Excitement surged through the crowd as they streamed through the cold night air and into the open doors of the auditorium. Music was already billowing out, pre-recorded from previous concerts, and the chatter was nearly as deafening as the live performances would be later. Buffy practically jumped out of the car, slamming her door and giving a little bounce as she raced to grab Angel’s hand.

“I’m so, so excited!” she exclaimed. His fingers were cold in her hand, and so she squeezed tighter, both to warm his hands and because she couldn’t contain the adrenaline rush that had been creeping up on her all day.

“I know!” he smiled at her, squeezing her hand in return. “It’s going to be an amazing show!”

“I still can’t believe you did this for me. Thank you so, so much again, for the tickets!” She was glowing with enthusiasm, and he couldn’t help smiling as he took in her shiny hair, and sparkling eyes. And that outfit! His Buffy usually dressed conservatively, but tonight she was dressed the part of the rock groupie to the hilt, in ripped jeans and a red velvet halter top with an oversize cross that twinkled with black stones tied around her neck with a black velvet ribbon. Her blond hair was loose and tumbled over her shoulders in waves. Overall, she looked absolutely amazing. Not that she wasn’t always nice looking, but when you had been together for as long as they had, it was easy to forget on a day to day basis just how incredible the other person can be.

Buffy sighed and closed her eyes briefly in pleasure, as a small frisson of anticipation ran down her back. This was going to be so incredible. Finally, she was going to get to see Blue Flame in person, and more importantly, see him up close! A brand new British band, they had just come out with their first cd and were doing their first American appearance on the late show when Buffy had seen them for the first time. Their sound was intense, a far cry from the teeny-bob pop that had taken over the radio waves of late, but not so hard that it hurt to listen. The beat was racing, the guitar riffs were vehement but the melody soared. And the lead singer, Spike Giles…..At the first close-up, Buffy had developed an instant crush. His soulful blue eyes seemed to pop out of the tv screen and stare right at her, and his voice, by turns pure and gravely, raised goosebumps on her arms.

Her husband, Angel, was very indulgent of her crush. He liked the music, too, and had even bought them a pair of fifth-row tickets for this concert. He could afford to be indulgent; after all, they had been married several years and together long before that. He had even been her first boyfriend.

Buffy chattered excitedly as they made their way inside the auditorium and found their seats. It wasn’t long until the lights dimmed. Buffy was instantly on her feet, cheering with the rest of the crowd, as finally, Blue Flame took the stage. They weren’t the main act, just opening for a more well-known band, but from the level of the crowd’s enthusiasm, it seemed like many of the audience had come for them alone.

Buffy jumped up and down wildly, showing an abandon she hadn’t found in years, as the band played it’s opening number. Her breath nearly left her as she watched Spike prowl around the stage. Hands were reaching up from the front row, and he smiled seductively as he grasped each one. Imagining how those hands would feel sent a sudden spurt of arousal careening through her body and her cheeks warmed in embarrassment. But what the hell, it wasn’t like she was ever going to act on it, even if she had the chance.

After the first song, the lights dimmed, and Spike stood at center stage, alone with his guitar, in a wash of blue from the spotlight. The crowd went even wilder as he struck the first chords of one of the band’s most popular songs, but quickly hushed as he sang and played with a plaintiveness that wasn’t present in the song’s recording.

LOVE I NEVER WANNA GIVE YOU UP
YOU‚RE LIKE A MILLION DOLLAR RUSH
RUNNING MY BRAIN
WASTE AWAY, ON NIGHTS WE CAN‚T REMEMBER
I FLOATED THROUGH DECEMBER
ON A DESOLATE WAVE
I‚M NOT ALONE, I HEAR A VOICE
I‚M NOT ALONE

ELEVATING HIGHER , THAN I‚VE EVER BEEN BEFORE
TRIPPING ON A WIRE, CATCH YOU WHEN YOU FALL

All too soon, the set was over. The stage went dark and the lights in the auditorium came back up as the stage crew began to set up for the next performers. Buffy’s eyes were glazed over and she was only slowly coming back down from the high the performance had given her.

“So, do you want to go?” Angel asked again impatiently.

“Huh?” Buffy responded, blinking her eyes. “Go where?”

“To the lobby.” He repeated slowly. “They’re having a meet and greet with the band.”

“A-what? You mean, with them?! I can meet them!” An all new wave of excitement flooded her veins. Meet them? Talk to them and possibly touch those incredible hands…No, no, no. Bad Buffy thoughts!

“So, do you want to?”

“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” Her body kicked into action, and she was practically down the aisle, pushing people aside in her rush, before he could catch up, grab her hand and plunge into the crowd.

*********************************************************
Spike Giles was having a hell of a night. The crowd response had been overwhelming. So many people, singing along, screaming his name….And now this, the meet and greet set up by his PR manager, Cordelia, so that he could get to know his fans better. The line snaked all the way through the lobby and practically back to the main doors of the auditorium. Spike and his band had been shaking hands, giving hugs and signing autographs for at least half an hour already. The main act was about to start, and no one showed any signs of leaving the queue. And everyone was so enthusiastic! There were people here of all ages, and Spike tried to give each of them something special to remember. After all, they were the reason he was even able to put this tour together in the first place. Just think, less than a year ago, the band was still playing in bars. Then Xander, his drummer, had gotten the bright idea to upload some of their music to a website devoted to new artists. The internet response had been overwhelming, and two months later, they were signed.

Abruptly, Spike jumped up on the table in front of him and shouted to the crowd. “I love my life!” The crowd laughed and cheered at his antics. A little sheepish at his own display of emotion, he climbed down, exchanged laughing looks with his band members, and turned to greet the next person in line.

“Hi there, luv!” He smiled at the young girl in front of him, who seemed to have momentarily lost her tongue. She couldn’t have been more than nine, and was adorable with dark, curly hair and big brown eyes.

“Go, on Sarah,” urged a woman Spike took to be the little girl’s mother. “I’m sorry,” she apologized to Spike. “She absolutely loves you, but she’s a little shy.”

“That’s all right.” Spike smiled and kneeled down so as to be more on her level. “That’s a very pretty name,” he said. “Would you like me to sign your cd?” Awestruck, Sarah held it out, finally giggling when he winked at her.

“There you go, luv. How about a hug?” He opened his arms and gave the little girl a gentle squeeze.

“Thank you!” she said shyly. As the line continued down, he could see her excitedly gesturing to her mother, her shyness gone now that she was no longer addressing him directly.

“Hi!” The next person in line greeted him excitedly. He turned to reply, only to have his breath stolen by the gorgeous creature waiting for his attention. She was petite, with honey blond hair, bright green eyes, and the biggest, most enchanting smile he had ever seen. Her jeans just skimmed her hips, and the red tank top clung to her body, showing off a hint of the curves that hid within.

“Well, hello luv,” he purred, coming to his senses after what felt like an eternity of drinking her in.

Her smile became even brighter. “Hi!” she said again. “I just loved your performance! You are amazing! I just love you!” Charmed by her excited babbling, Spike reached out to draw her closer. He was giving everyone hugs tonight, surely it would do no harm to have this girl in his arms for a moment. As he pulled her into a loose embrace, his hand accidentally brushed the skin underneath her short top, and his hand literally jerked. Touching that soft, silky skin set his body on fire. And look how perfectly she nestled into his arms. Arms, heads, hips, everything going where it should, like pieces of a puzzle.

He opened his mouth to ask her name, when an amused male voice spoke over his shoulder. “Okay, Buffy, there are other people in line!”

She pulled away from his arms to smile at the tall, muscled, dark-haired man standing nearby, and Spike immediately felt the loss of her warmth. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I guess I just got carried away!”

“That’s okay,” he automatically replied. Of course she was with someone. Girls like that didn’t wander around unattached for long. But still…

“So, Buffy,” he drawled. “You liked the show?”

She giggled again. “We loved it. Could I ask you…”she hesitated.

“Anything, luv,” he smiled at her, his blue eyes lighting up in answer to her laugh. God, what a sweet sound.

“Would you sign my jeans?” she asked in a rush.

“Your jeans?” he was momentarily taken aback. He had signed lots of things tonight, but no articles of clothing yet.

“Yeah,” a faint blush painted her cheeks. “They’re my favorite pair.”

Actually, this was a very good idea. This meant he’d get to be close to her again, touch her again. “Absolutely, I will,” he replied, and pulled a chair around from behind the table. “Lift your leg up here, luv,” he instructed.

Laughing again, and with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes, she did as he asked. Her jean clad leg was warm, and he was close enough to inhale her sweet scent again as he signed. He even managed to brush her bare skin through the rip in the knee of her jeans. He could swear he felt her tremble as his skin made contact with hers.

“Maybe I should be jealous!” The dark haired man was laughing in an easy way that showed jealousy was the furthest thought from his mind.

Buffy looked up at him and rolled her eyes. “And we’ve been married how long?” she retorted teasingly.

Married? Bloody married? Abruptly, he let her go. “All done,” he said. “Nice to meet you!” No matter how beautiful and desirable she was, if she was married, she was off the menu. He would not be that guy.
Still, he couldn’t help watching as she moved down the line, smiling brilliantly and charming the rest of his band. Even Oz, who despite having a great, if dry, sense of humor, hardly ever laughed, chuckled along with her. She was graceful, and sweet, and gorgeous, and…..Married. Spike rubbed his eyes, suddenly feeling a little weary. Surely this would be over in another hour or so, and then he could persuade some single girl to help him forget this very beautiful but un-single one. After all, he met so many attractive women, it shouldn’t be too hard to forget about one. Right?

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


Later, in the car on the way home, Buffy tingled all over thinking about how close she had been to Spike. Those hands that she had daydreamed about had been around her waist, on her thigh, had even touched her bare skin! His embrace had been wonderful, exciting and somehow comforting at the same time. Of course, not that there was anything wrong with Angel’s embraces, she thought guiltily. Quickly she looked over at him and smiled.

“That was great, wasn’t it?”

“Um hmm,” he answered distractedly. Traffic was moving quickly, and his thoughts had already turned to the work he still had to do at home before going into the office the next day.

Buffy knew him well enough to deduce where his mind was. “Do you have to be in court tomorrow?” Angel was a senior associate at one of the biggest law firms in the state, and she was never certain of his schedule from one day to the next.

“No, but it’ll be a busy day even so,” he replied.

“But you don’t have to do anything tonight, do you? It would be great if we could go to bed at the same time,” she tried a seductive smile, but he wasn’t looking.

“Not tonight, Buffy. I’ve got things I have to finish before I go in tomorrow. You understand, right?”

“Of course,” she said quietly. He turned his attention back to the road, and she leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes, her dreams drifting again to blue eyes and a soulful voice with a British accent.

