmured words of praise to her as he sawed in and out. Finally, when he was inside her completely, he held still and claimed her lips voraciously, sliding his tongue inside her mouth and tangling with hers.



He started to move slowly, thrusting in long strokes and hitting her clit with every dive back into her body.



She let out a whimper and buried her face in his neck, “Spike.”



“What is it baby? Tell me.”



“I’m not going to last long. I’m going to . . . “



“You can come for me, baby, I want you to. Please, come for me.”



“You . . . “



“Don’t worry about me,” he whispered, dotting kisses on her shoulder, “Don’t worry about me. Take your pleasure.”



She moaned and lifted her head, kissing him hard. He was moving faster now and she screamed softly inside his mouth and then came apart, tossing her head back and shouting her pleasure to the heavens.



A few hard strokes later he came with a roar of her name and devoured her mouth with his own. Panting, he buried his face in her neck and nibbled lightly. His arms came about her, holding her tightly against him.



“I guess it’s a good thing she left you that condom, huh?” Buffy said weakly and Spike started to laugh.

Chapter Ten


Spike felt it the moment regret set in for Buffy. He had been holding onto her, unwilling to let her go, not wanting to ruin the perfect blissful moment of holding her after having mind blowing sex with her - scratch that. After having made love to her, the only time in his life he'd ever made love to anyone.

He knew what she'd say if he told her that, she'd say 'Well, you're only twenty-two.' It would also be just another reminder of Doyle and that was something he was looking to avoid. He didn't want to push for the guilt to come. Selfish of him, yes, but he wanted the moment for himself. He wanted her to be right there with him, and for a few blissful minutes, she was.

When she started to move from him, he held her fast and she only succeeded in having his cock slip out of her.

"Spike-"

"No, I don't want to let you go."

"Spike, please," and she heard the strain in her voice, the threat of tears.

"Do it," he whispered. "Let it out. Let it all out."

And surprisingly, she did. She cried while he held her and he let her, it was better than having her run out and fight harder for her later on. No, he wanted her with him when she had these moments, wanted her to be able to let go with him. He hoped, and he was still testing the waters of his theory, that given enough time and allowing him to be there for her and accept that he was not going to go anywhere, that he was there for the long haul, she'd one day fall in love with him.

"That was the first time since . . . You were the first, " she murmured.

Thank you didn't seem to be the correct response so he chose to stay mute and let her say what she needed to say. After a few minutes, she shifted again, but she was no longer tense.

"Kitten, want to come inside? Mmm? I'll make you lunch and you can clean up."

She nodded in agreement and he finally pulled back to look at her. God, she was gorgeous. And he couldn't stop himself from telling her so. Promptly, she blushed and looked away.

"You better get used to it, kitten. I plan to tell you that a lot."

She blushed harder making her even more adorable, and he wanted her again. However, it was best to go slowly, though nothing about this coupling had been slow. Next time, he planned to savor it, planned to map out her body with his hands and tongue and love every inch of her. He'd been so desperate for her from the minute he'd seen her pixie face in the window of the garage gate, that when she allowed him to touch her, it was full steam ahead.

Now things felt delicate and he was unsure of the next move, only knew that he had to take it slow and steady and let her guide him. It was imperative that she feel in control now.

Helping her right her sundress after fixing his pants, he helped her slide down the trunk of the car, noticing with male pride the fact that her legs were shaking slightly. He plastered on an encouraging smile and she surprised him by smiling back, albeit a wobbly, uncertain smile. Still, the intent was there, and he'd take it.

He led her to a door on the side of the garage with a small walkway that led to his home. The home he'd bought with his inheritance. His Aunt Jenny had done most of the decorating to save it looking like a bachelor lived there, even if one did. She added plush couches, comfortable chairs, curtains and other little things that he never would have thought of. It still appeared as though a man lived there, and alone, but not as bare as it would have been if his aunt hadn't helped him out.

Leading her into the sunny kitchen, he took her hand and took her through the kitchen, around the living room and into the hall where the bathroom was nestled. That was the only room Aunt Jenny hadn't gotten to for it was stark white with no pictures on the wall, no frilly things to spruce it up. Just the essentials - blinds to block peeping toms, and a matching white shower curtain.

"It's not as 'touched up' as the rest of the house, I apologize," he told her, flicking the light on.

"I don't care about that stuff," she said, waving him off.

"Your house is so nice though."

She shrugged, "It takes time. I'm not a snob, Spike."

He smiled, "I know you're not. I'll be in the kitchen. Think you can find your way back?"

"Yep."

Preparing a lunch of tomato soup with tuna sandwiches and iced tea, Spike was stunned to discover that he too, was shaking. He knew it had more to do with his fear of having driven Buffy away from him than the sex however. He wondered then if that was why she shook. Was she plotting her escape? Trying to figure out how to leave without hurting him? God, he wouldn't be able to bear it if she left like that. On the other hand though, he didn't plan on letting her go.

Ever.

"Did you do the decorating?" Buffy asked, startling him slightly as she entered the kitchen.

He looked over his shoulder at her, "Uh, no. My aunt did."

"She did a nice job. I love the living room. You could get lost in that couch."

He grinned, "I think I have."

She came over beside him, "Anything I can do?"

His head filled with the image of her wrapping her arms around him from behind and leaning her head ever so slightly on his back. That's what she could do.

"Stir the soup?" he suggested instead.

Moving to the stove, she stirred the soup in silence and he watched her, her hip up against the counter, and her neck to the side. He couldn't resist; he had to touch her. Coming over to her, he nuzzled her neck from behind and heard her sharp intake of breath. Deciding that was enough for now, he went back to the sandwiches.

***************

"Anya told me you had a great backyard. She wasn't lying," Buffy said, surveying the space.

"Thanks," he said, taking a bite of his sandwich and watching her.

"Don't you feel this is . . . odd?"

"What's odd, luv?"

"We just . . . and here we are . . . and I feel . . ."

"Odd?"

She nodded, looking down at her half finished sandwich.

Reaching across the table, he grabbed her hands in his and kissed her fingers. "Don't feel odd. Not with me. Not ever with me, kitten."

"But-"

He shook his head, "No buts. Not right now, okay? I just want to be with you right now and -"

"But Spike-"

"You done with your sandwich?"

She blinked at him in confusion. "Yeah, why?"

"Let's swing in the hammock."

"What?"

He stood and reached out his hand, "Come on. Come with me, please."

Tentatively, she reached out and took his hand. Kissing her quickly, he led her to the hammock and they scooted on it, quite ungracefully, but it made her laugh and that was all he cared about. Under the shade of two trees, they swung, and shortly fell asleep.

**************

Waking up slowly, Spike was distinctly aware that this was not his bed, and Anya was not the one tucked into his side.

He looked down and smiled. Buffy. How long had they been asleep?

Glancing down at his watch, he surmised at least an hour had gone by. Buffy stirred beside him and he watched her fight it and then start to stretch, letting out little moans of protest along the way. Then her eyes fluttered open and fell on him. She smiled, thank you Gods in Heaven, she smiled.

"How long have I been asleep?" she asked.

"Only an hour."

She yawned, "Sorry."

"Don't be. I slept too."

She looked up and around, seeming deep in thought and he watched her, wondering what was going on in her head.

Finally, she looked up at him with a soft, little grin, “This is nice.”

“What the yard? Or . . . ?”

She smiled fuller now, shyly, “The ‘or’.”

He relaxed, not knowing how tense he was until he felt his muscles give way. “You . . . like it?

She nodded, “I do. It’s been a long time since I’ve just been held.”

Scooting down so that their heads were level, he leaned in and kissed her, sweetly, not pushing for anything, just hoping to offer her the continued peace that seemed to have settled over her.

He parted, leaning his forehead against hers, with an arm wrapped around her middle. “I like to hold you, so I can do it at anytime you want—“

“Anya,” she blurted out.

He blinked, “What about her?”

“She’s going to be upset,” she sighed, turning her head and looking up towards the sky.

“Buffy, we’re broken up. I broke up with her because of you—“

“Y-you did?” she asked, her eyes widening and looking back at him.

“Haven’t you figured that part out yet?”

“You said it was because you weren’t in love with – oh. Oh.” She started to make toward climbing out of the hammock and he pulled her back against him.

“Buffy, stop. Don’t run from me.”

“But you—you . . . You—“

“Buffy, I didn’t say it, did I?”

“It’s implied.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not pushing for anything from you. I’m just asking that you stay here and talk to me. And tomorrow I’m going to ask for you to spend some time with me. That’s all. We’ll take it one day at a time, okay?”

“But Anya –“

“Anya’s ego was hurt more than anything else. She wasn’t in love with me was she?”

“No, but she’s not going to take kindly to the fact that we – that we –“

“That we’re friends?”

“We had sex!”

“I’m not going to tell her, are you?”

“No!.”

“Then?”

She rolled her eyes, “Men. You have such simple answers for everything.” This time she succeeded in crawling off the hammock. She looked at him, exasperated, with her hands on her hips.

“Because it is simple Buffy!” he exclaimed, climbing out and facing her down from the other side of the hammock.

“You obviously don’t understand the complexness of women relationships.”

“You’re right, I don’t. I don’t understand why Anya, whom I not with anymore and who, might I add, was just setting you up the other night with Captain Cardboard, would stand in the way of your happiness with someone else. Even if it is me. If she was your friend, she’d get over it and let you live your life.”

She stared at him and then started to laugh. He stared at her, wondering if she’d gone mad.

“Captain Cardboard?” she said between laughter.

He grinned, “Well, yeah.”

“Spike,” she started when she’d calmed.

“Don’t say it. Don’t end this because of Anya.”

“This? What is ‘this’? There is no ‘this’.”

“There will be.”

“Spike—“

“I’m asking you to spend time with me Buffy. Stop thinking so much. If you feel more comfortable not letting Anya know for now, don’t let her know. Just, God, Buffy, I just want to spend some time with you.” He hadn’t meant for the last part to come out so needy, but it had, and he just hoped she didn’t reject him.

She sighed resolutely, “Okay.”

“Okay,” he smiled, “Can I seal that with a kiss?”

She broke into a light smile, “Yes.”

He held out his hand, “Come here.”

Coming around the hammock, she took his hand and he brought her in the circle of his arms, kissing her soundly. Kissing the top of her forehead he said, “I want to show you something.”

“What?”

“My parents.”

“Your parents?”

He nodded, and released her. Taking her hand, he led her in the house and into the living room. In the corner of the navy and cream room was a little makeshift reading area with a coffee table, a lamp and a bookcase next to it. On the coffee table was a picture of his parents and himself at ten years old. He picked it up and handed it to her.

“Spike, you were so cute!”

He frowned, “’Were’?”

She looked up at him with a teasing smile, “Give me a break. You know you’re hot.”

He grinned, “Still like to hear you say it.”

Rolling her eyes, she gazed back down at the picture. “You look like your Dad. What was his name?”

“William Robert Gardner.”

“So you’re a junior.”

“I think you know I’m not a junior.”

She giggled. “But, you have your mother’s eyes.”

“Whose eyes do you have, sweetheart?”

She wrinkled her nose. “My Dad’s.” Then she looked up at him and smiled. “Thank you.”

“For?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“I know. Lunch.”

“We’ll go with that then.”

“So . . . dinner?”

“I can’t. Anya’s coming by after she gets out of work . . . “

“Okay,” he nodded, “Tomorrow then?”

She took a deep breath, “Tomorrow.”

Chapter Eleven



Buffy wasn’t ready to get up just yet. She felt completely drained from the day before and sore in places she hadn’t been sore in for a really long time. Rolling onto her back, she stared up at the ceiling and out of the corner of her eye, she could see Doyle’s picture on her nightstand.

Well, that did it.

Tired, she got up, resenting every movement and padded down the stairs to make coffee. She was still having a hard time wrapping her mind around the fact she’d gone to see Spike with one task in mind and somehow ended up having sex with him on the trunk of an old car. The whole day after that had a sort of surreal feeling to it, as if she were someone else.

What was it about that man that made her unable to control herself? Aside from his good looks, tight body and heart -stopping smile.

His kindness, the way he listened to her and understood her, the way he saw right to the heart of her and didn’t let her hide. Course, not letting her hide was also what drove her crazy about him. He challenged her.

Had Doyle challenged her?

That thought horrified her. She couldn’t believe she even thought it. There would be no comparing and contrasting Doyle and Spike. They were like apples and oranges and Doyle had been her husband, her love. Spike was . . . Spike was … she couldn’t even define it. Her friend? Yes, but he felt more than that, especially after having sex with him, but it was more than that . . . She just couldn’t define it.

Perhaps it was the fact alone that she had had sex with him that was muddling her thoughts. She had never been the type to have casual affairs -- that was Anya and Faith. Buffy had a few boyfriends in high school, but never had sex until she met Doyle in college. He’d been it.

Until now.

Could she define this as moving on or was Spike some kind of rite of passage she had to go through? Like a rebound guy she had to lean on in order to pull herself together.

The fact of the matter was, she didn’t know what to make of any of it aside from the fact that she felt compelled to hide it from Anya to protect her and their friendship and she was not yet ready to tell Faith because she just didn’t know what was happening. Was it possible to just not know?

Sipping her coffee, Buffy decided she had to get out for a while. She just needed to take a drive, maybe stop by the gallery, generally just needed to get out of the house and clear her head.

She ignored the voice in her head that told her that she was avoiding Spike. She ignored the other voice that argued back she wouldn’t be able to avoid Spike for long.

Instead, Buffy decided she was developing an acute case of schizophrenia.

**********
Spike watched Buffy pull in her driveway with a wry smile. He hadn’t been waiting long, only a half hour, but he had to wonder if she was avoiding him.

Actually, he didn’t have to wonder. He knew she was. He expected it actually, which was why he didn’t just turn around and go home to wait for her to call or come over. He was going to prove to Buffy Summers – Doyle that he was not going anywhere, no matter what she did – or didn’t do.

He stood, the cooler he’d brought over next to him.

Climbing out of her car, she gave him a funny look. “Hi,” she said uncertainly.

“Hi.”

She came over, fiddling with her keys, “Have you been here long?”

“Not at all.”

“I figured you’d call . . . “

“Well, I decided to take my chances and stop by. Not avoiding me are you?”

She walked past him, heading for the door. “No, of course not.”

With her back to him, Spike leaned in from behind, placing a hand on the door and brushed his lips across her ear. “You wouldn’t be lying to me, would you Buffy?” he whispered huskily.

She shivered, a fact he noted smugly. “No,” she told him indignantly.

“Can I get my kiss now?”

“Not out here,” she reprimanded, slipping her key in the door and unlocking it. Once the door was open, she stepped inside and turned. Her mouth opened, ready to say something, and he beat her to the chase by kissing her soundly instead.

“You were going to say?” he asked when he parted, resting his forehead against hers.

Flushed, with her eyes slightly glazed over she cleared her throat and shook her head. “I – uh – I don’t remember.”

Kissing her quickly, he released her and went for his cooler. “I brought some food; some steak.”

A brow rose, “For lunch?”

“Or, for dinner.”

She smirked, “Oh really?”

He grinned at her, “Can’t blame a bloke for trying can you?”

“You’re kind of sly like Anya, you sure you don’t want her back?”

Spike laughed, “Anya is not that sly. She’s pretty straight-forward. And no, I don’t want her back. Remember why I broke up with her in the first place?”

“So, steak huh? You going to make them or do I have to?”

He decided to let it go that she’d ignored his question. “I’ll make them. You can just sit and look pretty,” he teased.

“I’ll make mashed potatoes and gravy instead.”

“See? You’re already helping. And hey, guess what?”

“What?”

“I’ve got a box of condoms, with all the condoms.”

Buffy burst out laughing and walked away from him, “Shut the door, please.”

Well, he thought, that’s a step in the right direction. She didn’t kick me out.

****************

“So, how is Anya anyway?” Spike asked, as they sat outside on the grass on a blanket – his request – with some lemonade, chips, and ham and cheese sandwiches between them.

“She’s fine. She just wanted to make sure I delivered the message.”

“You were sweating it out, weren’t you?”

She laughed airily, “I was. I’m not very good at lying in case you didn’t know.”

“I never would have guessed,” he said in mock disbelief, stretching out on his side and looking up at her.

She swatted him playfully and sat up on her heels. “Aren’t you a funny man? She didn’t stay long, just had to do the play by play of what you said and I even had to act it out.”

“Act it out?”

“You know facial expressions and all that. Your tone of voice, all of that stuff women do when they like a guy.”

“Oh really? I didn’t know facial expressions and the tone of voice was important.”

Buffy nodded profusely, “Oh but it is! Because if they sounded indifferent, or excited, or just pretending to be indifferent, but kind of curious, it all makes a difference.”

Spike shook his head in disbelief. “It all sounds like a lot of work to me.”

“It is,” Buffy said, wrinkling her nose. “That in itself does not make me want to join the dating world any sooner.”

“Well,” Spike drawled and reached out, tugging on her arm and making her tumble in next to him. He wrapped an arm around her, drawing her close. “You don’t have to worry about the dating world.”

She raised a brow, “Oh?”

He nodded and brushed her hair through his fingers away from her face. “You’re not allowed to join it as a matter of fact.”

She giggled. “Says you, right?”

He smiled,” That’s my girl,” he said proudly and kissed her before she could retort with an ‘I’m not your girl’. She was his girl; she just didn’t know it yet.

Rolling her so that he was nestled between her legs, and kicking and shoving all food particles aside, he kissed her leisurely, committing her taste to memory, savoring every moan and every flick of her tongue against his. He was rock hard and straining in his pants and she was wearing another one of those damn sundresses again. He ground himself against her and delighted in the gasp that escaped her parted mouth.

He grinned down at her, dotting her face with kisses. “You drive me mad,” he whispered between kisses. “I’m insane for you; want you so much Buffy.”

She kissed him eagerly and it occurred to him that Buffy was starved for affection. She’d gone so long without it that maybe saying she was ‘hard up’ was not that far off. Though there were better ways to say it, and he regretted ever saying it so crassly. There was a passionate, loving woman hiding behind the walls of grief, doubt and her, he thought perhaps, misguided loyalty to her friend – for what true friend would keep her from finding true happiness? Buffy could be perhaps right though, perhaps he truly didn’t understand the complexities of women relationships. Men were wired different. They didn’t let women get between them, especially if they knew said woman made their friend happy. Seemed the complete opposite for women however; seemed there was an unwritten rule – or rules—in the ways of men, women and relationships. One of them being: Thou shalt not covet thy friends ex boyfriend. Even if said ex boyfriend only left ex girlfriend because he was insane for the friend.

Augh! His mind was muddled with it. How did women do it?

Back to making love to Buffy. Ah, sweet Buffy. World be damned when she was in his arms, responding to his touch and his words – note to self: Compliment Buffy every chance you get.

He was back to hiking her skirt up again and she giggled into his mouth. He drew his head back, “What’s that then?”

“All we need is a car; seems we’re already in a pattern.”

He grinned and grabbed hold of her panties again. Her eyes widened and he dutifully ripped them.

“Spike!”