The next morning, Buffy awoke feeling somewhat abashed. Did she really behave like that last night? Had she seriously flirted with, and worse, had sexy thoughts about a complete stranger? Somehow the odd daydream hadn’t seemed so bad when he was only on the television screen, but now that she had been close to him, it seemed beyond naughty. She flung back the covers and threw on her bathrobe. It was still dark outside, but Angel was in the bathroom shaving. If she hurried, she could have coffee ready before he had to leave. Every day he took the train from their home in upstate New York to Manhattan where his law firm was based, but it seemed like he was taking earlier and earlier trains, and coming home later and later.

Several minutes later, as the warm smell of coffee was beginning to drift through the kitchen, he hurried down the stairs. Buffy leapt up from the bar stool she had been perched on, leafing through the information packet sent over by an artist who was having a showing in the gallery she worked for. “Good morning! Would you like some coffee?” she smiled at him. He did look handsome all dressed up in his suit, with his briefcase and that determined, man-of-the-world look in his eyes.

He returned her smile, but declined the offer of coffee. “I’m just in a hurry this morning, Buffy? You understand, right?”

“Of course.” Seeing his wife’s eyes dim slightly, he sighed inwardly and decided he could take just another minute to talk with her and maybe cheer her up. She was always very supportive of his career, but lately it seemed like she was beginning to resent all the hours he had to put in.

“Still thinking about the concert last night?” he asked with a teasing smirk.

Buffy blushed. “I don’t know what came over me! I can’t believe I acted like, like a teenager with her first crush! I can’t imagine what he must have thought of me!”

It had been cute, watching his wife play the coquette. And he had been very tolerant of her behavior, because, she was pretty and all, but Spike Giles was a rock star, and she was just, well, just Buffy.

“I’m sure he’s used to it.” Angel replied as he grabbed his briefcase and headed for the door. “You could always write him an apology!” He laughed slightly, then turned serious. “I’m sorry, but I’ll probably be late again, tonight, Buffy.”

“It’s okay. I’ll probably stay late at the gallery tonight, anyway, since we have that show coming up next week.”

“All right. See you later.” He absentmindedly kissed her cheek and left, his thoughts already gone from home.

With a sigh, Buffy sat back down at the bar and opened her laptop. No new emails. She scrolled down to make sure she hadn’t missed anything, but the only things in her inbox were a few ads and the receipt for last night’s concert tickets. Despite her outgoing personality, she didn’t have many close friends to get email from. After the wedding, they had moved several times and in the beginning he took up so much of her time that it became difficult to keep in touch with friends. Then, though, he had been going through law school and was so moody and stressed out that keeping him in an even temper had taken all of her charm and cajoling. They were newlyweds then, too, of course. Sometimes she wished they had waited longer to marry, but he had been starting law school in New York, far away from the college town in California where they had met, and he had been adamant about not having a long distance relationship. It was either marry or break up, and she had chosen to marry him.

Now, three years later, she didn’t necessarily regret her choice, but he was so busy with his job that she wished she had kept in better touch with some of her college friends. Absentmindedly, she clicked on the concert receipt and scrolled through the text. At the bottom, there was a link to Blue Flame’s website. She clicked on that and smiled when one of their songs loaded with the webpage and began humming out of her computer speakers.

I AM I AM
FOREVER YOUNG
EVERYTHING SEEMS SO CRAZY
FOREVER YOUNG
I AM I AM
LIVIN‚ FOR THE RUSH AND I‚M NOT COMING DOWN
DIGGIN‚ UP THE DUST LEFT FROM BURNING OUT

Spike’s voice was really amazing. She felt warmer and happier just listening. The website was really well done, too. There was a link to download songs, pictures of the band, bios, a list of concert dates, and…an email address for each band member. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to write him a little note. Of course, he wouldn’t remember her, but just for fun…Before she could change her mind, Buffy clicked on the email address and began writing. Dear Spike, I know you won’t remember me, but I wanted to tell you again how amazing last night’s concert was! And to thank you for being so nice to me….

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

“Hey, Spike,” Xander yelled from the front of the bus. “You got some emails!”

Spike pushed himself up slightly off the window he had been leaning on to doze. The glass was cold against his cheek, but it felt good. Despite the freezing temperatures outside, the interior of the bus was always hot and stuffy. Probably from the excess of male energy trapped inside.

At the moment, though, Spike was feeling somewhat less than energetic. He had found a girl to take back to the hotel last night, a petite blonde one, too. But Harmony had proven to be more of an annoyance than a help. She insisted on calling him ridiculous pet names and wouldn’t shut up for one bloody second. The chit had tried to wheedle an invite to the next stop on the tour, but there was no way that was happening.

“Who from?” he asked Xander idly.

“One from your Dad, and some from fans. All girls, of course,” Xander snickered. Spike’s reputation as a lady’s man began long before the touring started. Xander, on the other hand, was in a long-term relationship with the band’s manager, Anya. She wasn’t with them at the moment, but they would pick her up a few stops down the road. “Let’s see…Who’s written he best “I love Spike” letter today?” Xander scrolled through the emails and began reading out names. “Emma wants you to go to her prom…Nancy wants to marry you, but wait, she’s only eleven, so you’d better hold off on that one…Buffy-“

“Buffy?” Spike jumped out of his seat. “Buffy emailed me?”

“Yeah. Sounds really sweet, too…Hey, wait. She’s the little blond from last night, right?”

“I think so.” Spike tried to play it off casually, but the facade was somewhat undermined when he tripped over Oz’s outstretched legs in his rush to get to the front of the tour bus. Oz opened one eye and blinked at him warily.

“Are we there?” he asked sleepily.

“No, it’s okay. Just going to check my emails. Go back to sleep.”

“Kay.” The eye closed and Oz resumed his even breathing.

Spike slouched down next to Xander and took over the laptop, eagerly scanning Buffy’s note. She apologized for being so “gushy” and thanked him sweetly for being so nice to her. Nice to her! He’d wanted to….Well it didn’t matter what he’d wanted to do to her. She had a husband to do those things with. But her email was so sincere. So different from most of the fan mail he got. A bloke could only be told so many times how amazing he was before all the compliments started to sound the same. But Buffy praised the whole band, the music and the song writing.

“So are you going to write her back?” Xander asked.

He really shouldn’t. This was a bad idea. Absolutely nothing could come of it. “Yeah,” he answered with a sigh. “I’m going to write her back.”

January 5, 2006

Dear Buffy,

Thanks for the note, luv. I do remember you of course, and please don’t apologize for your enthusiasm. You were adorable, and your appreciation for us and our music was fantastic to see. I especially welcome your astute comments about our music. I always wish our fans would talk more about the music and less about my hair. A bloke can only give so many coloring tips! Our musical influences are pretty varied. We all admire different artists, and that’s part of what makes our sound unique. I personally have a hidden passion for the Sex Pistols, but my band mates don’t exactly feel the same way (Xander says they make “bangy, throbby, background noise” and Oz, in typical one word style simply calls them crap) so any musical links between them and Blue Flame are pretty obscure. Mostly we’ve tried to make something different, and I think, so far, it’s working.Today we’re hanging out on the bus on our way to Chicago. We’ve got about a half dozen more tour dates in the States, and then it’s back to Europe for about a dozen more. It can be rough, traveling constantly, living out of a suitcase, never talking about anything but the next gig, the next song, the next album…Not that I would rather be doing anything else. But a piece of the real world would be a right treat sometimes.So tell me more about yourself. How do you spend your days? I’d truly love to hear from you. Until then…

Yours,

Spike



January 7, 2006

Dear Spike,

I can’t believe you really wrote me back! Are you sure you remember me correctly? I’m the girl who couldn’t seem to speak a sensible word around you. I assure you that I’m not normally that lost for words! I’m sure your life must be much more exciting than mine, but if you really want to hear, I’m happy to tell you about me.We live in Waterford, NY, about thirty miles outside the city. It’s completely different from Manhattan. For one thing, there is a lot of forestland, and no public transportation, so you absolutely have to have a car. I work at an art gallery in our town. The owner of the gallery, Drusilla, is a little crazy, but she’s been good to me, and she really knows her stuff. She has a keen eye for new talent, and we are always showing new artists. In fact, we’re having a showing tomorrow night that I am really looking forward to. Really beautiful portraiture. I’m learning a lot, and someday I think maybe I’d like to have my own place, but that’s a long way in the future. The gallery is basically where I spend almost all of my time. My husband, Angel (you met him at the concert, too, remember? He was the one trying to pull me off of youJ) is an attorney and works in Manhattan. He’s is putting in a lot of hours because he hopes to make partner early. So he’s not home much. What about you? I know what you’re doing right now, but what’s home like? I hope to hear from you again, but I know you’re busy. So either way, thanks for the letter!

Sincerely,

Buffy



January 20, 2006

Dear Buffy, Hello again, luv. I’m glad to hear your showing went so well. I love the way you talk about art, you are so passionate; it reminds me of how I feel about music. Sometimes, lately, it’s been hard to remember. Did you get the photo I sent from Arizona? I know photography isn’t the same as painting, but it was so beautiful in a stark kind of way that I thought you would appreciate it.Remember I told you about my father, and how he doesn’t really approve of the whole rock and roll thing? Well, I think he’s beginning to come around. He wrote me (a real letter, not email) to say he is coming to our first UK date. Which is next week, actually. You know, he never really got over my mother’s death, even though it was so long ago. But I’m hoping we can start to reconnect now. I know your mom’s birthday is coming up and please remember that I will be thinking about you that day. And now, on to more cheerful topics…How are the plans for your little Valentine’s getaway coming? I know how much you are looking forward to it. We’ll be in Germany, I think, on that day, so I plan to spend the time surrounded by blond haired beauties much like yourself. Xander is yelling at me to get off the computer so I’d better turn it over to him. I think he wants to see if Anya has sent him any more naughty emails. Until next time….

Yours,

Spike



February 2, 2006

Dear Spike,

Are you sure you couldn’t get away for a few days and go home with your Dad? It seems like you could use a break, and it would be a great chance to spend quality time with him. I am so glad you are trying to have a better relationship with him. Believe me, if I thought my dad and I could have some kind of bond, I would be all over it. But that’s not likely to happen any time soon.My mom’s birthday was yesterday. I wish I could have visited her grave, but California is just too far away. So I went on a hike to the top of that mountain, the one I told you about before, where you can see the sunset, and it reflects in the lake, and I just thought about her for awhile. It would have been nice if Angel could have come with me, but he’s involved in some big court case, and just couldn’t get away. He couldn’t even come home that night.But he still swears we are all set for our Vermont trip on the 14th. It will be so nice to be able to just spend some time together. How about you? I know you have to be getting tired of the girl of the week thing. Don’t take forever, or all the good ones will be taken!

Sincerely,

Buffy

Carefully, Buffy edged her cart past the elderly woman blocking the produce aisle and reached for an apple. She hated shopping on the weekends, but with the gallery so busy, lately she didn’t have much choice. Moving on to the meat department, she eyed the available selection carefully.