“Well, if we’re going to continue the trend. . “ he said and descended to nibble on her delectable neck.

“We should –“ moan “—go inside.”

“Nonsense. The hedged and fence are high enough to block us from prying eyes. Besides, I want you so much, Buffy, I can’t wait for inside. I need you now.”

“Condom?”

“Pocket.”

“Presumptuous?”

“Prepared.”

“That works,” and she placed her hands on the hem of his shirt. Moving her hands from there, he pushed them down to the snap of his jeans.

“Here,” he rasped with need, “Here’s where I need your touch.”

Fumbling with his snap and zipper, she succeeded in pushing his pants down off his hips. As an after thought, she reached in his pockets to extract the condom and then used her slender legs to push his pants down the rest of the way.

He groaned, “Knew I liked you for a reason.”

She smiled and kissed him sweetly and he tangled his fingers in her hair, deepening the kiss to all out hunger.

Not wanting to release her for even a second, but knowing he had to get the condom on; he reared up on his heels and ripped open the packet. Brushing his fingers away, she took the condom out and slid it down his length, pumping him with her hot, delicate little hands.

“Fuck,” he muttered when she squeezed the tip and slid down his shaft once more.

Growling, he pushed her back down and she wrapped her legs around him, grinding her center against his rock hard cock. “Spike, please,” she moaned.

“Baby, I want to make sure you’re ready for me.”

“I’m ready,” she said in husky, phone sex voice that he hoped to hear more of. To emphasize her point, she reached between them and guided him into her. “See?” she moaned as he slid inside, “All wet and ready.”

“Oh God Buffy, you don’t know what you do to me,” he groaned and slid slowly out before sliding slowly back in.

“Mmmm. . . feels so good.”

Reaching under her bottom, he lifted her hips higher, allowing him to go deeper into her. Her eyes widened at the sensation and she slid her arms down his back. “Mmmm. I want to feel you,” she murmured, reaching for the hem of his shirt again.

“Not yet,” he told her and circled his hips, hitting her at just the right angle.

Her eyes shut and she brought his head down, kissing him languidly as he stroked himself in and out of her, his pace picking up. Reaching between them, he started flicking her clit to bring on her pleasure.

“Spike, oh god.”

“That’s it, cum for me, Buffy. Cum all over my cock, beautiful girl.”

Her eyes rolled and he felt her walls start to flutter around him; she was going to go off at any moment. “Look at me when you cum, Buffy. I want you to look at me.”

Her eyes flew open and she let out a silent cry of pleasure, her walls tightening and milking him, sending him into his orgasm. He cried her name, and pumped his cock in and out, riding out his orgasm.

Collapsing against her, he buried his face in her neck, nuzzling it lazily.

“Am I crushing you?” he asked softly.

“No,” she said tiredly.

“Mind if I stay like this for a while?”

“Not at all,” she sighed, sounding happily sated.

Adjusting himself to gaze down at her, she smiled lazily up at him, her skin flushed and damp from sweat, her lips plump from his kisses. One thought ran through his mind as he beheld her: I’m in love with you, Buffy.

“You know, I’m not going to have any panties left at this rate,” Buffy said, frowning at him as she scooped up her torn garment off the blanket and dangled it in front of her.

Snapping up his jeans, Spike grinned at her, “Well then, go without.”

“Yes, I’m sure it’d be a nice show for everyone down at the grocery store.”

“Let me amend that. Go without with me, but not for anyone else.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, “So caveman of you. Keep me ‘accessible’?”

“Yeah, why not?” he teased, eyes twinkling in humor.

“Yeah, not even on especially ‘randy’ days was Doyle ---“ she stopped abruptly. “Sorry.”

Getting a far away look in her eyes, she looked down.

Coming over to her, Spike placed a hand on her shoulder and tried not to let it hurt him when she flinched at his touch. “Buffy, it’s okay. You can talk to me about him. You did before, you can still.”

“It was different before,” she said softly.

“How?”

“You were with – and I was just – there was no –“ she gestured between them, “This.”

“This doesn’t change how you can still talk to me, Buffy. It’s just . . . it’s another layer.”

“So, I can have sex with you and still talk about my dead husband and it won’t bother you?”

“Buffy, I have no illusion that I’ll somehow ever replace Doyle. I’m not under the illusion that you don’t still think of him, and miss him, and love him still. He was your husband and you lost him way before it was time. And I know that when starting on something new like this, you’re going to think of him—“

She shook her head, “I don’t even know what this is, Spike. Don’t you get it? I don’t know what this is. I don’t know what to do. I feel like a fish out of water. The pieces don’t fit-“

“Oh, no. That’s where you’re wrong. The pieces do fit. Very well, I might add. It just starts with two Buffy, and then the other pieces fall into place. I’m here to tell you to take that time. I’m not pushing you to start a new life and be done with the old without having the time to reconcile yourself with it all. I’m just asking if I can be there with you, by your side, on the journey. With me you don’t have to be a widow, or a surrogate sister, or an obligated best friend. All you have to be is you, Buffy. The good days and the bad days, I’ll take them. There’s no rush.”

Her eyes welled up in tears, “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he whispered and gathered her in his arms.

“I am anyway.”

”Who am I to argue with a lady?”

She snorted and looked up at him, wiping her eyes. He smiled down at her, batting her hands away lightly so he could brush her tears away. “Can I make a suggestion that might make it easier?”

She groaned and pointed a finger at him, “Don’t. I know what you’re going to say.”

“We could go twenty rounds on this Buffy. Tell Anya. It’ll help with the guilt factor. I can’t help with the guilt you feel for Doyle, but you can help the guilt you feel for Anya.”

“I’m not ready yet, Spike. I was kind of hoping to wait until she found someone else.”

“She hasn’t yet?”

She’s fast, but not that fast.”

He shrugged.

She eyed him curiously, “It wouldn’t bother you?”

“What wouldn’t bother me?”

“If she was dating someone else. Would you be jealous?”

He shook his head, “No, Buffy, I wouldn’t be jealous. If you remember how I wanted to rip Captain Cardboard’s arms off for just being there – and that was all because of you kitten.” Leaning in, he punctuated the statement with a peck on her nose. “Hey, Buffy, what are you planning to do with all that upturned soil over there?” he asked.

Glancing over, she groaned. “That is my garden. The garden I neglected for a year. When I was angry with you last week, I needed a way to relieve some of my stress so I started working on it. I imagined I was ripping your legs off every time I pulled a weed.”

“Gee, thanks.”

She laughed, “Anytime. I have some plants in the garage ready to be transplanted in there. I just haven’t had the chance to do it yet.”

He grinned, “Let’s do it now.”

“Now?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“No reason why not, I guess. I mean, are you sure you want to?” she was looking at him as if he were nuts.

“I’m sure I want to,” he said, nodding resolutely.

She broke out in a wide smile and he could see the excitement in her eyes. “Okay. Do you know anything about planting?”

“Not really, but you could teach me.”

“On one condition.”

Eyebrow raised he asked suspiciously, “What?”

“You teach me about cars. I know nothing and I hate being the ‘damsel in distress’ or the woman who gets swindled when I take my car in.”

“Buffy, you just bought a new car.”

”There will come a day when I need something done to it.”

“And that’s why I’m here.”

She let out an exasperated sigh. “Are you going to show me or not?”

He laughed, “Yes, I’ll show you, grease monkey. Only if you promise to wear those overalls you used when painting the fence.”

Her brows knit in confusion. “My overalls? Why?”

“Because they make me want to rip them off you. I need incentive, and undressing you is definitely an incentive.”

“No wonder you and Anya started dating – you’re both so—“ She never got to finish that sentence because he clamped a hand over her mouth, effectively stopping her.

“Stop talking about Anya and I in terms of dating, please. We’re not together anymore and it’s not helping you tell her if you keep referring to ways Anya and I would be perfect together. We’re not. I don’t want to be with Anya. I want to be with you. She never got me the way you get me.”

She nodded in agreement and peeled his hand off her mouth. “Okay, but there’s something I want you to do for me that you never did for her then.”

He tucked his tongue behind his front teeth and leered at her, waggling his brows, “And that would be?”

“I want you to tell me why you refuse to take your shirt off during sex.”

Spike froze. He had not expected that to come out of her mouth. Not at all. All he could do was stare at her, his mind going blank. His girl was not dumb, no sir, not his Buffy. She was smart as a whip and just as he'd suspected, she wouldn't let it go for long. She'd caught on right quick and he knew that trying to distract her would not work at all.

"Spike, I'm waiting." She folded her arms across her chest and studied him. "I know Anya thought it was 'kinky' and never asked. I also know she didn't really put that much thought into it, but I always wondered."

"Y-you knew?"

She rolled her eyes, "You really do have a lot to learn about women. Women talk, Spike."

"Great, you guys can compare notes now," he snapped.

"No," she said gently, "no note comparing. I usually tell Anya to stop when she starts getting into her sexcapades. And trust me, after we - started -this," she stumbled on the words, "I didn't want to hear about it concerning you."

"Why?" he asked hoarsely.

"Because I was jealous."

He couldn't help the smile that was lifting the corners of his mouth. "You were? Really?"

She nodded. "Really. Doesn't mean I haven't noticed the whole keeping- the- shirt- on thing on my own though. I mean, first time, I can understand to an extent, in a garage, kind of awkward and a little rushed-"

"Hey!"

"I didn't say I didn't enjoy it. I'm just saying it wasn't so noticeable then. But today. . ." she trailed off, gazing down at the blanket. "I wanted to take your shirt off and touch you and you distracted me-nicely-but still. What's going on? You have a scar you don't want to -"

"Yes," he said softly. "I have a scar. And I'm very self-conscious about it."

"You've seen my nose, right?"

He looked up at her, startled, "Huh?"

"My nose," she said, pressing her finger to it and wrinkling it, causing him to chuckle. "It's weird, right? I used to get teased all the time about it-"

"I love your nose!"

She smiled, "Thank you, but it's not your 'conventional' nose."

"Buffy, nothing about you is conventional," he told her matter-of-factly.

"Thanks, but my point is, I used to hate it. Thought it was the worst part of me and I begged and begged and begged for my parents to let me get plastic surgery to get it fixed. Then, when they said no, I swore I'd save up the money. And I did for a little while, but you know, as I got older, my nose grew on me."

"Kind of like Pinocchio?"

"Ha ha. I looked in the mirror one day and I realized my nose didn't define me, but it did make me unique. It made me Buffy. To get rid of it would be . . . a travesty, a sin. It'd be getting rid of something that was part of me and how could I do that?"

"I'd hate to see how you feel about people with an extra arm that have the opportunity to get it removed," Spike said dryly.

She gave him a look, "Don't do that Spike. You tell me not to hide, so I'm telling you not to hide. If I have to be me, then you have to be you. And if you have a scar, then it's part of you and I don't care-"

"I had a heart transplant, Buffy," he blurted out softly, so softly, he was sure he'd have to repeat himself.

She blinked, "What?"

"Remember how I told you my uncle had the transplant?"

She nodded.

"It was me, it wasn't him."

"Why-why did you lie to me? Why did you say that it was someone else when it was you?"

He hung his head.

"Spike," she said gently, walking to him and touching his arm, "Spike, look at me, please."

He looked up at her, afraid for some reason that she would reject him for it. That she would treat him like a freak, or handle him with kid gloves, as if he would break.

"Why are you ashamed of it?" she asked, her brow furrowing in complete confusion, as if she just couldn't wrap her mind around it.

No scorn, no pity, no drawing away from him. He straightened. "Something in me failed. It just stopped working right and after my parents . . . "

"You feel like you failed."

And there it was. The reason he felt so connected to her, the reason why he felt more and more everyday that she was his salvation-his light at the end of a lonely and dark tunnel. She got him.

"Spike, no," she shook her head, "You didn't fail. You're here, how can you see that as failing? You succeeded! You're alive and you're well - you are well, aren't you?"

He nodded, "Yes."

"I think it's amazing. Truly amazing. A miracle. Spike, bodies are faulty, they are not wired to stay together forever. Things happen - accidents," she paused and took a deep breath, gathering herself from that, "happen. The fact is, you're standing right here in front of me and that's something to be happy about, not something to be ashamed of."

Oh God, he felt like a poncy git. His bloody eyes were welling up in bloody tears at her words. And then, when he thought he could somehow hold himself together and maybe jet off to the bathroom to gather himself - she launched herself in his arms and wrapped her arms around him, pressing her lips to his scar, to his heart, and kissed it.

"You're not broken, and you're not a failure. You're Spike."

"Buffy," he whispered, quite close to losing it.

She looked up at him and smiled. Leaning up on her tiptoes, she cradled his face in her hands and kissed him, sweetly. "It's okay, Spike. You don't have to be anyone but you. I don't want you to hide from me. You don't let me hide and I'm sure as hell not going to let you hide. Especially over something that you should be celebrating, not spending your time being ashamed of."

The tears - the buggers-were falling from his eyes now freely, and she didn't laugh at him for it. Instead, she kissed each tear away, which only caused them to fall faster.

She was an angel. That was all there was to it. She was an angel and she was there, on this Earth, for him. To heal him, and he, he hoped with everything in him, he was her angel, sent to heal her.

With a whimper, he wrapped his arms about her waist and lifted her slightly, crushing his lips to her in a wholly demanding kiss. "I need you," he told her hoarsely.

She kissed him amorously, "Inside," she whispered.

He nodded and let her guide him, thinking he meant that in two ways: One, he needed her in his life because she completed him and healed him, and, he did need her, needed to be inside her and feel her surrounding him because it was her.

"I have to get the condoms in my car," he moaned regretfully.

"Go, I'll be waiting in the living room," she said huskily and he tore out to his car in record speed.

Coming back inside, he ran into the living room where she was perched on the couch, her sundress discarded -- everythingdiscarded.

"Jesus, you're gorgeous," he murmured, his eyes absorbing her sun-kissed skin.

She crooked her finger at him, "Come here."

Tossing the box on the coffee table, he all but dove on top of her. He wrapped his arms around her, his hands skimming over her body, feeling the satiny smoothness of her skin.

"My angel," he whispered, and took a breast in his mouth, suckling from it and cupping the other in his hand, slightly tweaking her nipple. Her fingers tunneled through his hair and he buried his face in the valley between her breasts, intent on tasting her, intent on tasting every inch of her. Sitting back, he took one long slender leg and pressed kisses on her feet, chuckling when she scrunched up her nose and looked away. He repeated the same action to the other leg and then laid it down, adjusting himself on his knees to worship her. Kissing up her calves and thighs, Buffy moaned and pulled at him, begging for more.

"Sit up, baby."


She moved so that she sat before him and he immediately spread her wide for him. Leaning forward, he inhaled her sweet nectar and his mouth watered. Pulling her so that her bottom rested on the edge of the cushion, he gave her one long lick up her slit. Her hips jerked and she moaned.

He licked his lips, "Mmmm, you taste like honey, Buffy."

Running her fingers through his hair, she put pressure on his head and he chuckled. Kitten wanted more. But that was fine cause the cat wanted more cream.

Parting her nether lips with his fingers, he twirled his tongue around her clit and then sucked it in his mouth, taking delight in the mewls that escaped her. Wetting his finger by sucking it into his mouth, he inserted it inside her, curled his finger to find the spongy bundle of nerves, and when he did, she nearly bucked up off the couch. With his finger inside her, causing her to thrash and moan on the couch before him, Spike busied himself with taking his pleasure from her juicy and sweet pussy. Licking up the juices that were flowing freely, he suckled her clit into his mouth and she exploded.

She was panting heavily and whimpering, nearly sobbing out her release. Extracting his finger, he spent ample time cleaning her of her spendings, all the while moaning in delight.

"Spike," she whimpered, "I want you up here."

Spike stood and watched her as she cupped her own breasts in her hands and tweaked her nipples.

Gods, but she was the hottest thing he'd ever seen. Kicking off his shoes and discarding his pants, he leaned over her, placing his hands on either side of her head and kissed her passionately. She wrapped her arms around him.

"Take off your shirt," she whispered.

"Not ready for that just yet, okay?"

"Okay, when you're ready."

He did however, let her run her hand up and inside his shirt, he froze when her fingers skirted over his scar and then descended down, only to go back up. He watched her face as she traced his scar, the gash that started just below his collar and went down across his chest, right over the heart she had now claimed as her own, but did not know. She smiled tenderly as she did traced it, and he was brought nearly to his knees when she said "Beautiful."

Gulping he grabbed a condom and again, she insisted on putting it on him. Still leaning over the couch, he really almost did collapse when she bent and took him in her mouth. His eyes shut and he swore. She suckled the head into her mouth while her hand pumped him and then fondled his balls.

That was all he could stand.

"Buffy, now," he rasped and she nodded.

Lying back on the couch, she opened her arms and her legs to receive him and the thought passed through his mind that she probably didn't even realize how freely she gave herself to him; how she opened herself up for him and caught him every time.

Sliding himself inside her and falling into her embrace, he thought, 'home'. Slowly, they made love; their bodies moving together in synchronicity. They whispered endearments to each other, nonsensical words that only they understood. They kissed and moved, writhed and moaned, and when they reached the crescendo they each let go, reaching for the heavens together and making it; only to fall together with their arms wrapped around each other.

Buffy fell asleep soon after, curled in his arms and Spike watched her as she slept. Studied her nose that he loved, her eyelashes, and how they curled and brushed on her cheek. He kissed her cheek and delighted in how her face turned toward his, seeking him out, and he too fell asleep soon after, wrapped in the arms of his angel on Earth.

“Oh my God!”

“Don’t you knock?”

Buffy jerked awake and shot up, trying to gather her bearings. Faith. Faith was standing in the doorway, her mouth gaping open, eyes wide.

Looking down, Buffy noticed she was as naked as the day she was born – and so was Spike, well, except for the shirt he wore. Currently, he was trying to free the blanket from the back of the couch, which was proving difficult since he was laying half on it, and it was tucked into the cushion.

“I never knock!” Faith shouted at him.

“Well maybe you should start!” Spike snapped at her and finally succeeded in un-tucking the blanket and covering them.

Jerking into action, Buffy jumped up and took the blanket with her.

“Hey!” Spike exclaimed. “My dangly bits are all out for the world to see!”

Deftly, while trying to wrap herself in the blanket, Buffy reached to the floor and picked up his pants, tossing them at his “dangly bits” while Faith snorted at him.

Finally, wrapping the blanket around her with as much grace as she could muster, Buffy faced Faith. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“How are you?”

“Not as well as you apparently.”

“Faith—“

Faith held up her hand. “It’s okay.”

“You’re not mad?”

“Stunned, right now. Possibly scarred for life – dude, you’re like my sister. I don’t want to think of you having sex. Ever. Not even when it was with my brother.”

Without warning, Buffy burst into tears.

“Buffy?” Spike said, concerned.

“Listen naked boy,” Faith said and Spike glared at her. “Can you give us a sex? I mean sec?”

Spike nodded dumbly from his spot on the couch, his pants covering his crotch. He was focused on Buffy, clearly worried.