With many apologies, Angel had cancelled their planned Valentine’s trip because of a new complication in the case he was working on. She understood, really she did. They would go another time. But since they weren’t going out of town, she at least wanted to have a nice dinner ready. She loved to cook, but it wasn’t nearly as much fun making dinner for one. As she perused the selection, a small, insistent melody called out from her purse. She had downloaded a ring tone from Blue Flame’s website, so that every time her cell rang, so got to hear her favorite song. Thinking it might be Angel calling to set a time for dinner, she eagerly unzipped her bag and flipped the phone open.

“Hello?”

“Hello, luv.” A very weary voice with a British accent greeted her ears. She only knew one British person who had her phone number, although this would be the first time he had used it. Although their almost daily emails had become increasingly personal, so much so that Buffy had ceased to think of him as “the lead singer” and now considered him a good friend, they hadn’t actually spoken since the concert.

“Spike?”

“Buffy. I hope you don’t mind that I called...”

“Of course not. Is everything okay?” In their email correspondence, Buffy had almost managed to forget the effect his voice had on her, especially when it was saying her name. Her spine zinged and she felt her legs trembling a bit, but she hurriedly tried to put a tight clamp on these feelings. He was her friend, now, and it sounded like he needed cheering up.

“Life is fine, I guess. Just feeling a bit, out of sorts. We’ve been on the move constantly for the past week. Everybody’s feeling a little ragged around the edges, even Oz. I just thought I might feel better, if...” he hesitated shyly. “If I could hear your voice.”

Buffy melted at his hesitation. Leaning her elbows against the cart, she juggled the phone until she could hold it comfortably and be prepared to move out of any other shopper’s way if necessary.

“I’m always happy to talk to you!” she said warmly. “I can’t believe this is our first actual, live conversation, though.”

“I know. In case I haven’t mentioned it, I love getting your emails. It kind of keeps me grounded, thinking about you in Waterford, going about your daily life. Where are you now, kitten?”

Buffy sighed. She knew the pet names were just a normal part of his vocabulary, but she loved them a little more than she knew she should, and they were even more affecting in person.

“Actually,” she giggled. “I’m at the grocery store. It doesn’t get more normal than that!”

On the other end of the line, in an anonymous hotel room in Denmark, Spike’s heart clenched at the sound of her laugh. No matter how hard he tried, he had not been able to forget her. No number of small blond girls erased her from his mind. Especially now that he knew she was sweet, intelligent, and funny as well as beautiful. The emails probably hadn’t been a good idea, but once they were started, it was impossible to stop. She had opened herself up to him in her letters, and now he couldn’t stay away, even if he could only ever be her friend. Calling her probably hadn’t been a terrific idea either, but it had been a hellish week and he seriously needed some comfort.

“Shopping for anything special?” he asked.

“Dinner tomorrow night. Since we called off the trip, we agreed to at least have a nice dinner together.” She couldn’t help but sound a little sad, but she didn’t want Spike to get the wrong idea, so she struggled to keep an upbeat tone in her voice. For some reason, even though he had never said a critical word about her marriage, Spike made her feel defensive of Angel.

Spike sighed. His feelings for her weren’t helped by the fact that her oaf of a husband seemed to take her completely for granted. Although she hadn’t said it exactly, he knew Buffy was crushed when Angel cancelled their trip.

“What are you making?” he asked, fighting to keep an even tone in his voice.

“Not sure, yet. Just seeing what looks freshest.”

“Are you a closet chef, Buffy?” he teased.

“No,” she giggled again, and he basked in the sound, glad that he had banished that small amount of hurt from her voice. “But I do like to cook. My mom taught me. Speaking of which,” her tone turned serious. “Thank you for the flowers you sent to the cemetery. My aunt called and told me about them. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to, pet. Your mum sounds like an amazing woman.” He hadn’t actually meant for her to find out about that.

“So how’s Denmark?” She determinedly lightened the tone of the conversation, not really wanting to cry in the middle of the grocery store.

“Not so great, actually. Strangely enough, our cd hasn’t done as well in this corner of the globe. It makes everything just that much more tiresome if the fans aren’t there.”

“I’m so sorry, Spike. I guess we Americans just have better taste in music!”He chuckled. “I guess so, luv.”Her phone emitted a discreet beep, and she quickly checked the caller id.

“Listen, Spike, I have to go. Angel is on the other line. But call me any time okay? I love talking to you!”

“Sure thing, Buffy. I’ll hear from you later?” he tried without success to tamp down on the flare of jealousy that hit him.

“Of course. Bye!” And she was gone.

Still, though, it had made him feel better to hear her voice. Maybe he could make it through the rest of this tour after all. And then, when it was over, they were headed back to New York to spend some time in the studio. The thought of seeing her again, with those gorgeous eyes, that sunny smile, and that soft skin he could still feel brushing against his fingertips, sent a wave of arousal coursing through him and he immediately jumped off the bed. Right. Go and see if there are any pretty girls hanging around in the bar. Cause no way was he going to wank off to thoughts of his married friend. No way.

At 7:00 pm on Valentine’s Day, Buffy was putting the finishing touches on dinner. She had decided to spurge a little and make Angel’s favorite, Lobster Thermidor, straight from Julia Child. At 7:30 she was frantically trying to call Angel with one hand and reheat dinner with the other. By At 8:00 she opened the bottle of champagne. By 9:00, the champagne was gone and Buffy was significantly less than sober. Angel wasn’t answering his office phone or his cell, and by this time she didn’t much care where he was. Her heart was aching with disappointment, and in her uninhibited state she knew exactly who to go to for solace.

She took the cordless phone upstairs and started to curl up on a chair in the master bedroom, but was unable to bear the sight of the big empty bed. Instead, she walked through the bedroom and into the bathroom and closed the door. Still clutching the phone like a life line, she sank down onto the cold tile floor, leaned against the door and began to dial the number she had long since memorized but until now had never used.

Meanwhile, in Germany, there was a party going on in Spike’s suite. Music was blaring from a CD sound system, drinks were being poured, and a very hot blonde was shoving her tongue down Spike’s throat. He ran his hands down her back, tracing the outlines of her figure, letting his hands rest on the very top of her thigh, trying to tell himself he was enjoying this. He was just starting to get into it when his pocket vibrated, making him jump. He backed away from his companion and held up his finger in the universal gesture of one minute so he could check the caller id. US country code…Buffy? A finger of worry crept down his back. As much as he hated the thought, Spike knew she had been looking forward to a romantic evening with her husband. Why was she calling him?

“Hello?” he answered. “Hello?”

On the other end of the phone, he heard a distinctive sniff. Oh, god. She was crying. What had that wanker done now, and how was Spike going to keep from jumping on a plane to go kill him for making her cry?“Buffy, baby, hold on a minute…It’s okay, I’m just gonna go somewhere quieter…” he cooed into the phone. Without a second glance at his former make-out partner, he went into the bathroom and locked the door, unknowingly mirroring her position.

When she first heard his voice, it had been impossible to hold back the tears. He sounded so…sweet, and comforting, and Spike-like. But she had also heard the background noises and knew that he hadn’t been alone.

“I’m sorry if I’m interrupting something,” she choked out. “You can call me back later, if you want.”

“Of course I don’t want to call you later, sweetheart. I’m happy to talk to you any minute of the day or night. Tell me what’s wrong, Buffy?”

She ignored his question. “God, I’m so sorry,” she sniffled. “You were probably with someone, too. You should go back to her.”

Spike couldn’t help but smile a little. Was that jealousy he detected in her voice? “No one is more important right now than you. Now please tell me what’s wrong?”

Buffy took a deep breath before exploding in another sob. “He didn’t show up for dinner. He said he would be home and he never came, and everything’s ruined and I don’t know where he is and so I drank all the champagne and now I feel awful.”

Bloody hell. What could he possibly say to make her feel better when all he wanted to do was choke some sense into that idiotic husband of hers? “Aw, Buffy, luv, I’m so sorry. I’m sure he didn’t mean to do it….”

“How do you unintentionally not show up for dinner? And on Valentine’s Day? No phone calls, no flowers, no card, nothing. What am I going to do?”

Leave him! His head throbbed with wanting to tell her exactly what she should do, but he managed to bite the words off before they came out. If friendship was all she could give him, then he wasn’t going to endanger that by telling her things she would most likely resent him for in the morning.

“I know he’s busy, and I know he has to work hard.” She continued without waiting for his answer. “But don’t I deserve a little of his time? I know I’m nothing special, but I am his wife…”

Okay, that did it. The bloody wanker had her thinking she was nothing special? Buffy, who was the very picture of his ideal woman. “Listen to me, luv. You are something special. Very special. I’ve been all over the bloody world and haven’t seen anyone as special as you. You’re smart, and charming and funny and gorgeous as hell. You are the most special woman I’ve ever known.”

There was silence on the other end of the line now. Had he messed it all up by speaking what to him was nothing but the truth? Then she spoke again, in a small voice that nearly broke his heart.

“Do you really think all that?”

“Yes, kitten, I do. You are perfection. And I’m sure-“ He swallowed hard to get the rest of the sentence out. “I’m sure Angel thinks so, too. He just gets a little forgetful sometimes.”

“Really?”

“It’s all going to be all right, luv. He’ll come home and apologize, and you’ll make up and everything will be fine again.” For a while, at least. He added silently. Until he manages to hurt you again.

She was quiet for a long time. He wondered if she had fallen asleep with the phone under her ear, when again she spoke up, just as quietly, but with less of that awful brokenness in her voice.

“My head hurts,” she said.

“I’m sure it does, pet. I’ll bet you’re not used to drinking whole bottles of champagne are you?” he teased gently.

“No,” she admitted. “I hardly ever drink anything at all.”

“Well, go take some aspirin, drink some water, and go to sleep, luv. Your head will probably still hurt in the morning, but you’ll survive.”

“Are you sure?” she asked doubtfully, leaning her head into her arms. It really, really, hurt.

“Hey, who’s the rock star here?” he laughed. “I know all about hangovers.”

“Okay. Good night, Spike. And thanks.”

“Anytime. Good night, luv.”

After hanging up the phone, Spike silently banged his head against the back of the door. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Angel made her cry and left Spike to pick up the pieces, but Spike had no doubt that when Buffy’s husband finally crept home, she would welcome him with open arms. He did not even want to think about what their making up might consist of. That really made his stomach hurt. With a sigh, he picked himself up and went back to the party, hoping his blond companion was still waiting.

“Don’t, Angel.” Buffy glared at her husband over the rim of her coffee mug. “Don’t even say it. I know you had to work late. I’m just not up for listening to your excuses this morning.” Even though it was a work day, both Buffy and Angel had slept in, and now they were in the kitchen preparing to go off to their respective jobs. He hadn’t gotten home until 2am, and she was still suffering the aftereffects of her drinking bout, so neither was in a mood for reconciliation.

“Come on, Buffy. I’m sorry I didn’t call, but we had a really important break in the case last night. I just couldn’t take the time.” Surely she couldn’t be that upset. “It was just dinner, right?”