Faith took Buffy’s arm and practically ran up the stairs, leading her to the bedroom.

Buffy wrenched back, shaking her head, horrified. “He’ll know!”

“Buffy—“

“Guest room,” Buffy declared and stumbled into the cream room, tripping over the blanket.

“B—what happened?” Faith asked softly.

“You don’t hate me do you?” Buffy asked through her tears.

“Buffy, no, I don’t – I knew it would happen sooner or later. I knew you liked him and he liked you.”

“B-but I didn’t know that this,” a deep shuddering breath, “was going to happen.” She shook her head emphatically, “I didn’t plan on it, I didn’t know. It just happened and – and—“

“Buffy, stop!”

“What?” Buffy asked, clearly trying to hold back more tears.

“Buffy, I’m not Doyle.”

A sob shuddered through Buffy and she nodded, “I know.”

“You don’t have to confess to me. I . . . I kind of knew it was going to happen. I knew I’d come over one day and he’d be here.”

“You did?” Buffy asked, her eyes widening.

Faith nodded, “I did.”

“H—how?”

Her surrogate sister shrugged. “Just a feeling I had. After that talk we had yesterday, I said to myself ‘Spike is gonna be here soon’. I just didn’t expect to see so so much of him.”

Through her tears, Buffy giggled. Sitting down on the guest room bed, she wiped at her tears with the edge of the blanket wrapped around her. “Somehow it’s like he knows now, you know?”

“Doyle?”

Buffy nodded.

“Because I know?” Faith asked, sitting next to her.

“Yeah. I’m not quite sure how that works, but that’s what it feels like.”

“Maybe you should have waited until you were, I don’t know, really ready to engage in a relationship before—“

“We’re not in a relationship,” Buffy said quickly. “We’re just . . . just—“

“Sleeping together naked?”

“--having sex."

“Buffy . . . that’s not you.”

“How do you know?” Buffy asked, indignantly.

“Because I just know. And with all the guilt you feel right now because of Doyle – well, Buffy, I think you feel something for this guy. I think that’s the reason why you’re so upset right now. You can almost justify ‘just having sex’. It’s quite another to justify having feelings for someone else.”

“What if he –What if he hates me?” Buffy asked mournfully, her eyes welling up in fresh tears.

“Doyle? Hate you?” Faith asked as if Buffy had lost her mind.

Buffy nodded.

“Never,” Faith assured her resolutely and wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her close, offering her comfort. “Buffy . . . Doyle would want you to be happy. He wouldn’t want you to live the rest of your life alone. Even when part of me feels I need to defend him against men sniffing around you, even I know he’d want you to find happiness.”

“Do you think he’d like Spike?”

Faith chuckled, “I think he’d make fun of that nickname of his. But yeah,” she nodded, “I think he’d like him. I think he’d like that he brought a smile to your face. You know how Doyle loved to see you smile.”

Buffy nodded, tears escaping her that she could not control. “Yeah, and he was always good at making me smile. I just – I wish there was a way to tell him, you know? A way to tell him, and a way to know that he was okay with it.”

“Well,” Faith began thoughtfully, “There is a way to tell him.”

“How?”

“We could go see him. Visit his grave and talk to him. I’ll come with you if you want.”

Buffy sniffed. “I’d like that.”

“Maybe you could introduce Spike to him?”

Buffy shook her head, “Telling him is one thing, introducing is quite another. I’m not ready for that yet. Spike might not even be here next week.”

“I think he will be. The bastard.”

“Yeah, well . . . nothing is certain in this life Faithy.”

“I think the one thing you can be certain of is Spike. In the short time I’ve known the guy, he doesn’t strike me as the love em’ and leave em’ type. If he were, well—“ she waggled her brows and smirked knowingly.

“Faith!”

Faith laughed, “Knew I could get a rise out of you.”

“And what exactly do you base it on, huh? The fact that he pursued me while he was still with Anya?”

“Wait. Is he still with her now? If he is, I’ll rip his fucking—“

“He’s not. And if he were, what does that say about me? Hell, I kissed him while he was dating her. ”

“Wow, I’m really out of the loop on this. He break up with her for you?”

“He did.”

“What does that tell you?”

“I’m afraid of what that tells me.”

“Does Anya know?”

“No, she doesn’t. Seems like there’s so much work involved . . . maybe it’s not right,” Buffy said on a sigh. “Should it be this much work?”

“That’s your fear talkin’.”

“Yeah, I guess it is.”

“You know, I forgot he was with her.”

“You did?” Buffy asked, incredulous. “How? You were here the whole day with him at the party. She was hanging all over him—“

“Exactly. She was hanging all over him. Not the other way around. You know what I saw? I saw him watching you.” She took a deep breath. “I have a confession to make.”

“You told him to back off?”

“How’d you know?”

“He pretty much told me. Well, he asked me if the reason I had you come with us that day we were running errands is because I felt uncomfortable with him. He mentioned you had said something to him, though I didn’t know exactly what.” Rubbing her head, Buffy sighed heavily, “God, everything has just . . . spiraled.”

“I think that’s what’s supposed to happen. Buffy, you remember when you started dating Doyle? You guys were married within a year—“

Buffy shook her head, “Not the same, Faith,” Buffy said sternly. “Doyle and Spike are completely different. It’s not the same.”

“Whoa, calm down there, killer.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just . . . I’m a mess.”

“But you like him a lot, don’t you?”

“I do. I just don’t know how to measure ‘a lot’.”

“You have time, Buffy. You don’t have to figure everything out right now.”

“I know. Spike said the same thing, pretty much.”

“He just gained a point.”

Buffy smiled, “So, you’d come with me? To talk to your brother?”

“As long as you need me, babe, I’m there.”

“Could you stay for dinner? Spike got us steak, but I could really go for –“

“Please say pizza.”

Buffy smiled, “Yeah, pizza. Maybe you could get to know him a little more? It’d mean a lot to me if you did.”

“Only if I can tease him about his ‘dangly bits’.”

Buffy laughed, “I’ll leave you to it then.”

**********************

Spike was pacing. Part of him thought maybe he should go and give Buffy and Faith some space. The other part of him thought he should stay and see it through. See what through though exactly? He asked himself.

Having Faith come in on them was some sort of turning point, he knew that much. The girl after all, was Doyle’s sister. Having her know was probably even bigger than Anya knowing. Spike knew that as much guilt Buffy felt over Anya, it was nothing compared to what she felt for Doyle.

This, he knew, was big. And if Faith was unsupportive in any way, well . . . he didn’t want to think about the ‘Well’. The ‘well’ could have him out on his ass and Buffyless.

“No, no, no,” he moaned.

“Spike?”

His head whipped around and he watched, breath held, as Faith walked in the kitchen and went for the glasses.

He stared at her, waiting. Was Faith down here to tell him to go? Was Buffy up there waiting for him to go because she couldn’t face him?

Faith turned the faucet on, the sound startling Spike. His mouth was going dry.

Faith turned, leaning her rump against the sink and took a long sip of her water. She smirked, “Buffy will be down in a minute. She’s getting dressed.”

A wave of relief flooded him for half a second and then he tensed again. “Is she --?”

“Republican? No, she’s a Democrat. That going to be a problem?”

He glared at her.

Faith laughed, “You are fun. She’s changing and she’s okay. You’re not getting the boot if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Spike was torn between heaving a sigh of relief and keeping his defenses up in case Faith had something to say about it.

“It’s all right, I know you’re relieved,” Faith said, smirking at him.

Spike heaved that sigh just as Buffy came strolling in – this time in pants. She smiled at Spike. “Did Faith tell you?”

“Tell me . . . what?”

“I invited her for dinner. You think we could put those steaks away for another day and maybe get a pizza?”

Spike smiled, there was going to be ‘another day’, and, this is no way felt as she were shielding herself from him with Faith. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

Reaching for the pizza menu on top of the fridge, Buffy plopped it down in the middle of the island counter. “So, what do we want?”

Faith and Spike stood on either side of her, and Spike resisted the urge to jump up and down for joy when Buffy casually wrapped an arm about his waist as the three of them studied the menu and chatted about what to get.

Chapter Fifteen

“Buffy?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

“For?”

Cuddling her closer to him as they half- watched a movie, Spike pressed a kiss to Buffy’s forehead. “For letting me stay. For not kicking me out. For not making Faith your guardian tonight.”

Nestling her head back against him, she wrapped an arm across his middle. “She was a hurdle bigger than Anya.”

“I know.”

“I’m going to visit Doyle’s grave,” she told him softly. “Talk to him.”

“Tell him about me?”

“Yes.”

“Can I meet him sometime, Buffy?” Spike asked cautiously, not sure how she’d react to that request.

“Yes, I’d like that. Sometime.”

“You know what I’ve never seen?”

“What?”

“A picture of him.”

Buffy sighed, “Ah yes. The great picture embargo. It was Anya’s idea to get rid of memento’s. She had this whole ‘out of sight, out of mind’ idea. She was tired of finding me poring over pictures of him and balling my eyes out. Much like the day you met me.”

“I don’t agree with her on that completely,” Spike said, slightly annoyed. “You shouldn’t put him away as if you’re trying to forget, as if he never existed.”

“I don’t think that’s what she meant, Spike—“

“I know, I know. She has your best intentions at heart and all that, but . . . but it makes it harder when you don’t have those things there to remind you. It’s not dealing with your grief but rather trying to shove it away from you as if it isn’t there.”

“I have a picture of him on my nightstand,” she told him softly.

“You do?”

She nodded.

“Could I—could I see him?”

Sitting up, she looked at him. “You really want to?”

“I showed you my parents, didn’t I? That was important to me. I never showed Anya my parents.”

“What exactly did you and Anya do besides . . . fornicate?”

Spike grimaced.

“What’s that look for?” she teased.

“I just . . . Buffy … since I’ve met you it’s hard for me to even conceive of there having been other women before you. It’s like . . . you were always there and those others were just. . . just there to pass the time until I could get to you.”

She smiled softly, “That’s very sweet.” She furrowed her brow, “Sort of mean for the others – including my best friend, but okay.”

“It doesn’t scare you?”

“A little, but not in the way you think.”

“In what way then?”

“In the way that I’m afraid to hurt you because I can’t say the same.”

He nodded, looking down and shrugging slightly. “Well, you had a whole other life before. You were married and you loved your husband.”

“I still love him, Spike.” She took a deep breath. “I just need you to know, to understand, that no matter how this progresses, a part of me will always love Doyle and a part of me will always belong to him. Can you understand that? Accept that?”

“I’m not going to lie to you and say enthusiastically that yes, I accept that whole – heartedly and like it, but at the same time I know it’s realistic that a part of you will always love him and belong to him. It’s not realistic to say that a part of you won’t still love him. He was a major part of your life. So, yes, I understand it. It’s not something I can control and I don’t want to do that to you, Buffy. It wouldn’t be fair, would it? It’d be like saying that my aunt and uncle have replaced my parents and that to me; they’re my parents and always have been. It’s just not true. As much as I love my aunt and uncle, as much as I appreciate everything they’ve done for me, there isn’t a moment that goes by where I don’t wish my parents were still alive.”

Reaching out, she cupped the side of his face, “You’re pretty amazing you know that?”

He blushed, surprising them both. “Nah, I’m nothing that special,” he said, shrugging off her words.

“How can you say that? Spike, you lost your parents at fourteen, you had a heart transplant and survived – you’re kind and you’re caring and sometimes I forget how old you are. You’re wise beyond your years. Hell, you’re wise beyond my years. Not many men would want to take me on. Unless they’re Riley Finn--”

Spike growled at the mention of ‘Captain Cardboard’s’ name and she grinned.

“—But you,” she continued, “You are here and you haven’t given up. You won’t let me give up. You have the biggest heart –“

“It’s not my heart,” he said softly.

“Yes, it is. It is your heart. It was meant for you, as sad as that is for the ones that lost their loved one in order for you to get it. Doyle used to tell me that everyone has a purpose no matter how long or how short their life was. And that when their purpose has been served, it’s time for them to move on.”

Spike cocked his head to the side, “Do you believe that?”

“No,” she said and let out a short laugh, “Well, I did at one point. Then he died and I didn’t see how he was finished with his purpose. He had so much more to give and –“ she shook her head and broke off. “I lost a lot of my faith in a lot of things after he died. And, after what you told me about your heart transplant, and knowing how I feel so connected to you, like I can tell you anything, I think you’re slowly restoring my faith in things again; in life and living. I just . . . try to resist it sometimes.”

Spike’s eyes were shining and he looked away from her. “Woman . . . you . . . “

“What? Did I say something wrong?”

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he whispered. “This is the second time today you’ve nearly made me cry.”

“I’m sorry—“

“No, don’t be sorry. Don’t be sorry for that.” He looked at her and wiped at his eyes. “You heal me. It’s a good thing. I’ve spent so much time feeling broken somehow, and I myself have tried to shove it away. Tried to pretend that I didn’t care and that I was fine and just living my life, but until I met you, I never realized how I wasn’t truly living. I would think how I had a life to live and goals to meet and all that, but I never let anyone get close to me. Always kept people at a distance – even my aunt and uncle to some extent—and now . . . You –“ He shook his head. “You wormed your way in. I don’t know how you did it so fast and effortlessly, but you did and I can’t imagine –“ he cut himself off and pulled her into his arms, holding her tight against him, burying his face in her neck.

Buffy felt moved. That was the only way to describe it. Her heart swelled with something she couldn’t quite name, but she knew she felt it for the man holding her in his arms.

“Maybe it took two broken souls together to heal?” she suggested lightly.

He pulled back and searched her face. “Riley was broken in some way – do you think he would have sufficed?”

“No, I don’t,” she admitted softly.

He nodded and leaned in, kissing her softly. “It took you, and it took me.”

“Yes,” she whispered in agreement.

They stared at each other for a long moment, thinking of the day they’d first met and had those moments of understanding pass through them; those moments of communicating without words.

Finally, kissing him softly, Buffy whispered, “I’ll get the picture of Doyle.”

Chapter Sixteen

“Buffy! I didn’t expect you today, how’s it going?”

Buffy smiled at Willow as she entered the gallery, “Good, thanks. How are you?”

“Made a big sale today from one of the town’s favorite artists and a new one came courting today.”

“Any good?”

“She left some prints, want to take a look?”

“Of course I do. Lead the way.”

An hour later, Buffy was munching on a cobb salad with Willow and discussing the new artist, Tara McClay, and her potential with the gallery. Buffy was all for her showcasing her work as she’d been blown away by the woman’s Gothic style work.

Willow cocked her head to the side, “Buffy, you seem different.”

Picking out a mandarin orange, Buffy popped it in her mouth. “Oh?”

“You seem . . . happy.”

Buffy smiled, “I think I am. Happy, that is. I’m almost afraid to say it out loud actually. I’m afraid it’ll all go ‘poof’ before my eyes.”

“Can I ask a question?”

“Sure.”

“Did you meet someone?”

Buffy took pause. If she said yes, the news would eventually get back to Anya. While Anya and Willow weren’t the best of friends, they did know each other and chatted once in a while. Buffy shook her head, hoping her silence gave nothing away and said simply, “No.”

“You sure?”

“Don’t you think I’d know?”

“I heard about Anya and Spike.”

“Oh, yeah, that was uh, unfortunate,” Buffy nodded.

“I hear Anya has been out on the prowl looking for a replacement. She’s been unsuccessful so far.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, “She’ll never find anyone that way. The girl needs to relax and take her time. She’s too . . . quick to jump in the next relationship.”

“If you can call them relationships,” Willow remarked dryly.

“Well,” Buffy said, clearing her throat. “Who am I to judge?”

“Who are any of us? But I am anyway and I really think she’d have a shot at a normal, healthy relationship if she would just stop. . . You know. . . “

“Slightly whoring herself out?” Buffy suggested timidly.

“Exactly!”

“I gave up a long time ago trying to tell Anya that. Now I just listen – sometimes – and nod my head.”

“I think she was really upset by the whole Spike thing.”

Buffy nearly choked on the walnut she was munching on. “Oh?”

“I think she really liked him. I think she really thought he could have been the one.”

“Really?” Buffy questioned curiously. “She never told me that.”

“I don’t think Anya likes to burden you with things like that,” Willow said carefully, studying her friend apprehensively.

“What do you mean?” Buffy demanded.

“I mean she doesn’t want to tell you too many things that are going on because she doesn’t want to add to your plate.”

“My plate?”

“You know with Doyle . . . she just doesn’t want to burden you.“

“So, she keeps things from me because she doesn’t want to burden me.”

“Right. And because she doesn’t think you’d be able to handle her problems on top of hers, ” Willow said regretfully.

“Why wouldn’t I be able to handle it? What’s to handle?” Buffy nearly slammed her fork down. “You know. . . I’m not this little weakling. I don’t need coddling. I mean, I know I was a mess for a really long time and I know I still have moments, but people don’t need to keep things from me. Is there anything else I’m not being told?”

“No,” Willow shook her head.

Buffy looked at her sternly.

“Well, uh, I was a little worried about the gallery last month. We weren’t making a lot of sales and the general consensus seemed we needed new art and artists and a show—“

“And I’m just hearing about this now?”

“I didn’t want to worry you, Buffy!”

Taking a deep breath, Buffy stood and gathered her salad container and chucked it forcefully into the garbage. She stood there; facing the trash can for a long time, rubbing the back of her neck with her fingertips. Her mind was a whirlwind and anger was bubbling inside her. She loved her friends, she did, she truly did, yet she wanted to wring their necks at the moment.

Spike never treated her with kid gloves. He was gentle with her, yes. He gave her time, yes, but he didn’t let her run and he sure as hell didn’t coddle her and hide things from her. Well, he hid the transplant from her, but that was his deal, and not because he didn’t think she could handle it.

This though, this was different. And the thing was . . . she let if happen. She knew in the back of her mind what was happening. She let them just take care of things for her and do things for her because it was easier. She’d allowed herself to fall into a pattern of letting others take care of her and not taking care of herself.

She made herself weak. Her grief at one time had trapped her, but then she continued to trap herself, and made herself into the Buffy they thought could not handle the simple things in life.

She was absolutely disgusted with herself. And now she understood why Spike became so annoyed with Anya when she handled Buffy with kid gloves and took control of her life. Buffy snorted, the person he should have been annoyed with was her because she let it happen. For far too long.

Whirling around, Buffy took a deep breath and leveled her gaze with Willow’s fearful one. “Let’s get some work done then. A show is in demand, then a show we’ll have. Grab a notebook, Wills. It’s time to brainstorm. And you might as well grab Tara’s number while you’re at it. She’s about to get her big break.”

*******************

Three hours later, a show was in the works for her mother’s gallery and Buffy felt, for the first time in a very long time, that she’d accomplished something. Felt that she was working towards something.

She couldn’t wait to tell Spike knowing he, out of everyone, would be so proud of her. And he’d understand why it felt so good which would just make it sweeter. Willow was in the mindset that she’d be doing this alone after today and would have to have the part time help chip in extra time.

“You’re not doing this alone, Wills. I’ll be back tomorrow to work on the lighting and layout,” Buffy assured her.

“Buffy, are you sure?”

“I think I’ve been away for far too long. With a lot of things apparently. So, yes, I’m sure. I’ll be by tomorrow and I’ll even treat for lunch again.”

Willow smiled and hugged her. “I’m glad you’re back.”

So am I, Buffy thought, so am I.

“I don’t miss to intrude on this incredibly girly moment, but B, you ready?”

Buffy laughed and detangled herself from Willow’s arms to face Faith. “You’re one to talk, Faithy. We’ve had quite a few ‘girly’ moments lately, don’t you think?”

Faith shrugged, grinning slightly, “I guess.”

“What are you two up to?” Willow asked, “Bonding time?”

Faith and Buffy shared a look.

“Something like that,” Faith murmured. Then, demandingly to Buffy, “You ready? I’m parked at a meter and I have no money.”

“What else is new?” Buffy muttered. “Yes, I have my car out back. Meet you at the florist down the street?”

Faith nodded, “Sure thing.”

“Lilies, Buffy? Don’t you think you should have gotten a manlier flower than lilies?” Faith complained as they trudged through the cemetery, heading toward Doyle’s grave site.

Buffy giggled, “Doyle liked lilies. He also liked roses, but I felt like going with the lily today. And a ‘manlier’ flower? Not sure if such a thing exists.”

Faith shrugged, “I don’t know. I got him a Guinness, that’s all I care about.”

Buffy laughed, “I’m sure he’ll love it.”

Seeing his gravesite in the distance, Buffy halted and took a deep breath. Tears automatically welled up in her eyes.

Faith wrapped an arm around her waist, “Sure you ready for this today?”

Buffy nodded. “I am. It just . . . it just hits me sometimes. Being here. It’s funny being here how it makes you think of the times they were alive. I can see him in my head, I can hear him. It’s odd. You come to a cemetery and you think you’re going to be thinking of them as worm food, but you don’t. Instead, you picture them alive.”

“I’d rather picture that anyway than the worm food.”

“Me too,” Buffy agreed.

Silently, they made their way to his site. Standing before it, Faith leaned the bottle of Guinness against his headstone, and Buffy placed the flowers down before it. Kneeling before the stone, Buffy reached out and traced his name on the stone. “Hi, baby,” she whispered.

“Hey butthead, how are ya?” Faith said, settling down, Indian style, next to Buffy.

Buffy smiled at her and turned back to the stone. “Doyle, I’m sorry I haven’t been by in a while. It got too hard to come here like I used to. I still talked to you, though, didn’t I? Caught you up on what was happening.” She took a deep breath. “I haven’t been doing much of that lately and I’m sorry.”

Faith reached over and took her hand in her own, giving it a squeeze.

“Today I visited the gallery,” Buffy continued. “I’m starting to go back. I have to. I realized today that I’ve let my friends coddle me much too much and it’s time to start getting back into the swing of things.
I know you remember how hard it was after my mom died and all that. Remember how I wouldn’t go near the gallery at all? You pushed me though. You wouldn’t let me not go. Well, you gave me the time I needed but you told me, quite sternly, that I needed to go back and do it not just for my mom, but for me. You told me I’d regret it if I didn’t go back.
I stopped going for a long time though, baby. I had to cause the night . . . you left, I – I thought the place was cursed somehow. I mean, my mom dies and I go to work again, getting things back on track and then there’s this big showing the same night you. . . Well, you know.” Wiping her tears with the back of her hand, Buffy continued. “So, I’m back to work and there’s a new artist that looks promising. I haven’t met her yet, but I will keep you posted. I’ll make sure she’s not a crazy loon,” she laughed lightly. “Her name is Tara, by the way. If you know of any other talents in the area, send them my way, Doyle. I want to make this a really great showing. Make it glorious for you and my mom. And me, of course. I think I need it, actually, I know I need it. It’s good to get back into it, ya know? Makes me feel all important and businesslike. I can almost hear you laughing at me right now.”

She took pause, and Faith handed her some tissues to dab at her eyes.

“I miss you, Alan Francis Doyle,” she told him. “I miss you every day, that does not change, and I don’t think a day will go by where I don’t miss you.
Doyle, baby, I don’t know how to tell you this without just telling you. I was afraid to tell you and I didn’t know how, but your incredibly wise sister told me I should come here and tell you, so here I am.
I met someone. He’s incredibly kind and supportive. You’d like him. He doesn’t let me hide just like you wouldn’t let me. He’s a heart transplant survivor. Pretty amazing stuff huh? I figure the doctor in you would just love to hear that. I met him through Anya. She was dating him actually and he and I just kind of connected in a way that he didn’t connect with Anya. I know, it sounds so 90210 don’t it? I can be Brenda and she can be Kelly, how about that?” She laughed, and she swore she could hear Doyle laughing right along with her. “It’s a little torrid, baby, I won’t lie to you. Mainly because Anya doesn’t know yet. He did break up with her for me though. He hasn’t said it yet, but I think he’s in love with me. Funny how that doesn’t freak me out to say it out loud, but if he should actually say it . . . “ she laughed again, “all bets are off. I think you’d really like him Doyle. He works on cars, he restores them. Hey, he even helped me get a new car. Remember my Chevy? I know you remember because you tried so hard to get me to upgrade, and I told you I would not until it crapped out on me. Well, it did. Spike – that’s his name – don’t laugh! His real name is William. Anyway, he took me to get a new car. And he mowed the lawn and trimmed the hedges and helped me paint the fence.
He makes me smile, Doyle. He makes me feel good about myself again.” She took a deep breath, her tears coming faster now. “He’s not you, and he’ll never be you, and I meant what I said--” Her voice cracked with emotion. “--I love you, and I always will. And I know that you don’t want me to be unhappy. At least, that’s what Faith tells me. So I’ve been seeing William – Spike – and I wanted to let you know. He wants to meet you, but I’m not ready for that yet. Are you? I just. . . I needed to tell you. You were always there for the big moments in my life, Doyle, and so I don’t want to keep you out of the loop now.” A sob shuddered through her, “I miss you so much, baby.”

“It’d probably help to let you know butthead,” Faith began as she wrapped an arm around Buffy, “That I approve of this guy. You know that I wouldn’t just let anyone come sniffing around Buffy. I did my sisterly duty as I was supposed to and screened him for you. Made sure he was up to par. I gotta tell you big brother, this guy really does care about her. I can see it. From what I’ve seen, he’s been good for her. He makes her smile, just like she said. He’s willing to fight for her, I can tell you that. Bro, he’s the long haul guy. Just like you. And, just to let you know, I ragged on him for the nickname for you.”

Buffy started to laugh through her tears and swatted Faith, whom she noticed, had tears streaming down her cheeks as well.

“You mind if I take a few and chat with him?” Faith asked her.

“Not at all, Faithy.”

“So, Doyle, let me tell you about this guy I met last week. . . “

Sitting back, stretching her legs out in front of her and leaning back on her elbows, Buffy listened to Faith talk to her brother. She jumped in now and again, asking questions and offering her advice where needed. She felt a sense of peace wash over her. She felt Doyle there, with them. She could almost hear him talking with them, listening to them and offering his silent support and love. She felt the weight begin to lift and she knew in that moment, that Doyle was shining down on her, telling her she had his blessing.

******************

Spike knocked lightly on Buffy’s door, hoping she was all right as he hadn’t heard from her all day.

Faith greeted him at the door, placing a finger over her lips, giving him the signal to be quiet.

“She okay?” he whispered.

Faith nodded, “She’s okay. We went to see Doyle today.”

“How’d it go?”

“It went well. Emotional, ya know?”

Spike nodded, “I told your sister – in – law I’d really like to meet him one day. She showed me his picture last night. Handsome guy.”

Faith nodded, sadness flitting across her features for a quick second before she smiled at him wanly. “He was a really great guy. He was a great big brother to me. It didn’t matter to him at all that we weren’t blood. And Buffy, well, she’s always treated me like the little sister she never had.”

“She steal your clothes too?” Spike teased.

Faith chuckled, “No, not that. She wouldn’t be caught dead wearing what I wear.”

“Where is she now?”

“Sleeping on the couch. After the cemetery we went out to eat and came home to watch a movie. She fell asleep halfway through. Aside from the cemetery, she had a big day.”

“Oh?”

Faith smiled. “I’ll let you tell her. In fact, I’ll leave you to her.”

“You don’t have to go on my account—“

“I’m not. I’m going on mine. I’m wiped too. Plus, if you end up getting groiny on the couch, I don’t want to see it.”

Spike laughed, thanked Faith and sauntered into the living room to see his girl asleep on the couch. He smiled tenderly, his heart swelling with affection at the sight. She was on her side, her long legs stretched out, and her head was on a pillow, her hands curled underneath it.

Coming over to her, he kneeled next to her and brushed her hair from her face. Her eyes fluttered open.

“Spike?” she whispered groggily.

“It’s me, luv. Just sleep baby. I wanted to see how you were is all.”

She smiled sleepily and rubbed her feet together. “I’m good. Just tired. I had a big day today.”

“You don’t have to tell me now, baby. I’ll let you get your rest—“

“No, stay,” she said and reached out taking his hand. “Will you stay with me?”

His heart leapt to his throat. “Y-you want me to stay with you?”

She nodded, “Take the cushions off from the back so you have room.”

“Baby—“

“Please?”

He nodded dumbly and took down the blanket, laying it on her, and then moved the cushions so that he could comfortably lie behind her and not be cramped.

Settling in behind her, he wrapped his arms around her, his front to her back and she turned into him.

“Do you have your meds with you?” she asked him.

“Always have them with me.”

“Okay. Good night, Spike.”

“Good night, Buffy. I can’t tell you what it means to me that you want me here like this.”

She smiled with her eyes closed and patted his hand. “We’ll talk in the morning and you can tell me all about it.”

He chuckled, snuggled her closer and fell fast asleep, into the best sleep he’d probably ever had.

Spike awoke to Buffy trying to quietly and gently slip out of his grasp. “What are you doing?” he demanded and she let out a yelp, falling on her bottom to the floor between the couch and coffee table.

He peered over at her. “Well, that’s what you get for sneaking off.”

She glared up at him and then started to laugh, a deep belly laugh. He noted he’d never heard her laugh quite like that.

He liked it.

She sprawled herself out on her back, her laughs slowly dying to giggles. Swiftly, he slid down, placing his arms on either side of her head and grinned down at her.

Her giggles died and she let out a soft sigh, “Good morning.”

“Mornin’ luv. Sleep all right?”

“I did. Did you?”

“Best sleep I’ve ever had.”

“Yeah, right.”

“No, really, it was. Would I lie to you?”

“We slept on the couch, Spike. You weren’t cramped?”

“Nope. Were you?”

“Nope. I was all warm and snuggly and. . . . “ she smiled, “I liked you being here.”

Dipping his head to her neck, he buried his face there and collapsed lightly on top of her. “Jesus,” he swore.

“Uh oh. Did I do it again?”

“Do what again?” he asked against her throat, his hands skirting down her body, tugging her legs to wrap around him.

“Almost make you cry.”

He grinned against the column of her throat that he was peppering kisses across. “Not that time, but . . . You made me feel special.”

“Because you are.”

He looked up at her this time, his expression tender. “You almost made me want to cry just then.”

She smiled broadly.

“Minx, trying to get me to cry!” and he started tickling her sides.

She giggled, trying to fend him off. “I’m not trying to make you cry. I just like to know that I have an effect on you. That I touch you.”

He gazed down at her solemnly, “You touch me more than you realize, Buffy.”

She smiled sweetly at him and hugged him to her. “Currently not enough, though.”

“Mmmm. . . I wanted to hear about your day yesterday ---“

“So you don’t want to get laid right now?”

He laughed, making her laugh with him. “Yes, I do want to get laid right now. I was trying to be all supportive.”

“Then shut up and make love to me.”

He smiled down at her, wondering if she was aware that she’d said ‘made love’ instead of ‘sex’. Up until that point, she’d always referred to them as ‘having sex’ and he’d always referred to it as ‘making love’.

He decided not to draw attention to it and instead make love to his girl. He started by tugging on her shirt, and she helped him to discard it. That, somehow, gave her license to try and remove his. He took her hands in his and kissed them. “Not yet.”

“Spike, please?”

“Not yet. Soon.”

She held his gaze for a long moment, a determined look in her eye that he’d never seen before. He liked it. A lot.

“I promise,” he told her. “Soon.”

She sighed, “Okay. Kiss me?”

“Happily,” he murmured and kissed her deeply.

She moaned into the kiss and slid her hands down his shirt covered back, placing her hands on the waistband of his jeans. “Want them off,” she whispered.

He grinned, “You are a minx.”

She grinned cheekily. “And bossy. Take them off!”

He laughed and adjusted himself on his side, reaching for the snap. She batted his hands away and moved so that she was on her knees. He looked at her, “You want to do it?”

She nodded, “I want to do it. Lie back.”

He groaned, his head thudding to the oriental rug. “Fuck, Buffy, what are you doing to me?”

“I thought we covered that,” she murmured and unsnapped his jeans, slowly sliding down his zipper. “But in case you weren’t paying attention, we are about to ‘do it’.”

He grinned with his eyes closed. “’Do it’ huh?”

“Yep. You know . . . fornicate. Have sex. Make love.”

He smiled, “I like that.”

“Which part?”

“Make love,” his eyes popped open and met her green ones. “Make love to me?”

“About to,” she purred and tugged his jeans down his legs and then off. “I love that you go commando,” she noted.

“Me too.”

She leaned over him and fisted his erection, swirling her tongue around the tip and then suckling it into her mouth, moaning. The vibrations sent Spike’s hips bucking up. “God, Buffy . . . “

“Mmmm?” she moaned again and took more of him in her mouth.
“Buffy, baby, oh God. . . “ he babbled, his head on the rug, lolling back and forth.

Sliding her hand up and down his shaft, she sucked up and down, as much as she could, moaning every now and then.

“Buffy, please, baby, come up here.”

Still gliding her hand up and down him, she looked up. “Don’t you want to cum?”

“I want to cum inside you.”

“Well, you can’t. You have to wear a condom. Remind me to make an appointment for the gyno today.”

“Buffy, Christ, I have no condoms on me.”

She smiled, “You underestimate me. Reach into the coffee table drawer.”

Reaching over, he pulled the drawer open and found some packets of condoms inside. He looked at her in mock surprise. “Buffy, so scandalous!”

She smirked and took him in her mouth again, causing him to gasp. Taking her off him, he hauled her up and kissed her hard.

“You like it when I’m scandalous, then?” she asked innocently.

“Fucking love it!”

She smiled, “Thought so.” And she tore open the package, arranged herself so that she sat astride his thighs and slid the condom down on him.

He grinned, reached out and tugged on her pants. “Now I want yours off.”

Smiling, she climbed to her feet and slipped off her pants slowly and he was sure she was giving him a show. Idly, he stroked himself as he watched her, drinking her in, thinking she was the sexiest woman he’d ever laid eyes on.

When she slid her thong down, he licked his lips, sat up, and kissed her mound. Now it was her turn to gasp.

Grinning, he slid a finger along her slit and licked the juice off his finger. Then, he opened her, flicking his tongue on her clit.

“Spike,” she breathed.

“Mmmm?” he moaned and slid his finger inside her.

“Oh God.”

“Bloody right.” He sucked her clit into his mouth until her legs started to tremble. He let go, licking his lips and lay back, pulling her by the hips with him. “I want you to ride me, Buffy.”

Her eyes were dazed, filled with lust, her lashes hooded. She nodded and straddled him; lifting her hips she grasped his cock and positioned her pussy on top of him, sliding down slowly.

His eyes rolled back at the sensation of being fully sheathed inside her. “So, good…so good, Buffy. Ahhh. . . “

“Yes,” she hissed and lifted up slowly and then slid down slowly again.

His eyes popped open, his eyes like blue fire. “You feel amazin’. So wet and hot . . . so tight and . . .” he took her hips and guided her up and down.

“And?” she prompted.

He smirked, “My girl likes dirty talk does she?”

She nodded, gulping.

Sitting up, he halted her movements, but kept her on him as he twisted so that his back was against the couch. Placing his hands on her hips, he slid his hands up her soft back and pressed her forward so he could plunder her mouth with his. She started to move on him again, moaning into his kiss.

Dotting kisses across her jaw and up to her ear, he bit her lobe and whispered. “Want you to ride me to a bloody gallop, Buffy. Feel your sweet, hot pussy all around me. Want you to cover my cock in your juice.”

She started going faster, bouncing up and down him.

“That’s right, Buffy, ride me. Do you like my cock inside you? Like to feel it all the way inside you?” he was gasping now, so incredibly close to letting go himself. Needing her with him, he reached between them and started to rub her clit. “That’s it baby. That’s it. Ride me, take me all in . . . . Fuck me, Buffy, fuck me hard.”

That did it. Her walls squeezed the life out of him and she screamed his name, cumming hard and all around him as he requested. He came with her, roaring her name and biting down on her shoulder as she dug her nails in his shoulders, still moving up and down him, riding out her orgasm.

He pressed her to him, holding her tight against him, panting from the intense pleasure she’d just given him. A light sheen of sweat covered her and he knew he was covered in the same. Lifting her head to his, he kissed her languidly. He smiled, probably like a bloody fool, at her.

She smiled and buried her face in his neck, letting out a puff of air, causing him to shiver. Stroking her back, he said tentatively. “Buffy?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Sure.”

He thought about making her look at him, but in the end, he had more guts to say it if she didn’t look at him. “I’ve been feeling this way for a while now so I don’t want you to think I’m sayin’ it cause you just made me see the bloody Milky Way.”

She giggled, “I know you don’t just say things, Spike.”

“Do you know what I’m going to say?” he asked cautiously, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“I think so.”

“Buffy,” he started and then paused.

“It’s okay,” she told him and picked her head up, gazing at him, “I think I’m ready to hear it. I didn’t think I would be but –“

“I love you, Buffy. I’m in love with you.”

She smiled, “Tha—“

“Don’t thank me,” he said hoarsely. “Don’t thank me for that.”

She nodded, “Okay.”

“And I’ll wait, Buffy. I’ll wait forever if I have to, to hear you say it back. Or not at all. Even if you can’t say it back, just letting me love you is enough.”

“Spike—“

He pressed his lips to hers. “Ssshhh. No pressure.”

“Can I thank you for that?” she asked timidly.

He nodded, “Yes. That’s acceptable.”

Wrapping her arms around him, she hugged him tight. “Thank you for being so wonderful and special.”

And he nearly did cry that time.

“So tell me about your day yesterday, pet,” Spike said as he held Buffy in his arms, her still straddling him, him still inside her.

Just the way nature intended, he thought.

Resting her head back on his shoulder she relayed her day starting at her gallery visit.

“And you know what I thought?” she said, finishing her tale, “I thought about how you would get so upset with Anya for coddling me and ‘taking over’ for me instead of letting me do it. And I thought ‘Spike would be proud of me. He’d be happy to know that I’m taking charge and going to back to work.’”