“Just dinner?” She slammed her mug down, splashing coffee out onto the counter. “It was not just dinner!” she yelled.

“Stop it, Buffy.” Angel said sharply, turning away to slide some papers in his briefcase. “You’re not behaving like yourself, and you are way overreacting.” What had gotten into his normally sweet, even-tempered wife?

Was she? She had been so upset last night, but maybe the alcohol had affected her judgment. Spike had seemed to think it was important too, though.

Just then the doorbell rang.

“Who could that possibly be?” Buffy wondered aloud. Angel just grunted noncommittally and continued looking through his briefcase, so Buffy went over and answered the door.

“Delivery for Buffy Summers?” A young man wearing a local florist’s uniform was standing at the door, holding a beautiful bouquet of pink roses!

“That’s me,” said Buffy. What a wonderful apology! She supposed now that Angel really did feel bad about last night; he just didn’t know how to say it. A much happier Buffy reentered the kitchen.

“Angel, they’re beautiful. Thank you so much!” she said warmly, all of her former animosity gone.

Her husband looked up bewildered. “I didn’t send them,” he said shortly.

“Oh.” Buffy’s face fell. “Well, I wonder who they’re from…” She pulled the small card out of it’s envelope.

Dear Buffy,

Every girl deserves flowers on Valentine’s Day. Sorry these are a little late!

Yours,

Spike“

They’re from Spike,” she said wonderingly.

“Spike?” Angel looked up again. “Blue Flame Spike? I know you’ve emailed him a couple of times, but why is he sending you flowers?”

“Just to be nice.” Buffy said with a small smile. “And it’s been more than a couple of times. Remember I told you he called me the other day?”

Angel searched his memory and came up with a vague recollection of her talking about getting a call in the grocery store. Sometimes she just went on and on about trivial things, when he really needed to be thinking about work, so he occasionally just blocked her out.

“Oh, well.” He said abstractedly. “I’m sure he just had his manager send them.”

“No,” Buffy replied firmly with a frown. “He didn’t. He wouldn’t do that. We’re friends.”

“Buffy, why would someone like him want to be friends with you? You’re not even single.” Angel explained patiently. She was clearly having delusions about the nature of this relationship, and he ought to warn her before she got disappointed.

“I don’t know.” This discussion was quickly becoming frustrating for her. “He says he likes to hear about normal life. And we have a lot in common.” She grabbed her keys. “Anyway, I have to go. What are your plans tonight?”

"I have to-“ Angel began, but Buffy cut him off, holding up her hand.“I know, I know, you have to work late. Well, I’ll see you whenever you get home.”

She headed out the door and jumped in her car for the short drive to the gallery. She hoped Drusilla wouldn’t be angry. She had left a short message on the answering machine late last night, saying that she would be in a bit late today. Parking her car, she grabbed her purse and breezed through the front door of the spacious gallery.

“Dru?” she called. “I’m here!”

“Feeling better?” Buffy’s boss popped out of an open doorway behind her, causing Buffy to jump in fright

.“You scared me,” she smiled. “How do you do that? You’re always sneaking up on me!”

“I just learned to walk quietly,” the older woman smiled back. She was always the picture of sophistication, and today was no different. Her dark hair was swept on top of her head with a shiny black comb, and her black dress was immaculate. Drusilla preferred to wear dark colors, and the one time that Buffy had seen her in a pastel sundress, she almost hadn’t recognized her.

“So are you feeling better?” Dru asked again.

“Sure,” Buffy replied unconvincingly.

Dru gave her a penetrating, head to toe stare, then turned on her heel and headed back into her office. “There’s no one here right now. Come on, let’s talk.”

Buffy dragged her feet a little as she followed her boss. The woman had the uncanniest knack of knowing exactly what was in her head. Once they were both settled, Drusilla just sat and looked at Buffy, waiting for her to start.

“Well,” she began. “I kind of had a fight with Angel.”

“He didn’t show up last night, did her?” asked Dru, without a trace of surprise.

“No, he didn’t. How did you….”

“Buffy, it doesn’t take any sort of psychic ability to figure that out. He hasn’t been showing up for a lot lately, has he?”

“No,” she admitted. “And I know he’s working hard so he can make partner, and I know his cases are important. But sometimes I feel like I should be important too, at least a little.”

“You are more than a little important. You’re a special girl, Buffy, and it’s wrong to let him forget it.” Dru said adamantly.

“That’s what Spike said.” Buffy smiled shyly.

“Oh, so you’ve talked to him again?” Dru’s lips curved in an answering grin. “Do tell.”

“I…I can’t believe I did this, but I called him last night. Angel never came home, and I started drinking the champagne I had set out for dinner, and before I knew it I was on the phone with Spike.” She dropped her head into her hands in embarrassment, even as she was laughing at herself. “I still can’t believe it…I drunk dialed Spike!”

Drusilla laughed with her. “I’m sure Spike didn’t mind. Did he make you feel better?”

The amusement fell off Buffy’s face, quickly replaced by a contemplative look. “Yeah, he did.” She admitted. “A lot better. He said some really nice things…”

“Buffy,” Dru said seriously. “Think about this: Does Angel ever make you feel good anymore?”

“Of course!” she exclaimed defensively. “Sure, he does. It hasn’t been that long since we went to the concert, together, and he was nice that night, and since then, well, he’s just been busy.” She thought for a moment, and then stood up decisively. “You know what? Maybe Angel’s right. Maybe I did overreact. I mean, we’re married. We’ve been together forever. In the face of all that, what’s one little dinner?”

“But, Buffy…”

“Really. I’m okay now, Dru. Thanks for the talk, but I should go check in that new inventory. Call me if you need me!”

As Buffy marched stoically out of the room, Drusilla could only sigh and shake her head sadly. She knew what was coming, and hoped that Buffy would open her eyes before it was too late.

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

Once again, Spike sat lost in thought, looking out of the tour bus window. His conversation with Buffy last night had done nothing to ease his confusion. It would be so much easier if she were happy. If she had a husband who adored her, like he wanted to.

“You look like you’re somewhere else.” Anya, their manager and Xander’s girlfriend, had been with them for the last bit of the European tour and was going back to the States with them in a few weeks.

“I am,” he sighed. “Problem is, it’s somewhere I shouldn’t be.”“

Xander mentioned a girl…Is it her?” Anya was being unusually gentle. Normally, she was the first person to bluntly state her opinion on other people’s private affairs, but her boyfriend told her he was really worried about Spike, and thus the gentleness. Plus, an out of sorts Spike was not good for business.

“What else?” Spike smiled. “Not just a girl, though….I don’t know, An. I’ve only ever seen her once, but we’ve been emailing, and talking, and somehow…..” He held his hands up helplessly. “I just don’t know.”

“We’ll be back in New York, soon. Will it help to see her again?”

God, to see Buffy, to touch her…But he couldn’t, not really. Not the way he wanted to. “Maybe. Probably not. She’s married, you know.”

Startled, Anya looked at him sharply. “No, actually I didn’t know.”

“Yeah. To someone who doesn’t appreciate how bloody amazing she is. Who makes her cry…” he trailed off, eyes closing briefly as he remembered the awfulness of Buffy’s tears.

“How does she feel about you?”

Sighing, Spike rubbed his eyes. “I’m not sure. At first, she was completely star struck. So adorable to see. But since then, we’ve talked so much, we have so much in common. I know she trusts me. She called me last night, after her husband didn’t show up for this special dinner she had planned. She called me to make her feel better.”

“But Spike,” Anya hesitated. “If she’s married, the only thing you can do is be her friend. Maybe, I don’t know, help her with her marriage?”

Priceless. That was the very last thing he wanted to do.

“Either way, if you push her, if the two of you end up doing something she doesn’t really want, she’ll regret it and resent you.”

“I know, I know. I just wish-“

“Think about it.” She cut him off. “We’ll be in New York in less than two weeks. What will you do?” He started to speak, but she just held up her hand to stop him as she got up off the seat.

“No, don’t speak. Just think. What are you going to do when you get to New York?”

Frustrated, Spike could only drop his head back against the seat and sigh. If only he bloody knew.

Feeling a little silly, Buffy peeked inside her jewelry box again, just to make sure they were there. Yep, two tickets and backstage passes for tonight's Blue Flame concert at Radio City. The European tour was over and the band was doing one more show in the city before settling down to work in the recording studio.

The tickets had arrived a week ago, with a little note from Spike saying that he was looking forward to seeing her again and getting to know her husband better. She laughed a little to herself, remembering Angel's shock when she had shown him the tickets. He had mumbled something about fan perks before shaking his head bewilderedly and leaving for work.

It seemed like that was the only time Buffy saw her husband lately, when he was leaving for work. She almost never saw him coming home, although a couple of times she had tried to wait up. She had meant what she said to Drusilla, and she had been trying to overcome her frustrations about Angel's schedule. It wasn't an easy job, though. For some reason, she seemed less willing to make excuses for him than she used to be.

Tonight, however, they were going to the concert together, and Buffy couldn't wait to show him her new outfit. She had left work a little early yesterday to buy it, going into a clothing store she usually considered too risque for her normal style. She thought her daring had paid off, though, and even Dru had looked at her with newly appraising eyes when Buffy had stopped back by the gallery to show it off.

"You will certainly look spectacular in that," her boss had said, fingering the soft, supple leather pants. "No man will be able to resist you." And maybe it was her imagination, but it seemed like Dru had given her a very sly look, one which Buffy couldn't begin to interpret.

But that was Dru. She was always being enigmatic, and Buffy wasn't going to worry about it today. Right now, she wanted to try on her new clothes for her husband before he left for work. Angel was just turning off the shower when Buffy finished tying the dark green satin halter top around her neck.

"Buffy..." Angel was at a loss for words. What was his wife wearing? Lust and discomfiture warred in his dark eyes.

"Do you like it?" Buffy asked, giving a little spin, delighted that she had literally stopped him in his tracks.

"Well yes..." That was the lust speaking. And then the discomfiture kicked in. "But not to wear outside of the house. You can't be seriously thinking about wearing that tonight."

"Why not?" Buffy was hurt and a little angered by his reaction. "It's not that different from what a lot of other people will be wearing."

"I know, but other people aren't my wife," he paused placing his hands gently, placatingly on her shoulders. "Buffy, I have a certain image to uphold. You know that. And while I do think you look," he paused again, swallowing hard. "I do think you look nice, but it wouldn't do for anyone from work to see you out like that. It wouldn't look good, Buffy. You understand, don't you?"

"I guess," she heaved a reluctant sigh, pulling away from him and turning around. "I'll just take it back."

"Thanks, Buffy. And hey," he turned her around to face him again and took her chin in his hand. "I'll be there tonight, and we'll have fun. Promise."

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

Of course, he had broken that promise. He hadn't even told her in person, but had had his assistant call to let her know he was breaking the date. She had left the gallery early again, with multiple promises to Dru to work extra hours next week, all of which her boss had waved off with a smile. As soon as she had opened the door and thrown her keys down on the table, the phone had started ringing.