He smiled, squeezing her tighter against him. Pressing a kiss to her shoulder he felt his heart swell with the love he felt for her. She thought of him. In that moment, she thought of him.

“I am proud of you, kitten. Very proud of you. How did you feel?”

“Empowered.”

“I’m glad. You’re not weak, you know. You’re not.”

She nodded, “I know. Well, I’m learning I’m not anyway.” Her head popped up and she stared at him, a soft, lazy smile playing across her lips.

Unable to resist, he kissed her. “I love you kitten. Love you so bloody much,” he muttered against her lips before claiming them again.

“Have you been in love before, Spike?”

“Nope. You’re the first.” And the last, he added in his head.

“How is that possible? There had to be a first love somewhere for you.”

“I’ve been in lust, but never in love. I’ve mistaken the two before, but after knowing what it’s like to love you, I know it was just lust then. It never felt like this.”

“And what does ‘this’ feel like?” she asked, grinning, tracing his cheekbones with her fingertip.

He reveled in how comfortable she felt to touch him at whim. It filled him with sense of contentment and belonging, made him realize how much of that was lacking in other relationships.

He smiled tenderly at her and kissed her fingertip when she traced his mouth. “Well,” he began, “I never felt as if my day were incomplete if I had not seen the object of my affection. If I don’t see you by the afternoon, I start going a little crazy. You’re on my mind constantly, Buffy,” he told her huskily, giving her an Eskimo kiss. “All I think of is you. I worry about you, wonder what you’re doing, and how you’re doing. If anyone upsets you, I want to throttle them for hurting my girl. I see you and I have to touch you and if I don’t, I feel as if I’m going to explode. I touch you and I still feel as if I’ll explode with wanting you and needing you. Just the sound of your voice can make my day and the sight of you brings me to my knees.”

Burying her face in his neck she implored him, “Oh, please stop.”

He tensed, “Why? Did I say something wrong?”

She ran her hand down his arm, soothing him, “No, Spike. You said everything right. It just . . . It—“

“Touched you?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Buffy, how many times – I mean, before Doyle—“

“He was my first,” she said softly.

“In, um, everything?” he asked timidly.

“No. Some stupid boy in high school was my first then. But like you, I’d never been in love until Doyle.”

He didn’t really want to bring Doyle up while they were still intimately joined and he got the distinct feeling that she felt the same.

“Spike?”

“Yes, luv?”

“When will you take off your shirt?”

“Buffy,” he sighed.

She looked up at him, her green eyes imploring. “Please? With all that I share with you, I want you to feel that you can share with me too.”

”I share more with you than anyone, Buffy,” he told her.

“Please, let me see it.”

“Why?”

“Because I feel that you don’t fully trust me. Or yourself. Which, I know, pot calling the kettle black – but you and I, we’ve come a long way, haven’t we? I mean, we’re there for each other to support each other, right?”

He nodded.

“Then let me show you that it’s not something to be ashamed of.”

“Buffy—“

“Please?”

Sighing heavily, he gazed at her, saw her determination mixed with need. It meant a lot to her and who was he to deny the woman he loved anything? He felt the need in him to share it with her, to show her once and for all and to see it in her face if she still thought him ‘beautiful’ or if she thought him broken and disfigured.

“Trust me,” she whispered.

He kissed her with desperation, almost as if it would be the last time and he scolded himself for even letting it pass through his mind. Buffy was not shallow. She wouldn’t leave him over a scar. That was absurd. So, with that thought in his mind, he lifted his shirt and watched her face intently. He closed his eyes and tossed his shirt to the side, afraid to open them despite the scolding he’d given himself.

“Spike, open your eyes,” she whispered.

He opened them slowly and found her smiling up at him. “Watch me,” she told him. He watched in fascination as she traced his scar with his fingertips and dotted kisses --kisses-- on his scar. The scar that he thought made him so different from everyone, and not so much special. Not special the way Buffy made him feel. She thought him special not just because of his transplant, but in addition to it.

Looking upon her kissing his scar, his eyes welled up in tears. “Buffy,” he gasped.

She looked up at him and said the one word that made him lose it. “Beautiful.”

The tears fell and he could not stop them. The thought passed through his mind that his tears were a cleansing. A cleansing of his old thought patterns and feelings on that scar and all that it represented to him.

Now, she was kissing his tears away and he broke into a sob, unable to stop himself. He crushed her to him, reveling in the feel of her breasts squashed against his bare chest. God, he’d been missing so much.

“It took you,” he told her through his tears. “It took you.”

She held him as he wept, whispering to him, telling him how beautiful he was.

Cradling her face in his hands, he kissed her hungrily, desperately needing her again, needing to express his love for her in the age old dance.

She moved with him slowly, languidly; the both of them drawing out their pleasure. He pressed her into the floor and she ran her hands down his bare back and up his chest, tracing his abs and pecs, feeling every muscle move and tremble under her touch and their movements.

Their orgasms came on with a vengeance, but somehow taking them by surprise just the same and Spike couldn’t help the outpouring of his love, murmuring to her in bliss how he loved her, cherished, needed her and wanted her for always. She murmured, ‘yes, yes, yes,’ and he knew not to take them quite to heart, but couldn’t stop himself from doing so at the same time. They lay on the floor, entwined and sated, wrapped up in each other.

Which was why neither one noticed Anya staring down at them, her mouth open in shock.

Chapter Twenty


“What the – how did—why -- What the hell are you doing?” Anya shrieked.

Buffy’s eyes widened and she looked up at William whose eyes were also wide. They were frozen, unable to move. Then, like chickens with their heads cut off, they scrambled to gather their clothes.

Anya stood there, gaping at them. “You—you—“ she pointed at them, her voice pitched high.

“Anya, would you stop? Only dogs can hear you right now,” Spike told her, reaching for and then tugging on his pants quickly, and snapping up.

“You—you have your shirt off – what is that?” she said pointing at his scar.

Quickly, he tugged on his shirt, ignoring her. Buffy, having dressed in record time, stood in front of him. “Anya, listen—“

“Listen? You want me to listen?” she laughed maniacally and glared at her icily. “You whore!” she slapped Buffy across the face, startling Buffy, who stood there, with her eyes wide and her hand on her cheek. Her cheek felt warm. That was going to leave a mark.

“Don’t you dare hit her!” Spike bellowed.

“Don’t you tell me what to do, you bastard,” Anya snarled, focusing her ire to Spike now. She pointed at him, “This why you broke up with me isn’t it? God! I should have known. The way you always wanted to spend time with her, come over here to see her. And here I thought you were just being nice to her for me. So, what was it? Needed some fresh blood? Figured the needy widow was the way to go?”

“She’s not needy!” Spike shouted, “And if she is, then she isn’t anymore needy than I am, Anya.”

“We didn’t plan on it, Anya. It just sort of happened,” Buffy said softly.

“How fucking trite is that? ‘It just sort of happened?’” Anya glared at her.

“Anya, I know you’re upset right now and I didn’t mean for you to find out this way—“ Buffy started to reach for her and Anya slapped her hand away.

“Don’t touch me! How could you do this to me? I’m supposed to be your best friend. I was there for you when your husband died – What would he say huh? What would Doyle say if he knew how you’re fucking my boyfriend!”

“I’m not your boyfriend, Anya,” Spike said deeply. “If you could just listen—“

“No. I don’t want to listen—“

“Anya please,” Buffy begged, her eyes welling up in tears. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you. I didn’t plan for this to happen.”

“But it didn’t stop you from doing it, did it? You just . . . what was it, Buffy?”

“We understand each other—“ Buffy started.

Anya laughed again. “Oh please!” Meeting her eyes, she said in a low tone, “The only thing he had to understand was how fucking pathetic you were. Are, actually. Poor little Buffy who can’t take care of herself. Poor little Buffy who cries all day and has no one to love her. Not anymore anyway. Look at you! Did you cry for him, Buffy? Did you sob your little eyes out so he’d feel sorry for you? Is that how you did it? Maybe I should try that in the future. I’ll just tell them I’m a grieving, helpless widow and turn on the water works. How could you do this Buffy? God, what would Doyle say? He’d say you were disgusting, that’s what he’d say.”

Buffy’s bottom lip trembled and her tears spilled over.

“That’s it, cry!” Anya shouted, her eyes wild with sick delight.

Spike stepped forward, “Stop it right now, Anya. I think it’d be best if you left.”

“Oh, and you’ve got him whipped too. How sweet.” She shook her head and let out an utterance of disgust. “You two deserve each other.” She started on her way out and then stopped and spun around. “I just need to know. When? When you came over here to do her ‘hedges’?”

“After we broke up, Anya,” Spike told her. “Now go.”

“I don’t believe you. And you don’t get to tell me what to do! Seeing as how I’m the one that was lied to –“

“Get out!” Spike shouted so loudly at her, that Buffy jumped from her stupor.

Without another word, Anya stomped out, slamming the door behind her so hard, the house shook.

“Buffy?” Spike whispered, “Buffy, look at me,” he demanded gently, standing in front of her.

She looked up at him, “I did a bad thing,” she murmured.

“Buffy,” he shook his head, “No, baby, you –“

“No, I did. I really did. I hurt her. I didn’t want to hurt her, but I did. I should have stopped. I should have . . . . I should have stopped. I should have tried to get you back with her instead of . . . instead of having sex with you on a car! Oh God!” She walked away from him, shaking her head. “She’s never going to forgive me now. Never.” She spun to him. “I told you, I told you this would happen!”

Spike stood there, staring at her, letting her rant and trying not to yell at her that they were happy before Anya walked in. That she had been happy for the past few days and to remember the connection they’d felt to each other – the connection that Anya had basically torn to shreds; the connection that Anya had single-handedly made seem tawdry and wrong. How could it be wrong? He was in love! How could that be wrong?

“What did Doyle say yesterday, Buffy?” he blurted out.

She paused in her ranting. “What?”

“What did he say when you told him about us?”

She swallowed, “He—he was happy for me.”

“You felt it then? That he felt happy for you—“

“I felt him give us his blessing” she murmured. “I know it sounds crazy—“

“It doesn’t sound crazy. I talk to my parents all the time.”

She looked at him, startled. “You do?”

He nodded, “I always feel better after I talk to them, too. It doesn’t sound crazy to think that our loved ones are still there in some capacity; that they pay attention to what we’re going through, and take the time to listen when we need them to listen, and give us advice when we need to the advice. I told them about you; told them before I showed you their picture.”

“You did?”

He nodded.

“What did – what did they say? What did you tell them?”

“That I met this amazing woman and I felt things for her that I had never felt before. Told them how you lost your husband and how you were Anya’s best friend. Told them how Anya was the girl I was dating, but that I couldn’t stop thinking about you and feeling things for you.”

“I –I told Doyle how you were Anya’s boyfriend when I met you.”

“What do you think he thinks, Buffy? Do you think he shares Anya’s opinions?”

“Which ones?”

“All of them.”

“No.”

“Do you believe them?”

“That you’re just using me because I’m a ‘sure thing’?”

He nodded.

“No,” she whispered.

“Do you know what my parents told me to do?”

She cocked her head to the side in question.

“They told me to break up with Anya.”

“Doyle wasn’t so forthcoming with the advice,” Buffy said dryly, looking away from him.

“We were happy before she came in,” he pointed out softly.

“But she came in.” She looked back at him, “You were right. I should have told her.”

“And she probably would have said the same ugly things.”

“Yes, that’s true. Though, walking in while we’re in the afterglow was probably not the best thing for her to see. “

“I agree, but – Buffy, you really need to lock that door.”

She started to giggle and he could tell she didn’t really want to, probably because she felt she had no right to, but she gave in and giggled anyway.

“She has a key.”

Taking a deep breath, he rubbed the back of his head, “Something tells me you’re gonna either have to get that key, or you might want to look into getting your locks changed. She’s got a volatile temper, in case you weren’t aware.”

“She’s been my best friend for years now, I’m aware of her temper. She once threatened Doyle with a kitchen knife after we had an argument once. She actually pointed it on him and told him to never make me cry again. He was duly frightened.”

“Not at all psychotic,” Spike said, monotone.

“Is it . . . is it wrong that I’m getting angry?” she asked, uncertain.

“As long as it’s not at me.”

“No, at what she said. About me.” A beat. “Do you think it’s possible to get your tear ducts removed?”

Now he couldn’t help it, Spike started to laugh out loud. “I don’t think so, pet.”

“I’m a crybaby,” she whispered, scowling at the floor.

“Why are you listening to her?” he asked on a sigh. “I thought we agreed to not believe what she said.”

“But I cry a lot!”

“Hello, have you been here the last couple days? Woman, you’ve made me cry too!”

“Because I cry so much, it was bound to rub off on you!”

“I disagree. There’s been a lot of emotional stuff going on in here—“

“Yeah, because the cry baby can’t handle anything!” she exclaimed, throwing up her arms. “You say ‘hi’ and I sob. Someone says ‘Doyle’ and I’m a mess. I literally do cry at the drop of a hat.” She pointed at him, “So don’t you dare say you cry just as much as I do. You don’t cry like I do.” She pointed at herself. “I should be dried up by now!”

They stared at each other, gasping for air from all the shouting, and then burst into laughter.

“Are we really arguing over crying?” she asked through her laughter.

He nodded, “I think we are.”

“Now I’m crying because I’m laughing so hard. I can’t win!”

Spike laughed harder. When they’d calmed, Spike looked up at her, “Buffy?”

“Mmmm?”

“You’re not going to dump me, are you?”

She met his eyes. “I’m not going to lie to you, Spike. I feel guilt. Lots of it. But . . . “ she shook her head helplessly, “I can’t stop wanting to be with you.”

“Can you come here then? Cause you haven’t been in my arms since—“ he never got to finish the sentence because Buffy had rushed into his arms, nearly knocking them both over with the force of her lunge.

He held her tightly. “She was wrong about many things, Buffy, but one in particular.”

She looked up at him, “Which one?” she asked, puzzled.

“She said you had no one to love you.”

Buffy smiled.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“Spike?”

“Mmmm?”

“I’m a little worried about Hurricane Anya.”

“Afraid of what she’ll do?”

“Yes,” she said against his chest. “Do you think in time she’d . . . forgive me?”

“I don’t know, Buffy, I just don’t know.”

“Maybe I’ll give it a few days and then try talking to her.”

“Can you make sure you’re away from sharp objects, please?”

“Maybe in public?”

“So she can publicly humiliate you? Why don’t you wait for a bit, eh? I’m sure she’s on the horn now to Jerry Springer—“

Buffy swatted him and laughed, “You’re evil!”

“The baddest baby,” he said and leered at her, tucking his tongue behind his front teeth.

“Well, I plan on talking to her. I’ve got to work it out somehow.”

“And if you can’t?”

She looked up at him sadly. “Then I lost my best friend.”

Chapter Twenty One

Buffy warily walked into the gallery. Knowing Anya’s penchant for telling everybody and their mother when someone had wronged her, she wouldn’t have been surprised at all if the girl had stopped by to tell Willow. The woman was like the Town Crier.

Willow was out back when Buffy entered and came darting out as soon as Buffy entered. Willow stared at her. “Hi.”

“Anya’s been by, huh?” Buffy mused with a nod of her head.

“She called.”

“Hate me?”

“No, Buffy—“

“Don’t pretend just because you work for me. Be honest. I’m not going to fire you or anything. You are my friend Wills. Tell me, honestly.”

Willow took a deep breath and then burst out with “Buffy, I can’t believe you did that!”

Buffy sighed, “It’s not – okay, it kind of is like that, but at the same time, it’s not.”

“What happened exactly? Can you tell me?”

“I can. What’s Anya’s version?”

“That you guys had been carrying on while she and Spike were still together.”

“Spike told her that wasn’t the case,” Buffy muttered.

“She didn’t believe him.”

“Obviously.”

Willow shrugged, “Just telling you what she told me.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound angry – I have no right to be angry, do I? Well, that’s not entirely true. You should have heard what she threw in my face!”

Willow stared at her, blinking.

“This is so high school,” Buffy sighed. “Do I take the high road and bear it in silence, or do I justify my actions?” she muttered to herself.

“Well, seeing as how I am your friend, I think you can be ‘high school’ with me.”

Buffy nodded, “Can we sit?”

“Sure. How about the floor? I brought in muffins, donuts and coffee. You want?”

“Yes.”

Willow giggled, “Which do you want?”

“All of the above. I’ll help.”

*************

“So, you guys did kiss while he was with Anya?” Willow asked, studying Buffy thoughtfully.

“Yes, we did, but I stopped it – well, the first time. The second time he kind of took me by surprise.”

“Then you kissed him and admitted you had feelings for him.”

“Yes,” Buffy said nodding and took the top half of her muffin off.

“And then you felt guilty about Doyle and Anya and told him it had to end when he came by later that night.”

“Right.”

Willow sighed, “Buffy. . . I’m not going to lie to you. It’s on the border of being sneaky and backstabbing. I mean, the corpse of their relationship wasn’t even cold before you and he—“

“Yeah,” Buffy jumped in, cutting her off, “I know. But, it’s not like I set out to have feelings for him, Wills. I didn’t want to. Mainly because of Doyle, but also because of my loyalty to Anya.”

“Why didn’t you tell her when it started then? Just said ‘hey, I kind of got a thing for Spike, could I ask him out?’”

“I didn’t think of that. I should have talked to you first!”

“Buffy, I’ve been around you for some time now. I’ve seen you be pretty much miserable for a year now. Yesterday, I noticed you’d changed. If Spike is the guy that has made you glow like you are, then who am I to say anything? I can see how Anya is upset, but then again, she told you her ego was hurt more than she really was.”

“That could have been a cover to hide her true feelings,” Buffy murmured. “You told me she thought he could have been ‘The One.’”

“Yeah, but this is Anya. You know she romanticizes relationships when they’re over, and she doesn’t have a replacement right away,” Willow pointed out.

“That is very true.”

“And really, it could be her pride that’s more bruised right now more than anything.”

“She has every right to be mad at me for keeping it from her. And even for feeling that I betrayed her. Even if they were broken up – argh!”

“Shades of gray are a real pain in the ass huh?”

Buffy nodded emphatically, “Yes. Very much so. I’m kind of the ‘other woman’ aren’t I?”

“Not so much. Well, you were when you were kissing him while they were together.”

“Not so much with the helping there, Wills.”

“Sorry. But, Buffy, the things Anya said to you was low. Even for her. I mean . . . Bringing Doyle into it and basically mocking you for crying over him all this time? She was there, she knew what your relationship with Doyle was like, she knew Doyle and she knew how much you loved him. To say those things about you and him was wrong. It was cruel. You have every right to be upset about that.”

“I do have the right, and I am angry with her, but . . . would I have been so kind if the tables were turned? I don’t know.”

“Buffy, if the tables were turned, I know you would not use someone’s pain like that and mock them with it. That was low.”

“Anya goes for the jugular. She’s always been that way.”

“Buffy, stop defending her!” Willow admonished her.