"Hello?" Buffy answered, already starting to wiggle out of her work clothes. She was going to have to hurry to make the train into the city.

"Hi, Buffy? This is Annette, your husband's assistant?"

Cold tingles of dread started working in Buffy's stomach. "Hi, Annette, what can I do for you?" She fought to keep her voice level. He wouldn't. He just wouldn't.

But he would, and he did. "Angel wanted me to call and let you know that he won't be able to make your date tonight. He says to please go ahead without him and enjoy yourself."

"Thanks, Annette. Bye."

Furious, Buffy kicked off a high heel and threw it across the kitchen. It zinged the coffeepot and knocked over a stack of mail before coming to rest in the sink. Leaving it where it was, she stormed up the stairs and into the walk-in closet. Defiantly, she swept back a rack of clothes and pulled out the banned outfit.

"Fine," she said outloud. "If he won't be there, then what he doesn't know, won't hurt him." Fingering the soft material went a long way toward calming Buffy down. She had a sudden desire to call Spike, but knew that she shouldn't, not with the show only a few hours away. She would see him soon enough. Slivers of excitement began to take over, knocking away the anger. Soon, she would see Spike. Hear his voice again, not over the phone, but in person. It was funny, the last time she had seen him, he had been a virtual stranger, but now that she knew him so well, she wondered if he would look different. Surely, she wouldn't get that same feeling of breathless arousal now that he was her friend. Right?

Glancing at the clock, she hurried into the bathroom to brush her hair. If she didn't get a move on, she would miss the train, and if she had to drive, she would definitely be late for the concert. And that absolutely couldn't happen!

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

Impatiently, Buffy shifted in her seat, waiting for the show to start. She had just caught the train, and then engaged in a mad dash for a cab to make it on time, only to be kept waiting in the arena while the band's crew made some last minute adjustments to the instruments on stage. Spike's guitar, leaning on a stool at center stage, made her smile. Would he even recognize her, she wondered? Of course, she wouldn't be hard to find in this incredible front row center seat. She would have to speak with him about giving away the best seats to already devoted fans!

She was just sparing a glance at the unoccupied seat to her right, wondering if she should give the ticket away, when a girl's voice interrupted her thoughts. She looked over her shoulder and saw a cute redhead talking animatedly into her cell phone.

"I know, I'm lucky to be here at all. It sold out in like, two minutes. I wish I could have gotten better seats. I just walked down front to see what it's like and the view is amazing."

Buffy smiled at the other girl's effusive babbling. It sounded a little, okay, a lot familiar. The redhead had closed her cell phone and was turning around to go back up the aisle, when Buffy made a quick decision and called out to her.

"Excuse me?" The girl didn't turn around, so Buffy scrambled out of her seat and touched her arm. She startled, whipping around, red hair flying in an arc.

"Sorry," Buffy apologized. "I didn't mean to scare you, but I couldn't help overhearing your conversation. I'm sitting right over there," she gestured to the front. "And, well, I have an extra ticket if you want it."

"You do? Really?" The other girl's face was open and friendly, eyes wide with excitement.

"Yeah, my husband couldn't make it, so...." She raised her hands, palm up in a "what can you do" gesture and held out the ticket. "It's yours if you want it."

"Oh, my gosh, thanks so much! I absolutely love Blue Flame. And I called the minute the tickets went on sale, but was on hold forever, and by the time I got through the only thing left was way in the back...I'm Willow, by the way." she stopped her babbling long enough to hold out her hand.

Buffy took it, shaking gently. "Buffy."

"Thanks so much, Buffy." Willow said again as they headed to their seats. "Wow! These are incredible! How did you get them? Did you win a contest or something?"

"Not exactly." Buffy blushed. "I kind of, know someone with the band. Just a little." For some reason, she was feeling shy about her relationship with Spike, and wanted to hide it from potentially critical eyes. She didn't know this girl, and didn't know if she might take it the wrong way.

"Well, whoever you know must like you a lot, 'cause these seats are without a doubt the best in the house."

"Ummm, yeah. So, do you think they'll start soon?"

Willow cast a critical, experienced eye at the stage. "It'll probably be awhile yet," she said knowingly. "I go to concerts here a lot, and the sound system is a little out-dated, so it always takes a long time to get everything hooked up right."

"Well, while we're waiting, why don't you tell me about yourself?"

The two girls settled in for a long chat, and by the time the lights started dimming, Buffy felt like she had known Willow forever. A PhD candidate at NYU, the redhead was very smart, funny, and sweet. Buffy was thrilled with the thought that she might have just made a new friend, something that had been lacking in her life for awhile now, Spike notwithstanding.

"Oh, my gosh, they're starting!" Both girls rose to their feet along with the rest of the cheering crowd. The stage was completely dark, and then, with a flash of light there he was in front of her, chiseled features molded in a gorgeous grin, and dark blue eyes that made her want to melt. He caught sight of her in the front row and winked, his smile becoming larger and more personal. She almost swooned, swaying on her feet, butterflies flapping madly in her stomach. Okay, so there was that answer. Him being her friend didn't seem to change her body's reaction one bit. She tried to tell herself that it was only because he was onstage, and seemed larger than life somehow, that when she saw him later, he would seem more normal and different. And then he opened his mouth to sing, and all thoughts left her mind.

Only girl for me is you
There can be no other one
If I didn't have faith
I would come undone

So much promise in your eyes
Seems that I can only see
It always makes me wonder
If you save it all for me

Maybe you do
Maybe you don't
Maybe you should
Probably wont...

I'll be always there
There to the end
I can't do much
But be your one true friend

Still see the promise in your eyes
And still wonder if it's for me
But i know it's still there
Even when you sleep

So I say, good night sweet girl

Somewhere in the middle of the song, Spike had come toward the front of the stage. Without thought, she had raised her hand to him, and just as naturally, he had lifted it to his lips. His kiss seared her skin and she pulled back startled. He only smiled at her and moved his focus further down the stage. Next to her, Willow stared at Buffy with wide, curious eyes, but Buffy only shrugged and after a moment she turned her attention back to the band.

For the next hour and a half, Buffy was mesmerized. Spike strutted and prowled along the stage, singing, it seemed most of the time, directly to her. After the band took their final bows and the house lights came up, she was still in something of a daze. During the show, it seemed like her head and heart had ganged up on her and shown her some very uncomfortable truths.

"Earth to Buffy." Her new friend insistently tapped her on the shoulder, holding out Buffy's bag to her.

"Huh, oh yeah, thanks." Buffy took her purse and shook her head to clear it. Spike was her friend.

"So, it's obvious who you like," Willow said teasingly.

"Yeah, Spike's great," Buffy replied, somewhat dreamily.

"He is," Willow agreed. "But I have the biggest crush in the world on the guitarist."

"Oz?"

"Yep. He is just so adorable!" she squealed. "Are you going somewhere now?" she asked suddenly. "Wanna go get coffee or something?"

Buffy was delighted at the invitation. She really liked this girl and could easily see them becoming friends.

"I would love to do something," she said honestly. "But I have a better idea than coffee..." Teasingly, she pulled out the backstage passes and waggled them in the air.

Willow shrieked, an ear-piercing sound that made Buffy jump, even as she was laughing.

"Mrs. Summers?" A male voice addressed her from over Willow's shoulder. A tall security guard in a suit and tie was patiently waiting for their attention.

"Ms." Buffy responded automatically, her thoughts flicking briefly, uncomfortably, back to Angel. That was one of very few things she had stood her ground on, keeping her maiden name.

"Ms. Summers." he corrected. "Mr. Giles sent me to greet you and make sure you could find your way backstage."

With another one of those tremors Buffy had started calling "Spike shivers", she forcibly pushed her husband out of her thoughts and smiled at Willow, gesturing for the other girl to follow the guard. "Lead the way!"

"Buffy," Willow whispered as they were led along a corridor. "Is Spike the one you know, who got you the tickets?

"Yeah." Buffy ducked her head shyly.

"That is so cool! Will you introduce me?" she asked excitedly.

"Of course." They had just entered a room full of people, all rushing around and talking loudly. Buffy looked over her shoulder to tease her new friend. "And I'll make sure you meet that 'adorable' guitar player, too!"

"I'm sure he'll be thrilled, luv." An amused male voice sounded from a few feet away, one that sent shivers down Buffy's spine. She looked up, straight into Spike's simmering blue eyes. Those eyes captivated her, swirling with emotions she couldn't understand, and suddenly Buffy couldn't breath. Without a thought, acting on pure instinct, she crossed the distance and threw herself into his arms.

Spike was beyond shocked when he suddenly found himself with an armful of Buffy. He automatically embraced her, and closed his eyes briefly, reveling at the way she felt, smelled...soaking in every single, bloody thing about this moment.

He had invited her here with the best of intentions. He imagined she would come with her husband, and hopefully Spike would discover that Angel wasn't quite the prick Spike imagined him to be. Then he could, hopefully, move on, content to have Buffy as a friend. But instead the husband was nowhere in sight, and Buffy was here in his arms, looking even more luscious than he remembered. When he had seen her in the front row, in those tight leather pants that left absolutely nothing to the imagination and that green scrap of a top that matched her eyes, he hadn't been able to contain himself. He had gone right to her as if magnetized. And when she gave him her hand and he had automatically kissed it, he felt the electricity zip along the whole length of his body. By her reaction, she had felt it too.

Relucantly releasing her, he held her at arms length. "You look absolutely amazing, pet," he said sincerely.

"Thanks. You don't look bad yourself," she smiled back at him, green eyes sparkling.

Unable to resist, he captured her waist again, and she went to him uncomplainingly. Friends could hug, right?

"So, who's your date?" he smiled and nodded at the redhead who was standing quietly back, waiting to be noticed.

"Oh! Sorry, didn't mean to be rude. I was just excited at seeing you again," she blushed and then quickly made introductions. "Willow, this is Spike Giles. Spike, this is my new friend, Willow."

"Hi," Willow said shyly, her pale complexion turning as red as her hair.

"Nice to meet you, Willow," he said disengaging himself from Buffy to shake her hand. "Any friend of Buffy's is always welcome. Now," be began, trying to figure out how he could wrangle a few minutes along with the blonde vision who had just linked her hands around his arm. Was she trying to drive him insane? Every flick of her fingers fed his growing arousal. "Willow, did I hear something about you wanting to meet my mate, Oz?"

Willow nodded excitedly, momentarily lost for words.

"Oy, Oz!" Spike called in the general direction of where he thought his friend to be. "Come here! Got someone for you to meet."

"No more reporters, Spike." Oz said, a little warily, coming up from behind the group.

"Nah," Spike smiled. "Just some beautiful women."

"Well in that case..." Oz walked over and smiled at the girls.

"You remember Buffy..."

"Of course. Nice to see you again," Oz nodded at the blonde.

"And this is her friend, Willow. She's a fan of yours."

"Yeah?" Oz frankly appraised the redhead, his eyes lighting up with interest. "Want to get a drink?" he asked her, nodding in the direction of the refreshments.

Willow glanced at Buffy, who nodded eagerly at her. "Okay, yeah sure." Oz casually loped an arm around her neck and they headed off further into the room.

"Will she be okay with him?" Buffy asked, with just a touch of concern.

"Oz? Of course." he brushed the matter off. "I want to talk about you, though. Not that I'm not happy to meet your friend, pet, but where's Angel?"

Buffy ran a hand through her blond curls and rolled her eyes. "Guess."

"Oh. So sorry, luv.." Spike trailed off helplessly.

"Don't be. I don't care tonight. I'm tired of always worrying about where he is and why he isn't where he should be. I just wanna have fun tonight. Please, Spike?" she turned pleading green eyes up to him.

He knew Buffy had to care more than she was letting on, but who was he to insist on talking about her husband? Truth be told, he was more than happy to forget, too. With Buffy here with him- warm, soft skin under his fingers, sparkling eyes and a smile that lit up his world- all of his good intentions flew out the proverbial window.

"I'm sure you can show me a good time, right Spike?"

Her seductive tone startled him, and he swallowed hard, but couldn't keep the lust from flaring in his eyes. "Right, luv. One good time with no worries, coming up. Let me grab the guys and your friend, and we'll head out."

As he headed away from her, Buffy's conscience tried to download one last complaint. She was practically-no she was definitely flirting with Spike. And judging by the look on his face, he was enjoying it. This was so not a good idea. Mentally, Buffy squelched the opposition. She wasn't going to do anything. Just have fun and not worry. And if she wanted to bask in her very hot, male friend's approval, then why not?

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

Two hours later, much basking had been accomplished. At all of the different nightspots the group had hit, Spike and Buffy had been inseparable. After getting past the inital whallop that seeing one another had been, the two laughed and talked as easily as they had by email and on the phone. That wasn't to say that sparks weren't flying every time their fingers brushed, or even when their eyes locked in a certain way.

Buffy was exihilarated. She hadn't had this much fun in years. Couldn't even remember the last time. She and Spike were currently sitting tucked away in a corner of a tiny nightclub Willow had brought them to. The redhead and Oz were currently fighting their way to the bar to refresh the drink supply, and Buffy and Spike were huddled close, foreheads nearly touching, debating the merits of French food versus Italian.

"There's just something so comforting about pasta," Buffy was saying. "And I don't think I've ever had a French meal that didn't make me feel awkward at some point. All those sauces and "treatments." And they don't even translate the dishes." Without either of them really noticing, his hand crept to cover hers on the table.

"You have obviously never had the right kind of French food, pet. The Americanized versions just don't get it right. See, they concentrate on the presentation and ignore the flavors." Now his thumb was slowly stroking circles on her skin.

"Well, we can't all be world travelers!" she admonished teasingly.

"Pet, I promise one of these days I will see to it that you get a proper French meal. We have to do something about rounding out those Yank sensibilities!" He was baiting her on purpose. Their banter made her eyes flash, and he felt he would do anything to see that devilish smile on her face.

He was rewarded with just that same grin, but before she could answer, a voice blared through the music. An annoyingly high-pitched voice that Spike had hoped to never hear again.

"Blondie Bear!" None other than Harmony Kendall, the girl he had dallied with on their last New York appearance was pushing through the crowd as fast as she could.

"Blondie Bear?" Buffy asked, sotto voce.

Spike thumped his head on the table and groaned. "A huge, huge mistake, pet. Can we hide before she gets here, do you think?"

Buffy was rather enjoying his discomfort, although a tell-tale zing of jealousy was also making itself known. "Too late, I think."

"Oh, Blondie Bear! I never thought I'd see you again!" Through an efficient use of her elbows, the other blonde girl had reached their table in record speed.

"Hi, Harmony." Spike replied wearily.

"I'm so - " she broke off, seeing Buffy's and Spike's linked hands. "Is this your new girlfriend?" she asked petulantly.

Following her gaze, Spike jumped as if burned, and tried to pull away, but Buffy held on tight to his fingers and threw him a mischevious look. She could help him out here.

After all, it was the duty of a female friend to a male friend right, to rescue him from unwanted female attention?

"Maybe," she told Harmony coyly.

The other girl looked nonplussed. "Well, if it's nothing serious..."

Spike decided to take full advantage of this situation and pulled Buffy up and onto his lap. She raised her brows at him, but nonetheless settled comfortably. She didn't

even want to think about how wonderful this felt.

"Oh, we're serious, all right. Very, very serious," he told Harmony.

"Well, then. I guess you will be missing out!" she huffed and spinning on her heel, flounced back across to the bar.

Spike and Buffy exploded into laughter. "That's what you hang around with?" Buffy spluttered. "We have got to do something about your taste in women!"

"I think my taste is improving." He tightened his arms around her and their laughter fell away as quickly as it began. Buffy's pulse was racing, and she was spiraling down, down into his darkened eyes.

"Buffy!" An insistent voice to her left prodded her out of the spell, and she shook her head in an attempt to clear it. Willow was standing at her elbow trying to get her attention. Oz was behind her, arms laden with drinks.

"Sorry, what?" she asked fuzzily.

"There's a man asking about you at the bar," the redhead frowned. "I thought I should tell you in case he was a creepy stalker or something."

Buffy looked up sharply. Standing about ten feet away, dark eyes boring into her, was Angel.

She jumped as if as scalded. Forcing her feet to move, she mumbled something about "being right back" to the group and plunged into the crowd.

"Who was that?" Oz asked.

Spike had followed her gaze and his heart plummeted. "I'm pretty sure that's her husband," he said, not even noticing Willow and Oz's shocked stares.

"Angel?" Buffy had finally reached his side. "What are you doing here?" For some reason, she was shaking. Why? She hadn't done anything wrong. Not really anyway...

"I could ask you the same thing," his tone was clipped. "A friend gave me a call, said you were here and I should check it out. What is going on, Buffy?"

"Angel, please keep your voice down." Even in the noisy bar, they were beginning to attract attention. Seeing the curious stairs, he grabbed her arm and dragged her into the corridor leading to the back room. It was empty and relatively quiet, and the cool air leaking through the exit door cooled Buffy's hot cheeks.

"There's nothing going on," she told him quietly but firmly. "I went to the concert and Spike invited me to come out after. I knew you wouldn't be home, so I didn't see the harm in it."

"You didn't see the harm?" Furious, Angel backed her against the wall, his large frame looming over her smaller one. "Look how you're dressed! I told you I didn't want you wearing that outfit. And the way you were acting! What are people going to think?" Angel grabbed her arm and gave it a small shake.

Buffy, refusing to be cowed, started to answer, but was cut off by another female voice.

"Is everything all right here?" Anya had been headed to the ladies room when she heard the raised voices. Not wanting to interfere, she hung back, but when Angel gripped Buffy's arm, she knew she couldn't just leave it alone. Briefly, Anya considered getting Spike, but she was pretty sure that would only make things worse.

When Anya spoke, Angel had immediately released Buffy and backed off. Eyes not leaving her face, he spoke more gently. "We're fine, thanks."

"It's okay, Anya." Buffy said. "Angel, this is Anya Jenkins, Blue Flame's manager."

"Nice to meet you," he replied tersely. "We have to be going."

He turned on his heel and started for the door. Buffy hurriedly followed him, waving goodbye to her friends, hoping Spike would forgive her abrupt departure.

Anya reluctantly watched them go, again wondering if she should tell Spike about the little scene she had witnessed. The dark man's behavior made her nervous, but she was afraid that Spike's reaction would be more than was warranted. It was definitely not a good idea for him to get more involved than he already was. So she decided to keep quiet, for now at least.

Anxiously, Spike paced back and forth down the length of the hallway in his rental house, willing the clock to move faster so he could finally make the drive to Buffy’s home. And Angel’s home, he forcefully reminded himself. Almost two weeks had passed since the concert and the scene in the bar, and he had not seen Buffy again. They had exchanged a few emails, hers apologetic for leaving early, his tactfully trying to make sure she was okay, but he hadn’t even gotten to hear her voice until the day before yesterday, when she had phoned and left a message, inviting him to dinner tonight.

He had accepted, of course. Even though it meant he would have to sit across the table from Angel. But maybe in the long run that would be a good thing. Anya had given him another lecture on the importance of respecting Buffy’s marriage and once again encouraged him, as Buffy’s friend, to help her with that marriage. While Spike wasn’t at all sure that he could manage either, he had promised to try, and so, with some trepidation, he agreed to have dinner tonight with Angel and Buffy at their house.

He checked the clock again, and with a sigh, gave up and pocketed his keys. He had chosen to rent outside the city for the duration of Blue Flame’s time in the recording studio, telling himself it was for the peace and quiet, and had nothing to do with being closer to Buffy. Spike supposed he might as well go ahead and leave. He would feel better being out, even if it meant driving in circles until he could finally see her.

While Spike was pacing, Buffy was frantically turning her closet into chaos. She had decided what to wear way in advance, but five minutes ago, while stirring the vodka sauce, the liquid had spit on her sweater, and now she had to start all over again. She told herself that of course she was dressing for Angel, because he liked to see her neat, and because he was just starting to behave normally again after their fight. Although it hadn’t been much of a fight on Buffy’s part. She knew she had behaved inappropriately, and so had mostly just let Angel yell at her. After that it had been the silent treatment for several days, and now, gradually, he was beginning to come around.

Buffy fervently hoped this dinner would help; she thought that if he got to know Spike, and maybe they became friends, or at least, friendly, then Angel wouldn’t be so bothered by her spending time with the rocker. Because she really, really, missed him. She couldn’t let herself concentrate on quite how much, but smiling had become difficult lately, without knowing when she could see him and talk to him. That tiny, insistent voice in her head started up again, saying things that Buffy would rather not think about, and so she firmly shoved it aside and, making a decision, grabbed her favorite green shirt. It only had 3/4” sleeves, but she didn’t plan on being outside, and it would go as well with her khaki skirt as the other shirt she had been wearing.

Buffy heard the front door open and close, and knew that Angel had arrived home. Part of her had been wondering if he would make the effort to come, since he had missed so much lately. But here he was, and with a quick swipe of her lip gloss, she leapt down the stairs to greet him.

“Angel!” He was in the kitchen, checking out her dinner preparations.

“It smells good,” he said somewhat awkwardly. Angel was not altogether comfortable with this little dinner party, but it seemed a good idea to be able to size up the man that his wife seemed so fond of. After all, Buffy could be awfully naïve, and it wouldn’t do for her to be led into a compromising position.

“Thanks,” she replied, smiling and offering him a cheek to kiss. He hesitated, but then leaned down and let his lips swiftly brush her skin.

“I’ll just run down and pick out a bottle of wine.”

“Sounds good,” Buffy said agreeably. “He should be here in a few minutes.”