Buffy held up her hands in surrender, “I’m sorry, I can’t help it! I keep going back and forth. One minute I’m so angry and hurt by what she said I could strangle her, and the next minute, I feel like the shit and feel that I deserve all she threw at me.” She took a deep breath. “I think my brain is maxed out on this for now. I’d really like a distraction right about now. Maybe work on something that has more black and white than gray?”

Willow smirked, “This your subtle way of telling me it’s time to get back to work?”

Buffy beamed, “Yup.”

*************

“I’m not imagining it, Spike. It really did happen,” Buffy told him earnestly later that day. Currently she was sitting Indian style in front of him on her oriental rug – or, as she called it ‘the scene of the crime’ – and Spike sat behind her, against the couch, and was giving her shoulders a massage.

“So, you think that Anya’s spread the word all over town like rapid fire already? That she even hit the grocery store and that’s why . . . ?”

“Miss Leary.”

“Miss Leary ‘tsked’ you?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “She looked at me and tsked me!”

“Sure it wasn’t the box of condoms she saw in your basket she was tsking and not Anya having blabbed all over town?”

“Oh, well, I didn’t think of that,” Buffy said, her shoulders sagging from that new, and very comforting, idea. Then she tensed again. “Well, now when Anya gets to her, she’ll be tsking me for buying the condoms to do Anya’s boyfriend!”

“Ex boyfriend,” he whispered in her ear.

Shivering in response, she nodded, “Yes, that’s right. Ex.”

“Remember that, please. I’m sure Anya will twist that around to her benefit. Seems she already did with Willow.”

Buffy yawned, “I’m going to take the high road with everyone else. I’m not going to go blabbing my side. They can say what they want, I don’t care.”

He chuckled. “Yes you do.”

She swatted his leg. “Hush up, you.”

Wrapping his arms around her, he nuzzled her neck. “We’ll face them together. I could give a rat’s ass what they say about us, Buffy. And I’ll tell them that Anya is a spoiled rotten brat who is just pissed that she didn’t get her way.”

“No, please don’t. Let me try to work this out on my own. Please?”

He sighed, “Okay. For you.”

“Thank you. I’ve had a lot of people come to my rescue, Spike. I think I need to do this battle on my own. Let me defend you. How’s that sound?”

Nipping at her neck, he murmured, “Bloody perfect. Hey, I’ve got a question.”

“What?”

“Can I sleep over again?”

She giggled, “Oh so sly, Mr. Gardner.”

“That’s my middle name, baby. So, can I?”

“Yes, you can.”

“So . . . bedroom?”

“Uh, I, um, sure. How about the guest room?” she asked, tensing up.

He furrowed his brow for a minute, pondering that. Then, it dawned on him. “Oh, I get it.”

“Yeah, I’m just . . . I’m not ready for that yet. My bedroom is . . . “

“Your bedroom with Doyle.”

“Right. Baby steps, okay?” she asked timidly.

“I understand, baby. It’s okay,” and to emphasize that he adjusted her so that she was across his lap. Leaning in, he kissed her sweetly. “Got any of those condoms upstairs by any chance?”

She laughed, “Not yet, but something tells me I will now.”

“Gonna have condoms in every bloody room,” he growled and nibbled her bottom lip. “Come on, luv. Want to make love to you before you pass out on me.”

“So romantic,” she mock swooned.

He grinned, “Just you wait, Buffy. Haven’t even brought out the big guns yet.”

She glanced down at his crotch, “I don’t know about that.”

“Minx.”

“Yep, I am,” she beamed and climbed off his lap. “Catch me if you can!” and she bounded up the stairs, Spike hot on her heels.

“I’m going to need a caterer for the showing,” Buffy mused to Spike the following morning as they lay in the guest room, limbs tangled.

Brushing her hair through his fingers he murmured, “Mmm… does this mean you have to speak with Anya?”

She nodded.

“Or get another caterer?”

“Well, it’s kind of a catch-22, I’m thinking,” she said, looking up into his cerulean orbs and finding herself getting lost.

He grinned slightly, “Damned if you do and damned if you don’t?”

“Right. On the one hand she’ll be pissed and thinking I’m running off with my tail between my legs if I don’t ask her to do it, on the other hand she’s probably going to think I’m a loon for asking her.”

“Do you care?”

“About which one?”

“Either.”

She frowned slightly, “I know you don’t.”

“Well, no.”

“But yeah, I do. I mean . . . Yes, I am angry with her for the things she said, but Spike . . . she lashed out. She was angry with me and I got her where it hurt—“

“That being me?”

“Right.”

“I beg to differ.”

She looked at him incredulously, “How can you beg to differ that one?”

“Because Anya is egotistical. She has to be the center of attention and she has to be the one everyone loves and adores. She has to be looked up to and believes she’s a Goddess and we should all worship her—“

“So, what is it you’re trying to say?” Buffy asked, puzzled.

He tweaked her nose, “If you let me finish. . . “

She laughed, “Sorry. Go ahead.”

He smiled lovingly at her, “It was her pride that was hurt more. Somewhere in her mind she was hoping that I was regretting breaking up with her and pining away for her. To find out that not only was I not thinking of her and I’d moved on—“

“With the widow,” Buffy supplied softly.

“However,” he continued, “I also think she is jealous about me concerning you.”

She was thoroughly confused now. “Isn’t that what we just said?”

“No. Let me explain that better,” he chuckled.

She smiled brightly, “Please do.”

“After Doyle died, she was the one you depended on. You needed her and Anya thrives on being needed and depended on. It gives her a boost and not all of the things she does is out of the kindness of her heart when it comes to her ‘giving’—“

She drew back some, “Are you saying that she got a boost from my misery because I depended on her?”

“Yes. She was the sage guru. The one you went to for answers; for everything, right?”

“Yeah,” Buffy said slowly, not liking where this was going.

“The whole debacle with Riley and always trying to control you in some manner—“

She opened her mouth to debate that and he cut her off with his finger pressed to her lips.

“Hold on, let me finish. Whether it was justified or not, or needed or not, which I realize a lot of the time it was – Anya built it up in her mind that you cannot function without her. She treats you more like a child at times than a grown woman that just needs a little understanding and support. Just like you said she does with the—“

“With the coddling,” Buffy murmured, nodding in agreement.

“Right. So now, she sees you don’t need her as much anymore – or at all—“

“She was –is—my best friend, Spike.”

He pouted, “Can’t I be your best friend? You’re mine.”

She smiled gently, “Thank you. You are my friend, yes, but women best friends are few and far—“

“Your male best friend then?”

She laughed and kissed him quickly before turning serious again. “So you think that part of the reason she’s so upset is because I found someone else to – to – lean on?”

“Buffy, you don’t just ‘lean’ on me,” he told her firmly. “And if you do, then it’s all part of the package and I lean on you just as much. But it’s not about that. We’re not about that.”

She smiled, “I know,” and she smoothed a hand down the side of his face.

“Do you? Cause, Buffy . . . you’re not as weak as you think you are.”

“So you keep saying.”

“And I will keep saying until you believe me. Until you see it for yourself.”

“I do feel better than I have in a long time.” She smirked, “But I thought maybe that had to do with the fantastic sex.”

He grinned, “Fantastic, huh?”

She laughed and burrowed into him, nestling her head under his chin and wrapping her arms around him.

“You feel better,” he told her huskily, pecking the top of her head, “Because you’re getting your feet on the ground. You feel stronger, don’t you?”

“Much.”

“And I had nothing to do with it—“

Her head popped up, nearly clocking him in the chin and he reared back a bit. “No,” she reprimanded him. “You had a lot to do with that.”

“The gallery was all you, baby.”

“But . . . you did have something to do with it. Anya has tried to get me to go back, she really has and I didn’t want any part of it. It took a spark – you helped give me something back that I was lacking and didn’t know what it was—“

“Love,” he whispered, placing his brow against hers.

“Anya loves—loved—me—“

“She’s also a selfish bint who would have turned around and said ‘Aren’t you glad I made you go back? You wouldn’t have been able to do it without me.’”

“Well, that’s pushing it, she wouldn’t have said that last part—“

“Okay, fine, maybe not flat out said it, but would have alluded to it; would have still found a way to make you feel that you couldn’t have done it without her. I never told you to go back Buffy. You did that all on your own. You saw the need to go back and take charge. You saw it all on your own.”

“Well, you alluded to the fact that she coddled me and tried to control me,” Buffy reasoned.

“But you never believed me. I didn’t do anything except love you, Buffy.”

“Well, then,” she took a deep, shuddering breath, “That’s what I needed, isn’t it?”

“When people are truly on your side, it’s amazing what you can do, but Buffy, you would have done it anyway. I know, eventually, you would have.”

She gave him a watery smile, “You have a lot of faith in me, huh?”

He nodded, “You bet I do. I give as good as I get, Buffy, trust me. This,” he gestured to his bare chest, “Is all because of you.”

“Well, it’s all for me,” she reasoned.

He smiled, “That’s true, it is. All that I am is for you.”

“The true test is being able to take your shirt off in front of others when, say, we go to the beach.”

He sighed, “Baby steps, Buffy. Remember?”

She grinned cheekily, “Of course I do. Same goes for me.”

“The important thing here is—“

“Wait,” she held up a hand, “I know this. The important thing here is that we do it all together, right?”

He narrowed his eyes, “You mocking me, little girl?”

She laughed, “I think I’m the older one here, pal. You’re the ‘little boy’.”

He tackled her, nestling himself between her legs and rubbing himself against her. “What’s this about ‘little’?” he growled.

Giggling, she leaned up and kissed him, wrapping her arms and legs around him. “You’re definitely the Big Bad, Spikey.”

He grinned, “I ever tell you how much I love that?”

“I think, however, that ninety percent is about you and ten percent is about me.”

He blinked, “You jumped there, kitten. Thought we were done with Anya.”

She shrugged, “Sometimes my train of thought in inconsistent. Can you keep up?” she asked innocently, teasing him.

Nudging his erection against her, he elicited a gasp. “I don’t know,” he drawled, “Can you?”

*************

Buffy insisted on taking a shower by herself, and Spike knew that no matter how innocent he tried to act, his girl saw right through him. She knew he’d use showering together as a way to ‘fornicate’ some more.

He knew it might sound crazy, but as much as he loved making love to her, he also enjoyed the moments like this morning, when all they did was lay together and talk. It was a meeting of the mind, the heart and their souls. She was more than just his lover, more than just his best friend; she was his partner and his equal.

She was . . . everything. Everything he never knew he needed—and wanted. All in one tiny package. She was more woman than she gave herself credit for and he couldn’t wait for her to figure it out and showcase it just a little bit more. She brought him to his knees already, when she felt ‘whole’ again, completely, she was sure to have a willing slave in him.

Listening to the shower still going, Spike eyed the bedroom door -- her bedroom door. When they’d come up the night before it had been slightly ajar and he could only get a glimpse of frilly curtains and yellow undertones.

It was a source of mystery to him. It was ‘The Room’. The room that ultimately would one day breech their relationship to more – it would make them a solid couple. It would make her his completely. He knew that a part of her would always love Doyle, and he’d be lying if he said he was completely okay with that – and she knew as much too – but she would be even more his than she was now.

She would love him back and she’d say it, too. She’d also be able to say that he was her best friend; just as she was his.

Creeping down the hallway, Spike couldn’t help but be drawn to the door that led to ‘The Room’. His heart was thump, thump, thumping in his chest as he pushed lightly on the door and it swung just a smidge more open. He stood there, in the doorway, the door halfway open and he felt as if he were trespassing; as if somehow, he were betraying her by standing there with the pretense of going in.

He drew back, heading back to the guest room.

It wasn’t time yet. When she was ready, then he would be. That’s when they’d go in together.

Buffy walked up to the door of Anya’s catering and deli business with determined steps, her head held high. It belied the fact that her heart was hammering in her chest, and she was so nervous about facing her one time best friend, that she felt as if she were going to throw up.

Pushing the door open, she found Anya’s deli staff completing orders of customers, helping some select sandwiches and various desserts.

Looking up from behind the glass counter, Ryan, Anya’s assistant waved to her. “She’s out back,” he told her.

She smiled, mouthed ‘thanks’ and marched out back. Swinging the door open, she found Anya screaming at an employee, a new one apparently, as she didn’t recognize him. He stared at Anya in a mixture of fear and – lust? Interesting.

Anya’s head snapped to Buffy when she heard the door swing closed and she glared at Buffy. “What do you want?”

“I – I have a business proposition for you,” Buffy stammered.

Anya turned back to her employee, “You may leave now, Justin.”

He nodded, smirked at her slightly, and then walked away.

“Bad day?” Buffy asked, once Justin was out the door.

Anya took a deep breath and turned to her, “He’s new and cocky. Thinks he knows everything and well, he doesn’t. I just had to set him straight.”

“I think he likes you.”

Anya narrowed her eyes at Buffy, “Trying to make yourself feel better for stealing my boyfriend?”

“I didn’t – Okay, I realize it looks that way, but it didn’t happen that way, Anya.”

“So you didn’t jump in the sack with him right after he dumped me?” Anya asked sarcastically.

“Anya, I want to work through this somehow, do you think we could—that you could listen to me?”

Anya looked away.

“You’re my best friend,” Buffy began, “You have been with me through the worst time of my life and you helped me. You supported me and picked me up when I couldn’t pick myself up. I know that if it were me, I would be beside myself in anger—“

“Doyle kissed me once.”

Buffy felt a dagger go through her heart and a ringing started in her ears. “What?”

“I lied about that, of course, but it hurts doesn’t it?”

Buffy was trying desperately to gain her equilibrium back after that, telling herself that she deserved that. Anya was lashing out, wanting to inflict the pain and betrayal she felt by Buffy’s hand. So, Buffy gathered herself, going against her instincts that told her to lash back at the woman, and put her in her place. High ground, Buffy, she told herself; be the better person.

“Yes,” Buffy said slowly, “That did hurt.”

Anya shook her head and looked down. “Why is it I feel the need to apologize for that after what you did?” she whispered. She looked back up at Buffy, her eyes watering with tears. “I just – Buffy, why my boyfriend? How could you do that to me?”

“It wasn’t because he was yours, Anya. Hell, if that were the case I could have tried with any one of the thousand I’d met before him.” Okay, so maybe she was making a jab there, but really, she couldn’t help it. She thought it and, like diarrhea of the mouth, it came out. It wasn’t like it wasn’t true.

“So then what is it? Help me to understand.”

Buffy took a deep breath, “He – he understands me—“

“Buffy, I understand you, do you want to fuck me too?”

Buffy winced at the crude language used to describe her and Spike and making love. “No, it’s not about that. And you do understand, to a point. You understand because you knew Doyle and you experienced some measure of grief when he died because he was your friend too. But . . . you don’t – you’ve never really lost anyone incredibly close to you. You don’t know the thoughts that go through your head when you have – the guilt, the anger at the world, the feeling that your heart is being ripped out of your chest, and wanting to crawl out of your skin to just be able to do something instead of sitting there and remembering and wallowing . . . You’ve never had to go through that. Spike did and he talked to me about, Anya. It wasn’t as if I met him and I thought, ‘I’m going to steal him because I really like him’. He let me be free in talking about what I went through, what I was still going through and he even lets me talk about what I am still going through.” She took another breath, needing her strength to say this bit, “Anya, you just wanted me shove it away and move on as if it never happened. You got me to put all those mementos of Doyle up in the attic – all those things that I had to remember him by. Those ‘things’ were part of my life with him and I realize that I couldn’t have held onto them forever and that eventually, they did have to go, but . . . I wasn’t ready to put all that away, and you made me feel as if it were some kind of sin if I felt I needed to be close to those things that were all I had left of him.
Spike got it in a way that you couldn’t – and not just you. No one else fully got it. They just wanted me better but they didn’t want me to necessarily go through the process. And Spike was able to relate to me in that manner. He understood how it felt lose someone – two someone’s in his case – and I felt a connection there. When I realized that I was feeling something for him, I stayed away. For you. For Doyle.” Buffy pondered at that point if it was a good idea to tell Anya about the dinner with Riley fiasco and how she and Spike had kissed in the bathroom. No, that would do no good. It’d only further hurt Anya more and, since the woman already suspected that something had happened before Spike had broken up with her, that would just give her more reason to hate her. Perhaps some things were better left unsaid and just implied.

“And then he broke up with me?” Anya murmured.

“Yes.”

“Because he felt the same way.”

“Yes.”

“Are you – are you over Doyle?”

Buffy shook her head, “I don’t think I’ll ever be truly over Doyle.”

“Has he told you he loves you?”

“Yes.”

Anya looked up at her, “Are you using him to just heal, Buffy?”

“No, Anya, I’m not. Honestly, I’m a little afraid that the more I feel for Spike, the less I’ll feel for Doyle and, somehow, that will make Doyle disappear. I try not to think about that which, ultimately, I’m sure will catch up with me.”

“I’m still hurt,” Anya admitted softly.

“I know. Anya, please, can we work on this? I want to; I don’t want to lose you.”

Anya took a deep, shuddering breath and Buffy knew she was fighting tears. “Okay,” she finally said, “I want to try too. I can’t promise . . . anything right now.”

Buffy nodded, “Okay, I understand. But we try, right?”

Anya nodded once, briskly, “We try.”


*************************

“Well,” Dr, Mackenzie, Spike’s specialist, said moving the stethoscope off Spike’s chest, “Everything sounds fine, everything looks fine.”

Spike slipped his shirt back on, “I feel good, so that makes sense.”

Dr. Mackenzie sat down in his chair, picking up Spike’s journal. “You’re taking your meds on time, getting enough rest; your blood pressure is good . . .” He looked up and studied Spike, his eyes gray eyes, that coincidently matched his hair, were twinkling. “And, you seem in good spirits. I haven’t seen you smiling like this since, well, since just after your transplant.”

Spike grinned, “What are you saying, doc? I’ve been a sullen wanker all this time?”

Dr. Mackenzie chuckled, “Well, I wouldn’t go that far. So, who is she?”

Spike laughed, “Well, you cut right the quick don’t you?”

The older man shrugged his broad shoulders and sat back, “I’m a doctor, it’s my job to be observant.”

“I thought it was your job to diagnose and treat?” Spike teased.

“Well, I’ve observed you today Spike, I’m diagnosing you with being in love, and my treatment is to continue on that path. It looks good on you.”

“Don’t have to worry about that, doc. I plan on continuing it. And, in that end, I’ve got to ask you a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Well, not to sound like a complete ponce, but in the spirit of being in love as I am, I’m feeling the need to contact my donor family and thank them.”

Dr. Mackenzie’s eyebrows rose in surprise, “Really? You hadn’t wanted to do that before.”

“Yeah, I know, I kind of felt then that I didn’t want to thank them for their loss and my gain.”

“And now you feel differently?”

“I do,” he nodded, “I feel that maybe it’d give them hope. Maybe that way they could see that their loved one lived on in some way, and the happiness that he or she gave to them, gave happiness to someone else. I don’t want to write a sonnet about it or anything, I just want to express to them that it gave me a new life and that I cherish life that much more now.”

“Impressive. This girl has done wonders for you.”

Spike grinned mischievously, “How do you know it’s a girl?”

Dr. Mackenzie flushed and started stuttering and Spike laughed. “It’s a girl, doc. A very special girl. In fact, I’m convinced she’s an angel put on this Earth for me.”

The older doctor smiled warmly. “That’s how every man feels about the woman he loves.”

“I reckon they do. So, can you tell me what I need to do to contact the family?”

Time passed by, not slowly, not quickly, but just right. Anya and Buffy worked on mending their friendship, though it was not easy – largely because Anya did not make it easy. There were times when Buffy was ready to throw in the towel and just give up, lamenting to Spike that maybe this was the infamous impasse that some friendships had to go through; that her and Anya had reached their crossroads and had to go their separate paths.

Upon telling Faith about what Anya had said about Doyle, her ‘sister’ had flat out warned Buffy not to put her in the same room as Anya anytime soon as she was liable to knock her ‘flat on her ass.’

“Personally, I wouldn’t object,” Spike had told her.

“Why is it that you’re so against her? You dated her, remember?”

He snorted at the implication. “If you can even call it that. “

“So then what is it that has you all anti-Anya?”

“I suppose,” he told her, pulling her into his arms, “That it has to do with the things she said to you. How she used Doyle against you the way she did. Plus, the way she treated you before that – making you out to be some kind of simpleton when you most clearly are not. I don’t like the way she’s treating you now, and there’s this general sense of mistrust I feel about her being around.”

“Oh? Mistrust that she’ll . . . ?”

“I don’t know yet, I haven’t figured it out. That’s why she makes me so uneasy. Anya, in the little time that I spent with her, doesn’t seem the type to necessarily let something go. Like, if she found a way to do a sneak attack to exact her revenge, she’d take it.”

Buffy looked up at him, speculative. “You think she’s just waiting for a chance to strike? Like a cobra?”

He pecked her nose, smiling at her, “Yes.”

Snuggling into him she said, “Nah. I don’t think so. I think she’d just walk away from me.”

“Oh, kitten, that’s one of the things I love most about you. Your inherent trust in others.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing. I trust you, just think where you’d be if I didn’t.”

He chuckled, “Can’t dispute logic like that.”

Plans for the gallery showing were going smoothly and rapidly – at least in Buffy’s eyes. She was in part ready and in part extremely terrified. Bad luck seemed to follow large openings at her mother’s gallery. She was hoping, no, praying, that whatever horrible thing had to happen to somehow counteract the moment of the gallery opening, it’d happen before and not during or just before.

It seemed moments like that, the bad and tragic ones, happened without rhyme or reason though. She remembered Doyle quoting his favorite author, Oscar Wilde, once and saying that “It often happens that the real tragedies of life occur in such an inartistic manner that they hurt us by their crude violence, their absolute incoherence, their absurd want of meaning, their entire lack of style.” She remembered giggling at how true that was, and how sad.

And so, one day, as she was rifling through her mail, thinking about her plans for the day – follow up on the food with Anya, follow up with Tara on her pieces and accompany Spike to a doctor’s appointment – that she came across an envelope. An envelope with her name and address typed on the front, but no return address. Curious she opened it and imbibed the words printed out on the plain white paper:

Hi. You don’t know who I am, and I don’t know who you are. I kind of wanted to keep it that way. If I knew exactly who you were, I know I’d want to track you down and see you in person, largely, I think, to see if you were all right.

There is no easy way to say who I am; my name does not matter in such a case. In fact, after learning what it is I have, my name is of no consequence at all and will not be remembered. All you will remember is that I was the recipient of a heart; a heart that was donated to me by your loved one.

I really don’t think there was an easy way to say it, and I want to apologize profusely for how abrasive that may have sounded.

The purpose of this letter was not to hurt you, or make you upset, but instead to thank you, to thank your loved one. I was dying, slowly, before I received my new heart. My future was, for all intents and purposes, grim. I had none, basically. And now . . . now I have a new life.

Nothing can compare to what it’s like to suddenly feel as if you have a whole new life before you. That you have a ‘do over’. With that do over, you want to do right by yourself, by your loved ones, and by the one that gave you that new life.

I know that without the heart that I was given, I would not be in the place I am now: the place of peace, happiness, and of being in love for the first time in my life.

My intent with this letter was not to bring pain to you. It was instead to give you thanks and to perhaps give you hope and assurance that in another, your loved one lives on.

Blessing and Thanks.

If Buffy had to note when the tears started, it was right after she read that someone out there, had Doyle’s heart. The tears fell and stained the letter she held loosely in her hand. It wet the paper in her hand.

She thought of Doyle, living on in another. The thought didn’t comfort her as the person who wrote the letter wished. It instead made her think that somewhere out there was part of her husband and she had no idea where. And it wasn’t the same as having his kidney or liver . . . it was his heart and that was different. It was just different. It was Doyle’s kind, loving and considerate heart.

She wanted to know the recipient’s name, she wanted to see him or her. Wanted to touch the place that held her husband’s heart. What she would do after that, she did not know, only that she felt she’d know if she got the chance to simply do it.

Her next thought was of Spike. She wondered if he’d ever contacted the family of his donor and, despite how happy she was that he was alive and had a new life, she wanted to warn him the pain it could cause that family.

She felt numb, which belied the tears falling freely down her face. In her heart she knew that this was the reason why Doyle donated his organs. He wanted to be able to help others, and what better way to help someone than by giving them a heart; a new life?

“Buffy?”

Her head jerked to the sound of Spike’s voice coming in, and she hastily wiped at her tears, stuffing the letter in the envelope. “I’m in here!”

She didn’t look at him, not immediately. She wanted to gain some semblance of control; didn’t want to worry him and wasn’t ready to delve into this new development. She wanted to find a way to come to terms with it on her own before she shared.

However, she should have known the kind of man Spike was. The kind of man that was so in tune and devoted to her, that he knew at once, just by stepping into the kitchen, that something was wrong.

“What’s wrong?” he asked immediately.

She shuffled her mail, “Nothing.”

He grabbed her arm and turned her toward him. She looked down. “I was just having a moment.”

“What happened?”

She shook her head, “Spike, don’t—“

“Dammit, Buffy, tell me what’s wrong!”

Bottom lip quivering, she reached for the letter and handed it to him. She watched with watery eyes as he tore the envelope open and then watched as he paled before her.

“Oh God,” he whispered and dropped the letter, stumbling back, his eyes wide with horror.

She knew he’d feel something about it, but not to that extent. “Spike?”

He shut his eyes, and she noticed he was breathing heavy, and sweating. “Buffy,” he whispered brokenly, “I’m so sorry.”

Something was starting to click inside her head, pieces were clicking in her brain and she stared at him. “Spike.”

He opened his eyes then, stared at her with pain evident in his eyes, so clearly evident it was as if someone had come in and stabbed him in the back as she stood before him. His eyes filled with tears, “It’s me,” he croaked out. “I have Doyle’s heart.”

All Buffy could do was stare at him. “You—you have Doyle’s heart? You wrote this letter?”

He nodded, tears spilling freely down his cheeks, unchecked. He didn’t try to hide them from her as he had before, he was laid out and bare for her to see.

She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts, trying to latch on to at least one of them that was running through her mind and focusing on it. But her mind, her mind was reeling and she didn’t know what to do with the information.

Spike though, Spike was able to do something. He pushed himself from the wall he’d been leaning against and stood straight. “I—I have to go—“

She knew that wasn’t the answer, that much she could latch on to. “No, Spike—“

“I can’t, Buffy,” he said hoarsely, not even able to look her in the eye, “I can’t.”

“Please! Just – let me—“ she pleaded.

“What?”

She stared at him, her vision blurred from tears.

“What?” he shouted and she jumped.

Moving forward as if in a dream, she reached out to him, caressed the side of his face, gazing up into his blue eyes filled with tears and glided her hand down his neck, his arm and finally across his chest and over his heart. She stared at her hand, stared at it as it lay over his heart. Doyle’s heart. And she sobbed.

*********************

Spike couldn’t take it. He just couldn’t. Seeing that letter, seeing the letter he wrote to Buffy, to his donor family – it was too much.

And it was unfair. So horribly unfair.

Buffy’s loss was his gain; he was happy because he got a new heart and a new life, and in order for him to get those things, someone had to die – why, God, why did that someone have to be Doyle?

The last person on God’s green Earth he ever wanted to see in pain, the one person he loved beyond reason and only wanted to make smile, was the one person who had to lose so he could gain her.

It was so unfair.

He’d been propelled to tell her, it had crossed his mind to keep it from her, but he couldn’t do that. Couldn’t do it, if not for the raw reaction to finding out he had Doyle’s heart, then because he simply could not lie to Buffy.

The walls had been closing in on him, and breathing was becoming a problem. He had to go, he couldn’t – he just couldn’t deal.

He pushed himself from the wall he’d been leaning against and stood straight. “I—I have to go—“

“No, Spike—“ she said on a hoarse whisper.

“I can’t, Buffy.” Christ, he couldn’t even look at her. “I can’t.”

“Please! Just – let me—“ she pleaded.

“What?” he demanded, his flight response screaming in his ears.

She stared at him, unmoving and saying nothing.

“What?” he shouted, impatient. She jumped and he felt guilt for scaring her.

He watched her glide toward him, her hand reaching out. She caressed the side of his face, and he nearly broke into a sob. God, she was touching him and looking up at him, looking at him in wonder and awe and . . . love? Then her hand was moving, moving down his neck, his arm and finally across his chest and over his heart. She ceased looking at him. Ceased looking up at him and was intently staring at where her hand was. Over the scar he’d been so afraid to show her, over the mark he’d felt so self-conscious about on so many levels, over his heart. No, not his heart. Doyle’s heart. Doyle, the man she loved. The man she’d been married to and lost . . . lost and now found again.

And she sobbed.

With a cry, he turned and ran, leaving her there to mourn Doyle all over again.

**************

He was gone so fast Buffy couldn’t stop him. Not that she knew what to do or even say anyway.

Doyle’s heart in Spike. That was the only thought in her mind. Spike that she made love with, Doyle she’d been married to. Doyle that she loved, Spike that was here because of him.

“Buffy?”

Looking up, she saw Faith staring there, concerned and worried, “What’s going on? I just saw Spike; he tore out of here like a bat out of hell. Did you have a fight?”

Could she tell Faith? Should she tell Faith? She was after all Doyle’s sister and she deserved to know. “Faithy.”

“Buffy, you’re scaring me, what’s going on?”

“Remember how I told you that Spike had a heart transplant?”

Faith nodded slowly, “Is he sick? Is his body rejecting the heart?”

“No, Faithy, I got a letter today.”

“From who? Dammit, Buffy, you’re freaking me out!”

“I got a letter today from a heart transplant survivor thanking me for Doyle’s heart. Faithy, Spike has Doyle’s heart.”

Faith burst into tears immediately and Buffy’s concern was comforting her. Yes, yes, comfort Faith. That would give her something to focus on.

Faith held onto her tightly as she cried. “Did he know? Did he know all this time?”

“No, honey, he didn’t know until I showed him the letter.”

“Is he – is he mad?”

“I don’t think so. I think he’s . . . I don’t know how he is,” Buffy said, giving into a fresh batch of tears. “I didn’t know what to say to him. All I could do was . . . was touch his heart.”

“Did it – did it feel different?”

“No, that’s the thing, I think . . . I didn’t feel it. I didn’t feel Doyle. I was waiting to and I didn’t. I wanted to and I felt guilty for Spike for wanting to and guilty for Doyle and . . . I didn’t feel him.”

“Buffy, what does that mean?”

“I don’t know, Faithy, I don’t know. It’s like he’s living on, and yet, he’s not.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” But even as she said it, she knew. She was going to make another trip to Doyle’s grave. The only thing she wasn’t sure of was if she was going to make it alone, or if she was going to take Spike with her.

***************

Rupert Giles opened the door to his home to find his nephew Spike standing before him, looking a mess. “Spike? What’s wrong, son?”

“R-remember that girl I told you about?”

“Yes, Buffy, is it?”

Spike nodded.

“Spike, what is wrong? I’ve never seen you so upset, come in, would you?” and he grabbed his arm, dragging him in the house.

“Rupert—Spike! Oh my God, what’s wrong? Are you all right? Is it your heart?” Aunt Jenny went directly to him, folding him up in her tiny arms. “What is it, darling?”

“I have Buffy’s husband’s heart,” Spike said mournfully. “He died and . . . I’m alive.”

“Dear God,” Giles breathed and Aunt Jenny just held onto her poor, broken nephew and let him cry his eyes out.

“What are the odds?” Aunt Jenny mused on a murmur as she handed Spike a cup of cocoa.

“My bloody lot in life to never do anything right,” Spike muttered and sipped on his cocoa. When he put his mug down, Aunt Jenny whapped him upside the head.

“Jenny, honestly,” Uncle Giles started.

“That’ll teach him to say such things!” Aunt Jenny said defensively. She looked at her nephew sternly. “Now you listen to me, Spike,” and she leaned forward, getting right in his face. “There is nothing wrong with you. You do plenty of things right – living, being one of them. You have a big heart and a beautiful soul. You know why you’re not dead? Because you have so much to offer this world; the angels themselves would weep if you left. So do not sit here and tell me that you can’t do anything right. You bring that girl joy—“

“Not anymore,” Spike muttered.

“It was a shock. It wasn’t as if she were going to shrug it off as if it meant nothing. You said she tried to stop you—“

“Yeah, only so she could put her hand over –“ he broke off. “She put her hand over my heart and it was like she . . . like she was trying to get to him through me.”

“Spike,” Uncle Giles began, “It was a natural reaction for her to do that. Anyone in her place would have done the same. It does not mean that this enhances or takes away anything she feels for you. You don’t know, you simply do not know. And you won’t by running from her.”

“I didn’t want to stick around to find out if she hated me or just wanted me around because I have his heart!” Spike shouted and jumped up. He started to pace, rubbing the back of his neck. “I thought I was doing this good thing, I wanted these people to know what was given to me and all this time . . . all this time I was given something that Buffy had to lose in order for me to get it.” He stopped and stared wide-eyed at his aunt and uncle. “What if that’s the only reason I felt a connection to her? What if,” he shook his head, forlorn, “What if his heart needed to be with her and I’m just the body along for the ride?”

“Oh, poppycock,” Uncle Giles dismissed that idea with a wave of his hand. “Spike, it’s an organ. The organ itself does not have feeling.”

“Then why does it hurt?” Spike asked on a whisper.

“Spike, your heart is not Doyle’s, not any longer,” Aunt Jenny told him. “It’s yours. If you want to continue down the mystical path, then maybe that heart was always yours and Doyle had to –“

“Don’t say that!” Spike exclaimed. “Don’t say that,” he shook his head. “I would hate to know that someone Buffy loved had to die in order for me to be with her. No, I refuse to believe that.”

“Then for heaven’s sake, stop thinking that his heart had to be with her, and you’re just the body!” Aunt Jenny exclaimed back. “Spike, honey, things happen in life that don’t always make sense. There’s tragedy and heartache and pain; however, on the other side of that is joy, love and harmony.”

“You sound like bloody Hallmark card, Aunt Jenny.”

“Listen to me, young man,” she demanded sternly. “What happened is a coincidence, a large coincidence, I’ll give you. It was a horrible thing what happened to Buffy, but Spike, honey, you had nothing to do with it. You were a young man in a hospital waiting for a heart. Logic says that someone had to die for you to get that heart. You knew the reality of it going into it. You had no way of knowing that heart belonged to Doyle. You didn’t know who Doyle was, and, you didn’t know that a year later, you’d meet and fall in love with his widow. She had no way of knowing either, she knew he was a donor, but she probably didn’t know that his heart had been given, probably didn’t even think about that in her grief.
What matters now is how you both move on from it. How you deal with it, accept what happened, and move on with your lives. You could get yourself tripped up on the what- ifs and weigh every side from the mystical to the practical, but that’s not what’s important. The important thing is how you both work through it, and that you do it together.”

Spike gazed mournfully at his aunt. “I’m not ready to see her yet.”

“You’re afraid,” Uncle Giles observed. “You will have to see her eventually, Spike.”

“I’m just not ready yet, Uncle Giles. I can’t.”

“Then you can stay here until you can,” Aunt Jenny assured him.

************************

“Buffy, do you think that this was Doyle’s way of staying with you beyond the grave?” Faith asked as they sat, curled up on Buffy’s couch sharing a pint of chocolate ice cream.

“Well, he was quite superstitious, but . . . honestly Faithy, I don’t have an answer for that. Let’s say that there are other forces at work here—supernatural forces, if you will. If that were the case then wouldn’t I have somehow ‘felt’ him? I mean . . . all this time with Spike, I never ‘felt’ Doyle here. The only time I felt Doyle was when I told him I was seeing Spike. But that wasn’t a ‘hey, I’m here with you through him’ type of thing, that was a ‘I’m here, but I know you’re moving on and it’s okay.’”

“So then, you just answered my question. You don’t think it’s Doyle’s way of staying with you beyond the grave.”

Buffy dumped her spoon in the ice cream and jumped up. “I don’t know!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms up in frustration. “I’m just. . . I’m confused and I’m . . . . in shock and the coincidence just blows my mind and I don’t – know . . . “

“Buffy, do you love Spike?”

Buffy froze and stared at Faith, making like a guppy.

Faith raised a brow, “Well, do you?”

“I – I –“

“Buffy, how did you feel when you realized Spike had Doyle’s heart?”

“I wanted to see if I could feel him.”

“Doyle?”

“Yes.”

“And when you didn’t?”

“I think I – “ she started to cry, “I think I felt guilty.”

“Why?”

“Because the look on Spike’s face – he was hurt. He – I think I hurt him.”

“And that hurt you?”

“Yes.”

“But not feeling Doyle didn’t hurt you?”

“It – I – I don’t want Doyle here in that capacity. I want Doyle in a happy place – in heaven. Not because I don’t love him still, I do, but because I do love him, I want him at peace. He wouldn’t be at peace here like this. And if he were here, I’d know. He’s not. It’s his organ inside of Spike, but it’s not Doyle.”

“Do you love Spike, Buffy?” Faith asked again.

Buffy swallowed and said nothing.

Faith jumped up. “Buffy, it’s okay to say yes. Doyle knows. Maybe he planned it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, maybe he was looking down from his spot in heaven and picked Spike. Maybe he was up there watching Spike, wanting to see who got his heart, ya know? And, he liked what he saw. We did say we thought he’d like Spike. So maybe he gave things a little push.”

“Anya? Can you explain that?”

“Well, he always did have a wicked sense of humor, and, I suspected that he only put up with Anya for you, but could have done without her.”

“Sounds like Spike,” Buffy said dryly.

“See? Buffy, after you placed your hand over his heart and didn’t feel Doyle, your thoughts after were not of Doyle, but of Spike and how you might have hurt him. Buffy, you can say it. You love him.”

“I’m afraid,” Buffy admitted, on a slight whimper.

“Why?”

“Because what if saying it means Doyle somehow disappears?”

“See, Buffy, this is not about Doyle’s heart. This is about your fear of saying you love Spike.”