Swiftly, she surveyed her arrangements, checking to make sure that everything was done. The table was set with her favorite china, a set that had belonged to her mother with blue and gold swirls around the edges. The sauce was bubbling merrily on the stove, content to simmer until right before they sat down and the pasta was waiting nearby. Grabbing a dishcloth, Buffy opened the oven door to take out the toasted bread, but right then the doorbell rang, and in her haste to answer it, she dropped the towel and laid the side of her thumb against the hot pan.

Unable to suppress a moan of pain, she was surprised when the door burst open and Spike rushed into the room.

“Kitten, are you okay?” he asked urgently. “I heard you from outside the door…”

“I’m fine,” she grinned sheepishly. “I just burned my finger a little.”

“Let me see,” he took her hand to examine the injured digit, partly from concern and partly from a pressing need to touch her after having spent so long away. Swiftly, he brought the burn up to his mouth and blew on it briefly before daring to place a small kiss on her finger.

“All better?” he asked, his voice a strange mix of teasing and breathlessness.

“All better,” she agreed, smiling up at him, her green eyes enigmatic.

“I missed you,” he said simply.

“I missed you, too.”They stood for a moment, a hairbreadth apart, waiting, when a voice from below called out, startling them and breaking the moment.

“Buffy, did I hear the doorbell?” Angel asked.

Buffy jumped a little, shook her head, and gave Spike an abashed smile. “You did,” she called back. “Spike’s here.”

“I’ll be up in a minute,” he answered.

Busying herself at the counter, Buffy took up the bread pan more carefully this time and sliced the bread into a basket. Then she turned off the stove and ladled the sauce onto the pasta, adding a few sprigs of parsley and rosemary. Spike watched her move around the kitchen, entranced. This was a side of Buffy that he hadn’t seen, this domestic goddess that moved confidently around the kitchen, evoking an air of coziness and tranquility. Briefly, he closed his eyes and pictured Buffy in his home, his kitchen, his bedroom….No. Not going there, he said to himself, Anya’s lecture echoing in his head.

As Buffy was transporting the food to the table, Spike lagging behind her having been refused the chance to help, Angel appeared around the bend in the stairs with a bottle of wine and corkscrew in hand.

“Angel, here, let me take that,” said Buffy, rushing to empty his hands. Angel gave them up to her, and stood unmoving, appraising Spike, who didn’t blink, but engaged in his own blunt assessment. Suddenly, the room was thick with tension. Buffy flittered nervously between the two unmoving men.

“I don’t think you two have ever been properly introduced. Isn’t that funny!” she smiled uneasily. “Angel, this is Spike. Spike, this is my husband, Angel.”

His heart bristling at her easy use of the phrase “my husband”, Spike took Angel’s outreached hand in a crushing grip. Angel tightened his hold until both men’s hands were in danger of bruising. With a sigh, Spike let go and attempted a smile. He needed to get control of this impromptu pissing contest before it got out of hand. “

Nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said, trying for a polite tone.

“Same here,” Angel replied tightly.

There was a silence as the three found places at the table and the food was served. Spike looked up from his plate to catch Buffy’s eye teasingly.

“Pasta?” he smiled.

“With French bread,” she answered, grinning back at him.

Angel watched the small interaction with dark, brooding eyes. For Buffy’s sake, Spike attempted to steer the conversation back onto common ground.

“So, Angel, Buffy tells me you’re working on a very challenging case right now?”

Angel’s stare lightened; talking about work always let him remind himself and others just how important he was. “That’s right. I can’t discuss particulars, but…”

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

Finally, dinner was over and Spike got to be alone with Buffy again. The rest of the meal had been carried out with stilted conversation, mostly about Angel’s work. Spike’s hopes about changing his initial impression of Buffy’s husband had unfortunately been dashed. He found the man arrogant and abrasive, and detested his supercilious treatment of Buffy. He corrected her every opinion, and she just accepted it gracefully. Spike knew that this was going to cause him much grief later, when he had time to reflect on it, but just now he was enjoying the quiet, peaceful feeling that currently pervaded in the warm, homey kitchen.

Angel had excused himself to his home office to work, and Buffy had waved off Spike’s offer to help clear the table, so once again, he was standing back, leaning against the counter and watching as she flitted around from table to sink, talking brightly about inconsequential things. Closing his eyes, he let her chatter wash over him, basking in the sweet hum of her voice and the serene atmosphere.

“Hey,” Buffy tapped his arm gently. “Are you sleeping?” she smiled.

“No,” he answered, smiling softly back. “Just enjoying.”

“I’m done here. Wanna go sit outside for awhile?” she inclined her head to the French doors leading to the patio.

“Sure,” Spike agreed.

Happily, she snagged their wine glasses and the rest of the bottle and slung her coat over her arm. Spike took it from her and helped her into it, zipping it up and tucking in the collar.

“Don’t want you getting cold, pet,” he explained softly. She just smiled and shook her head slightly.

Once he had his own coat on, the two ventured out the doors and into the night air. It was somewhat balmy for March, and neither was uncomfortable. The sky was clear, and thousands of stars twinkled overhead as Buffy and Spike settled comfortably into a pair of Adirondack chairs. Spike poured half of the remaining wine in each glass and handed one to her.

“Cheers.” He raised his glass slightly, smiling.

“What are we drinking to?” Buffy asked, one eyebrow quirked in amusement.

“Ummm, to good food and good conversation?”

Buffy burst out laughing. “Well, maybe the food was good, but I think the conversation could be improved on. Sorry about that, by the way. Angel just gets a bit…caught up in his job some times.”

“No problem, pet. I’m just happy to see you,” Spike said, somewhat uncomfortably.

“We could drink to Blue Flame’s new album,” she suggested.

He made a face. “Better not, luv. Don’t want to jinx anything,” he hesitated. “How about just…to us?”

Her eyes were unreadable in the starlight, but she was smiling that soft, gentle smile she sometimes revealed when she was quietly happy. “Okay,” she agreed. “To us.”T

hey clinked glasses lightly and for a few moments relaxed in a comfortable silence. Buffy leaned her head back against the chair to look into the sky. A slight breeze ruffled her hair and Spike’s heart constricted. He wanted nothing more than to reach over and brush it off her cheek. To caress her dimples, kiss those sweet, pursed lips….Okay, again with the bad thoughts. Get it together, he told himself firmly. He should be using this time to tease out her true feelings about her marriage so that he could at least try to keep his promise to Anya.

“So, pet,” he broke the silence. “Tell me more about Angel.”

She looked at him quizzically. “There’s not much more to tell.”

“How did you meet?”

“In college,” she smiled ruefully. “It’s really your typical boy-meets-girl story. He was the TA in my freshman lit class, and I fell head over heels. My mom had just died, and it was really hard being alone. He helped,” she said simply.

“And when did you get married?” Spike probed further.

“Right after I graduated. After an extra year of student teaching, Angel decided that what he really wanted to do was go to law school. He got accepted to this fancy school in New York, and so it was either marry him or stay behind,” she trailed off, remembering, then resumed softly. “I didn’t want to be alone again. And I couldn’t imagine not being with him. He was my first real boyfriend, my first, well, everything,” she blushed.

He smiled at her flushed cheeks, amused that such things could still make her blush after several years of marriage, but his head was spinning with the other implications of her story. It sounded very much like Angel had taken advantage of a vulnerable young girl who was alone in the world with no one to look out for her best interests. His fists clenched, and he tried hard to disperse his anger. Another small silence descended.

Buffy took a large sip of her wine. Although she hadn’t had much, the alcohol was beginning to catch up with her and loosen her tongue. Summoning up her courage, she resolved to bring up a question that had been bothering her lately. Spike was her friend and a guy, so maybe he would be able to help her.

“Spike, can I ask you something?”

“Anything, kitten.” He smiled at her. She looked so lovely bathed in moonlight, her alabaster skin turned to fine porcelain and her eyes winking brightly out of the darkness.

“Do you think I’m pretty?” she asked boldly, downcast eyes broadcasting her nervousness.

Spike was taken aback. “What?”

“It’s okay if you don’t,” she said hurriedly.“No, luv, that’s not it. I think you’re gorgeous! I’m just wondering how you can go around not knowing that,”

“It’s no big deal…” she said miserably, eyes still on the ground, shoulders hunching inside her jacket.

“Buffy.” He took her chin in his hand and forced her to look at him, the uncertainty in her eyes, making him ache. “You are beautiful. So bloody gorgeous I can’t keep my eyes off you,” he said helplessly, inadvertently revealing more than he intended in his need to reassure her.

She nodded slightly, the insistent little voice in her head whispering the truth of his statement.

“Why would you wonder about something as obvious as that?” Spike asked insistently.

“It’s Angel,” she mumbled, pulling away from him.

“Angel?” Spike said incredulously. Was the man a bigger idiot that Spike already thought?

“Did he say something like that to you? ‘Cause if he did…”

“No,” she cut him off. “No, he’s never said I’m not or anything, it’s just…” she hesitated again.

“What, Buffy?” Spike asked unrelentingly. He had to know where this was going.

“He never wants to, you know.” She gestured euphemistically, embarrassment holding her tongue from the proper words.

Oh. OH. Half of Spike was absolutely dumbfounded. How could Angel, who had the right to go to bed every night with the most delectable, alluring woman Spike had ever seen, voluntarily give that up? Why was he not shagging her senseless every single bloody night? The other half, however, was flooded with joy and relief so sweet he felt dizzy with it.

“So, I thought maybe, that, you know, I wasn’t pretty enough,” Buffy continued, and Spike abruptly snapped back to himself. Even if she wasn’t currently sleeping with Angel, they were still married. Nevertheless, he had to know…

“Buffy,” he asked cautiously. “How long has it been?”

She shrugged. “A year, maybe?”

Now he was absolutely flabbergasted. A year? She and Angel hadn’t had sex in a year?

“Is that normal?” she asked quietly. “I know people say that after you’re married, it doesn’t happen as often, and to be honest, it’s never been that frequent for us….”

At this point, Spike really had no idea what to say, but she was looking at him expectantly. “Well, pet,” he hesitated. “I’ve heard that too, but really I think it just depends on the man and the woman,” he struggled with himself, Anya’s voice echoing in his head and the words that he knew she would want him to say stuck hard in his throat. “Maybe,” he forced out, “Maybe if you...” God, this was hard. He was about to tell the girl he adored, dreamed about, suspected he was in love with, to go shag her husband. “Maybe if you slept together more often you would feel more connected,” he said in a rush.

“Maybe you’re right,” she said shrugging and smiling at him. Now she was ready to change the subject. For some reason, even though she was sure it was good advice, hearing Spike say that had stung. She leaned back in her chair again, suppressing a yawn. Spike noticed, though, and began to get to his feet.

“It’s late,” he said. “I should go.”

“No, you don’t have to,” Buffy protested.

He smiled ruefully. “I’ve got an early morning recording session, pet. Can’t be falling asleep at the mike.”