Buffy nodded, placing her hand over her mouth and letting out a sob.

Faith wrapped her up in her arms. “Buffy, Doyle loves you and I’m so certain that he would not want you to be alone. I’m also so certain that you will never forget him and that he will not disappear. He’d haunt you if you ever did.”

Buffy started to giggle through her tears.

“It’s okay to love Spike. Hey, who better to have permission to love the bleached wonder than Doyle’s sister?”

Both girls started to giggle and Buffy hugged her tight. “Thank you.”

“So, can you say it?”

“I – I love Spike.”

“Say it one more time. With feeling.”

“I love Spike,” Buffy said firmly.

“Now, don’t you think you should tell him that?”

Buffy nodded, “Yes, you’re right.”

“What the hell is going on in here?”

Both heads swiveled to see an annoyed looking Anya standing in the door. “You were supposed to have called, Buffy.”

Buffy sighed, “Sorry. Something came up.”

“Obviously. What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

Buffy sighed, “You might want to sit down for this one.”

Anya appeared impatient, as if she didn’t have time for this, as if this was a set-back in her busy day and couldn’t take the two minutes to hear what Buffy had to say.

Buffy remained calm, but Faith wanted to haul off and deck her. She’d wanted to hit her for a while now, so it wasn’t a big surprise, but the more irritated Anya became, and the more calm Buffy remained, the more Faith wanted to hit Anya.

Granted, she hadn’t reacted the best when she’d found out that Buffy was interested in Spike, but, Doyle was her brother, so of course she had something to say; something to feel about it. And yes, Anya had been dating Spike, but the things that Anya had said to Buffy: Bringing Doyle into the mix and making it seem as if Doyle would be disgusted with her – that was unforgivable. As was making Buffy out to be some crybaby. She’d lost her husband for Christ’s sake, and not just any man, but the greatest man Faith had ever known. The only man she’d ever trusted.

For Buffy’s sake, Faith left the room quietly to get a drink. She was keeping her ear out though. If that bitch said one wrong thing to Buffy, she was out on her ear.

*******************

“Buffy, stop stalling already. Just tell me what’s going on,” Anya demanded, annoyed.

Sitting next to Anya, she bit her bottom lip and placed her hands in her lap. “Okay, well, see, Spike had a heart transplant—“

Anya’s eyes popped open, “Get out! He did?”

Buffy nodded, “He’s sensitive about it—“

“No shit, the bastard never told me!”

“He’s not a bastard,” Buffy said, trying to be calm no matter how much that remark made her want to snap at Anya.

“So – God, that’s why he never wanted to take off his shirt! Because of that scar—“

“There is nothing wrong with that scar,” Buffy said vehemently.

Anya shrugged, “So, is this it then?”

Buffy shook her head, “No. Well, partly. Spike has Doyle’s heart.”

Anya’s jaw dropped, “You mean when Doyle donated . . . and Spike needed. . . Oh my God.”

“He’s pretty upset right now and I think I’m partly to blame—“

“What did you do?”

“I was upset. He’d written this letter to the family of his donor – he never knew it was me and I opened it this morning. He came in and well, it came out.”

“Oh my God.”

Buffy nodded, “And I put my hand over his heart, trying to see if I could feel Doyle and. . . I didn’t. He left in a rush and he was clearly upset,” Buffy was on a roll now, “But I realized that I loved him and that—“

“Whoa, stop right there.”

Buffy clamped her mouth shut.

“I can tell you right now that there’s no way Spike is going to believe that.”

Buffy blinked, “What? That I love him?”

“Yes.”

“Why not?”

Anya looked at her as if she were nuts, “Because he has Doyle’s heart, and you were Doyle’s wife! Buffy, if you tell him how you feel, he’s only going to think you love him because he has Doyle’s heart.”

“You think?”

Anya nodded vigorously, “Yes, of course he is! He’s going to think that you’re just trying to be with Doyle through him. And really, don’t you just love him maybe more than before because he has Doyle’s heart?”

Buffy shook her head, “No, I don’t love him more for –“

“So you love him less because he isn’t Doyle? Let’s face facts here, Buffy. You’re never going to be satisfied with anyone that isn’t Doyle.”

“That’s not true—“

“I know how much you loved Doyle, Buffy. Maybe this is Doyle’s way of preventing you from moving on.”

That did it. In the instant that Buffy jumped up from the couch, Faith flew out of the kitchen.

“You little bitch—“ Faith started.

“Faith, stop,” Buffy held up her hand, stopping her sister-in-law. She was in tune to Faith well enough to know that Faith wanted to rip Anya a new one for that remark.

However, Buffy wanted the honors.

“You know Anya,” Buffy began, “I was all on board for feeling guilty for the way things happened with Spike. I was all on board for trying to somehow make things up to you. I’ve pretty much bent over backwards because I felt that I failed you as a friend. I felt as if I betrayed you, and on some level, I did.
However. You’ve betrayed me too. You have taken the things that mean the most to me – my husband and Spike, and used them against me. You’ve used my weaknesses, my pain over losing my husband, and now my love for Spike to get back at me; to single me out, to make me alone, and to make me miserable.
Oh, you tried with Riley. But it was on your terms, and the way you sang him praises all night I wouldn’t have been surprised if you fucked him yourself. Everything has to be on your terms. At first, I needed someone to help me get through the day, and I truly was grateful for that help. But now . . . I’m done.
Your ploy to keep me from Spike won’t work. I have a lot more faith in Spike, than you realize. And, he has a lot more faith in me than you ever have. I’m done being your little pet project, I’m done trying to bend over backwards to save this friendship. You don’t control me anymore, Anya. And all those things you said about Doyle, is wrong. He would want me to be happy. He wouldn’t keep me from it. On that note, I think it’s best if you leave.”

Anya jumped from the couch in a huff and opened her mouth to say something, but Faith, darling Faith, stood beside Buffy and shot her a menacing look. Anya clamped her mouth shut, grabbed her purse and strode out of the house, slamming the door behind her.

“B, that was awesome!” Faith exclaimed. “You were straight to the point, but you weren’t nasty, you were all . . . diplomatic.”

Buffy laughed, “The complete opposite of what you would have been, right?”

“Got that right. I was ready to knock her teeth down her throat.”

“That felt good, real good.” She let out a huge sigh and shook her body as if she were warming up to work out, “God, I didn’t realize how good that would feel! Spike was completely right. She’s been biding her time all this time to just find a way to separate Spike and I. She’s been waiting for it. And she used this to do it. After all that guilt I felt for everything too! Spike would have been proud.”

“Screw, Spike. Pat yourself on the back and bask in your achievement for a minute.”

Buffy beamed at the brunette and let out a long sigh. “A weight has been lifted. Well, a small one compared to the next task.”

“Spike, right?”

“Yep, Spike. I’ve got a man to get to.“

“And when you do see him? What are you going to say?”

“I think that’s something he should hear first, don’t you?”

Faith smiled, “Yeah, but I’m nosy.”

Buffy tweaked her nose. “You won’t feel neglected if I go?”

“Not at all. Just call me later to let me know what happens.”

“Promise.”

*********************

Two hours later . . . .

Spike wearily climbed out of his car and shoved his car keys into his pocket. He needed to leave his aunt and uncle’s, he couldn’t stay there forever.

Climbing the steps to his door, he spied a body moving out of the corner of his eye on the porch swing.
Buffy.

She was curled up on the tiny swing, her eyes shut, sleeping soundly. Drawn to her like a moth to a flame, Spike ambled over quietly and knelt beside her, smiling wearily at her small form all curled up.

Her eyes popped open as if sensing him. “Spike.”

“Hi, Buffy. How long you been here?”

“What time is it?”

“Four.”

“Two hours.”

“Buffy, you shouldn’t be out here sleeping like this –“

“You waited for me once, remember?”

He nodded, “I remember.”

“You don’t let me run, so I’m not going to let you run.”

“You should,” he said softly.

“No. I love you, Spike, and I need you with me.”

Spike’s eyes welled up with tears and he looked away from her. “Don’t say that,” he whispered.

She frowned and sat up,” Why? I thought you’d be happy to hear that—“

“I am, if you . . . Buffy, it’s not me you’re in love with. It’s Doyle and the idea that Doyle is inside me.”

She shook her head vigorously, “No, that’s not it at all, Spike.”

“Yes it is!” he exclaimed and jumped to his feet. “It’s why you put your hand over my heart and cried like you did…It’s because Doyle’s heart is inside me and you feel you’re reunited with him—“

“Son of a bitch, she was right,” Buffy breathed.

“What?”

“Anya. She said you’d think that—“

“You told her?”

“Yes, Spike, I’m sorry, I know I wasn’t supposed to say anything about your transplant. I just thought that – “

“That what? That since you guys have been ‘so close’ lately, you could just tell her?”

She jumped to her feet, “You ran out on me! I was upset!”

Spike shook his head, “I can’t do this right now, Buffy.”

She poked him in the shoulder, “You don’t have a choice.”

He gave her a look, “Oh really?” he drawled.

“Yes, really. I love you Spike. I love you for who you are, not because of Doyle’s heart. Not because of your heart transplant, not because your parent’s are dead – I love you for you, for who you are for how you make me feel.
Yes, Doyle is gone and yes, you have his heart, and yes a part of me will always love him, but Spike, that’s your heart now.
When I placed my hand over your chest, I admit, it was to see if I could feel Doyle—“

He started to walk away from her and she grabbed his arm, keeping him with her. “Listen to me,” she demanded.

He stopped and sighed heavily, “Buffy, Jesus, just let me go—“

“No. I just found you Spike. I lost someone I loved once already, I can’t lose you too. I won’t. Not when I know how happy we’d be. How happy we’ve already been.”

“It’s not real!”

“Yes it is! Do I need to hit you to get you to listen to me? God, do you realize how incredibly dense you can be?”

Without warning, he started to laugh.

She stared at him, not sure what to make of that. Surely the stress was making him mad.

“My aunt, she hit me upside the head today. Pretty much told me the same thing. It just—“ he shook his head as if to clear it, “Buffy, I never realized you had such a dominatrix side to you.”

She smiled, “Well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me, yet.”

He looked down. “I have his heart, Buffy. How can you not look at me and think of him?”

“Because I look at you and see you. Spike, when I touched you, I didn’t feel Doyle. Yes, I was upset, I was in shock! It was . . . weird, for lack of a better word. Imagine if the shoe was on the other foot. Imagine someone told you that they had your loved one’s organ. And that’s all it is Spike. An organ. Your organ. No, I don’t think that Doyle is living on inside you, no, I don’t think that this is his way of being with me beyond the grave.” She paused, “Though Faith seems to think that this was Doyle’s way of making sure I was happy beyond the grave, and you know, I’m not superstitious like that. I used to make fun of Doyle for being like that, but I have to say . . . I think she’s right. Doyle is gone, Spike. He’s gone to a better place and I’d rather him there than here in some mystical form.
When I saw the hurt on your face after I did that this morning, I felt so hurt. I felt hurt for you, I felt hurt that I made you feel as if you were just some kind of vessel and that what we’d been through had just been some kind of sign from the heavens that Doyle had been returned to me. My concern was with you and how I’d hurt you.
Spike, please, believe me. I love you. I think I’ve been in love with you for a while now, but I was afraid to admit it. I was afraid that if I admitted it then somehow it meant that Doyle would disappear, that I’d forget him. That’s not the case though and I know that now. He wouldn’t want me to wallow in misery and be alone. He’d want me happy and I really do believe now that Faith was right. He sent you to me. He knew we needed each other, he knew we fit. He also probably wanted to stick it to Anya—“

Spike laughed through the tears that were freely falling from his eyes. He stood there, open to him, vulnerable and so open. She couldn’t stop herself from throwing her arms around him and holding him tight.

“Please say you believe me, Spike. If you want, I can list all the ways I love you. I can tell you how I love the way you secretly listen to pop music, even though you vehemently deny it when I accuse you of bopping to the beat. I can tell you how I love the way you hold me when we’re falling asleep, and how I love how silky your curls are through my finger, how hot you look all greased up from working on the car. I can tell you how I love it when you smile and it brightens my day to see you—“

“Buffy, stop,” he said quietly.

She wouldn’t let him go though, she held on tight, afraid he was going to turn her away, afraid that her actions that morning had ruined it all; afraid he didn’t believe her.

“Do you believe me?” she whispered.

“Can you look at me?”

“I’m afraid to.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m afraid you’re going to turn me away.”

“Why would I do that?”

She felt a smidge of relief begin to spread through her. Just a smidge though. “Because you still have it stuck in your thick head that I only love you because of Doyle.”

“Are you saying I’m stubborn?”

“Nah, not at all.”

“But if I were . . . you love me for it though, right?”

“Absolutely. Course, I’ll tell you that now and then years from now when you’re being stubborn I’ll tell you how I always hated it.”

He laughed, “Will you now?”

“Yep. And then you’ll tell me how you always did think I was a bit of a crybaby, but never wanted to say anything because you wanted to get laid.”

He laughed harder, his body shaking in her arms and she giggled.

“Buffy, seeing as how you have our future arguments planned already, can you look at me now?”

Without releasing her hold on him, she leaned back slightly and looked up at him, up into the brilliant blue eyes of the man she’d come to love.

He smiled at her and Eskimo-kissed her. “I believe you, Buffy. It’s . . . not easy still, but I believe you. I love you so much and the thought of losing you—“

“Future arguments planned, remember? You won’t lose me.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

He pulled her closer and buried his face in her hair, “I thought I was going to lose you,” he whispered hoarsely.

“You thought wrong.”

“It’s all so… surreal, you know?”

“I know, but we’ll work through it—“

“Together.”

She nodded, “Together. Spike?”

“Yes, my love?”

“Can you kiss me now? I’ve gone all day without—“

He cut her off by pressing his lips to hers in a hungry kiss, a kiss that poured his relief and love, and some residual fear that he could have lost her.

“Can we go inside and--?” She asked, breathless.

“Oh, God, yes. But, before we do . . . I have to tell you that you’re wrong.”

“Blasphemy! About what?”

“My heart . . .it’s not Doyle’s and it’s not mine. Buffy, my heart is yours.”

“Oh, you are so getting laid right now, buddy.”

Laughing, he swept her up in his arms and started for the door.

Three years later

Standing in the middle of the attic, Buffy bit her bottom lip and pondered where to put the new influx of boxes. Turning slowly in a circle, taking in the boxes that seemed to have multiplied over the years, her eyes fell on the distant corner of the room.

Doyle’s things sat there; in the same home as after he’d passed.

Gliding forward, a small smile graced her lips and she knelt before the box of photos and opened it, taking an album out. She flipped through the pages, memories rushing back to her, memories she never forget, but didn’t dwell on the way she had once upon a time. Not that she didn’t miss him, she did, she always would, but it was different now. She could look back on memories of Doyle with a smile, think about those good times they’d had and not sob at the drop of a hat over them.

“There you are.”

Looking up, Buffy smiled at Spike who was making his way to her.

He kept his gaze trained on hers and sat down next to her. “Thought you’d got lost up here, pet,” he told her.

“I got distracted,” she said nodding to the photo album.

He nodded and looked down at the picture she’d fell on, a picture of Doyle smiling simply at the camera.

“Hey fella,” Spike said to the picture. He said it easily, as if he and Doyle were best friends and had just spoken the day before. She remembered the day she’d brought him to Doyle’s grave to ‘introduce’ him for the first time. He’d wanted to go when they’d first gotten together, but after finding out he had the man’s heart, that had made Spike a little gun shy about it. He wanted to do it, but he was still nervous about it. As he had explained to Buffy, he not only had the man’s heart (to which she said the heart was his), but he had the man’s girl too. However, once he got going, Spike was chatting away to Doyle with ease. And, he’d accompanied her since then when she visited to plant new plants or just to check in and say hi. He even asked Doyle’s advice on a few occasions on how to handle her. Not a good thing to do when she was standing right there, but she supposed that was his whole point.

“You don’t mind?”

He shook his head, “Why would I mind, kitten?”

She shrugged, “I don’t know.”

“Sides, this is where it all started, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” she agreed, “It is. Up here in the attic.”

“When Anya brought me home.”

She smiled at that and rested her head on his shoulder. “Did you get to see Justin Junior when she stopped by?”

“Nope, he was in his car seat, napping. Justin senior was with him. She said she’d come in and have a cuppa later with you.”

“She so different now,” Buffy mused. “Who ever would have thought that Anya would have settled down? She’s married now. She has a kid.”

Spike nodded, “Yep, and her kid and our kid play together.”

Buffy smiled, “Maybe they’ll –“

“Don’t say it. While I’m glad that Anya grew up and got over us being together – while I’m even gladder that you made her grovel in order to win your forgiveness, I do not want our Madison having Anya as a mother-in-law. She might have backed off from controlling you, but something tells me she won’t be so kind to Maddy.”

“I think Maddy can hold her own.”

“You are her mother so yeah, anything’s possible.”

Buffy swatted him playfully, “Hey, you give as good as you get, mister.”

He grinned and tilted her face up to his. “I sure do,” he murmured and kissed her sweetly. “I ever tell you how I wanted to take you in my arms the first time I saw you up here?”

She shook her head, “No, you didn’t.”

“I did.”

Leaning up, she kissed him sweetly and murmured against his lips. “So, we have the house to ourselves for a few hours?”

He nipped at her lips and grinned, “We’re supposed to be bringing up Maddy’s baby clothes.”

“So you don’t want to have your wicked way with your wife?”

“Oh you know I do,” he said huskily and jumped to his feet, hauling her up.

They rushed to their bedroom, which had once been the ‘forbidden’ room; Doyle’s and Buffy’s room. Now it was “Mommy and Daddy’s room”. They’d redone it together, adding their own special touches together, and making it theirs. Guilt obliterated, it was their room. The guest room had been made into a nursery for Maddy, and, hopefully one day in the future – if Spike had his way – their future son. He wanted more than two kids and was hoping to convince Buffy of that, and if he succeeded, he would have to set about convincing her that they were going to need a bigger house.

Right now though, he wanted to focus on his sweet wife, and making love to her.

“Now,” he moaned, as tore her panties away and dived between her spread legs to make love to her with his mouth, “That’s what I’m talking about.”

She giggled and ran her fingers through his curls. Within seconds, she was close to the edge, but he wanted inside her first. Discarding his pants quickly and tossing off his shirt with ease, he pulled her sundress up and off and sank easily inside her warmth.

She let out a contented sigh and wrapped her arms around him. “Mmmm…” she moaned, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Princess.”

She wrinkled her nose and then moaned as he angled his hips just so and hit her g-spot. He was really good at that.

“What was that look for?” he asked, on a slight grunt.

“You call Maddy ‘Princess’. That didn’t sit well.”

Chuckling, he thrust forward again, causing them both to groan.

“My heart? My love? My girl?” he murmured, peppering her face with kisses.

“All of the above,” she whispered and came apart in his arms.

Following soon after, Spike collapsed against her and then immediately rolled them to their sides, where he kept them joined.

“So,” he began, Eskimo-kissing her, “What do you say about having another one?”