“Okay,” she acquiesced. “I wouldn’t want Oz and Xander mad at me because I kept you up!”

They gathered up the wine glasses and went back into the house. Buffy walked Spike to the door, wanting to enjoy every precious minute of togetherness. He opened it to leave, then paused and turned back to her.

“You really are beautiful,” he said quietly. They were so close. Buffy didn’t know if her heart was going to accelerate into warp speed or stop altogether. Very slowly, he leaned in and gently kissed the corner of her mouth.

“Bye, luv.” He closed the door and was gone.“Bye,” Buffy whispered into the sudden silence, fingers ghosting over the outline of his kiss. She stood like that for what felt like a lifetime, that little voice in her mind busy all the while. Then shaking her head sharply, she turned around and went to check on her husband.

Nervously, Buffy scanned the crowded café. It seemed like every table was full and she had been running a few minutes late. When Willow had called and asked her to come out for an impromptu dinner and some girl talk, Buffy had readily accepted, but the train hadn’t been running on schedule and she was afraid the other girl had already given up on her.

“Buffy! Over here!” The redhead waved from a table deep in a corner of the small restaurant. Relieved, Buffy crossed to her and slung her coat over the back of the chair before sitting down.

“Sorry I’m so late, Willow. One of the trains wasn’t running and it threw the whole schedule off…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Willow waved off her apologies. “I used to live in the ‘burbs, too, so I know how it is. I’m just so glad you could come!”

“Me, too,” Buffy agreed. Although the two women had talked on the phone several times, they hadn’t been able to get together again since the concert. After briefly perusing the menus and giving her order to the somewhat impatient waiter, Buffy folded her hands on the table and looked at Willow expectantly.

“Soooo?” she asked. “How was your date with Oz?”

Willow immediately flushed, but a happy smile appeared on her lips. “It was so great, Buffy!” she squealed. “We went to this concert in the park, and sat out almost all night, just talking. It was so much fun! And we’re going out again next weekend!”

“That’s wonderful, Wil! I’m so happy for you!” Buffy smiled in genuine pleasure for her new friend.

“And it’s all thanks to you, Buffy.” Willow replied, turning a little serious.

“Don’t be silly,” the blonde tried to shrug off the credit.

“No, really,” insisted Willow. “If you hadn’t given me that ticket, and invited me backstage, and introduced me to Spike…” She paused, seeing Buffy’s green eyes cloud over briefly.“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Buffy insisted. The food arrived just then, tossed a little too hurriedly onto the table by the same impatient waiter. Buffy and Willow exchanged small smiles and eye rolls before unrolling their silverware, and folding napkins in their laps. The busywork of preparing to eat had stalled the conversation momentarily, but Willow was determined to pick it back up.

“Come on, Buffy. I know we haven’t known each other that long, but I can tell that something is wrong. Did you and Spike have a fight?” she asked curiously.

“No,” Buffy hurriedly replied. “Nothing like that,” she hesitated.

Willow paused a moment, thinking carefully about how to pursue this line of questioning. You would have had to be blind the other night not to see the sparks flying between Buffy and Spike, but Willow knew that Buffy was married. Although, from the little hints that Oz had unknowingly dropped, it wasn’t necessarily a happy union.

“Did you have a fight with Angel?” Willow asked cautiously.

“No,” Buffy replied again with a sigh. “He’s not home enough to fight with,” she admitted. “For a few days, right after Spike came over for dinner, Angel was coming home earlier and we were spending more time together, but then….” She shrugged helplessly.

“Have you seen Spike, lately?”“About a week ago, but just for a few minutes. I was in the city to pick up something from another gallery, and I stopped by the studio.” Buffy paused, remembering the brief conversation they had had in the hallway outside the recording studio, reclining slightly against the wall, Spike’s elbow casually leaning against the same wall near her head. They had been so close; his firm, sculpted chest just millimeters away from her breasts, causing her nipples to harden even though they weren’t actually touching.

Willow was surprised at the sudden light in Buffy’s eyes, and equally startled when it dimmed. “What?” she asked.

“Well,” Buffy hesitated. “I haven’t seen him since then. Or even really talked to him. Just a few emails. I think he’s avoiding me,” she confessed in a rush.

“Why would he be avoiding you? You two are friends…” Willow trailed off again. She seemed to be doing that a lot in this conversation. Suddenly, she resolved to bite the bullet and just ask Buffy. Whatever the answer, it seemed that her new friend really needed to talk, whether she realized it or not.

“Buffy,” she asked firmly. “Do you have feelings for Spike?”

Buffy’s face seemed to collapse in on itself, and tears shimmered at the corners of her eyes. “I’m not sure. I think I might,” she admitted in a miserable whisper.

Saddened by her friend’s obvious distress, Willow nevertheless thought that she should continue the conversation, for Buffy’s own good.“Does he have feelings for you?”

Before she could even think it through, Buffy nodded. A little shocked at her own quick response, she realized that, although she had mostly been caught up in her own emotions, she had no doubt that Spike had similar, if not stronger feelings for her. That annoying little voice in her head had been insisting the truth of this for weeks now.

“What are you going to do?” Willow asked, more gently now that everything was out in the open.

“I don’t know,” Buffy sighed softly, resting her head in her hands. “Every time I’m around him I just get so caught up in this feeling…I can’t really describe it. It’s like I’m just, giddy, and,” she paused, searching for the best words. “And I can’t seem to control my body; I just want to be close to him. We haven’t actually done anything,” she hurried to assure her, heading off Willow’s next question. “And I feel, just, happy,” she finished very softly.

“Oh, Buffy,” Willow’s face crinkled in concern for the sadness and uncertainty radiating off of her friend. “I know it’s hard, but you could, you know,” she tried to get her thoughts in order to suggest what, to her, seemed the only solution. “You could leave Angel.”

Buffy looked up, truly shocked. Somehow, despite what she finally admitted to feeling for Spike, she had never imagined actually being free to be with him. “No,” she gasped. “I couldn’t!”

“But, Buffy-”

“I couldn’t,” Buffy repeated, gently cutting her friend off. “Willow, my dad left my mom for another woman. His secretary, if you can believe the clicheness of that,” she sighed, running her hands worriedly through her hair, trying to make her understand. “She was devastated. I don’t ever, ever want to hurt anyone that way.”

“Oh, Buffy,” Willow said again, helplessly. There didn’t seem to be much more to say.

With a determined face, Buffy wiped her eyes and managed a smile. “I just have to work harder on my marriage, that’s all. And maybe Spike is right to avoid me. Maybe,” a small catch in her breath made her pause, but she resolutely continued on. “Maybe it’s for the best. And now,” she surveyed their barely touched, now cold dinner. “How about we go somewhere else? I know a coffee shop that has the best mochas…”

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

Both girls had purposefully kept the remainder of the evening on a much lighter note, so that when Buffy finally unlocked the front door of her house, she was still smiling. It had been such a lucky thing that Willow had come down the aisle at the concert when she had. They really complimented each other well, and had so much fun together! Buffy really thought the two of them were well on their way to becoming best friends.

Kicking her shoes off and making her way toward the stairs without turning on the light, Buffy almost tripped over a large black object lying on the floor. Angel’s briefcase. Her husband was actually home? She felt a finger of unease creep down her spine. She hadn’t bothered telling him she was going out with Willow. It hadn’t seemed likely that he would even notice she was gone.

“Angel?” She called softly, climbing the stairs and entering the bedroom, before stopping, shocked, just beyond the doorway.

He was lolling on the edge of the bed, still dressed in his suit and tie, and Buffy could smell the alcohol on his breath from several feet away. Angel didn’t like any sort of loss of control, and seldom drank more than one glass of wine with dinner.

“Buffy.” His speech was slightly slurred, but his dark eyes found her unerringly in the dark, tracing her figure with something that she hadn’t seen in awhile, something that looked like lust.

“I didn’t know you would be home,” she said nervously.

Lurching off the bed, he grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly to him. His tug threw her off balance, and she fell against him, struggling to breathe through the fumes that seemed to be soaked into his clothes.

“Were you with him?” he asked hoarsely.

“Him? You mean Spike. No. I went to dinner with Willow. Remember I told you about her?” Still drawing deep breaths to keep herself calm, Buffy was trying hard to stay pliant in her husband’s arms. He was running his hands over her body, forcibly palming her breasts, touching her in ways he hadn’t wanted to in months. This was right, she told herself. She should follow Spike’s advice and try to get Angel into bed for more than sleeping. Ignoring the growing nausea in her stomach, she forced her hands to move, and slipped one hand around Angel’s back and the other, with much trepidation, to his crotch. Feeling the hardness there almost made her want to jump back and run away, but she compelled herself to leave her hand on his cock and even apply a little pressure.

It wasn’t, of course, as if Buffy were a virgin. But it had been a long time, and Angel had always been very take charge, brusque, even, in bed. Now, though, it just felt wrong to be standing here like this, with him.

“Are you sure?” he asked, drawing her back to the present with a hard squeeze to her breast. “You weren’t with Spike? Weren’t out screwing him?” he spit the words out, the look in his eyes making her cower slightly.

“Ow, Angel, you’re hurting me…Of course, I’m sure,” she insisted gently. This was spinning out of control, and she needed to smooth this situation quickly. She had had no idea Angel was jealous of Spike. “I’m married to you,” she said placatingly. “Why would I be with him?”

"That’s right, we’re married. You’re my wife,” the words were still slurred, but his grip on her loosened, and he brought the hand that had been mauling her breasts up to her head instead to ruffle gently through her hair.

Buffy relaxed, until she felt the pressure on her head increase. She didn’t fight him, letting him push her down, forcing her to her knees, so the she was eye level with his belt. “Angel, what-“ she started to ask, until it suddenly sunk in what he wanted.

“Prove it to me, Buffy,” he rasped huskily, unzipping his pants and pulling out his cock. “Prove you’re still my wife.”

Okay, she could do this. Never mind the vicious queasiness in her stomach and that little voice in her head that was screaming for her to run. She had done this before, kind of. Never in this position, but…A few times before, Angel had laid on the bed and encouraged her to explore him with her tongue, but he always became impatient with her tentative efforts, and flipped them over to enter her before she could really get the hang of it. But she could do this. Willingly, she opened her mouth and licked the tip, unconsciously wrinkling her nose. He tasted of sweat and alcohol.

“Come on, Buffy,” Angel urged, his hands on her head compelling her forward.

Taking a deep breath, Buffy opened her mouth to take more of him in, but before she could settle to a rhythm, she found herself being held hard, and his cock suddenly forced down her throat.

“That’s it, Buffy. Be a good wife,” Angel crooned, as he aggressively fucked her mouth. Buffy choked, unable to breath and tried to pull away, but he held her head in an unbreakable grip. She gasped and spluttered and was unable to get a full breath no matter how she struggled. Finally, when her vision was starting to go black and she could no longer manage to fight, Angel came in her mouth, his cock shooting long spurts of semen down her throat. With a sigh, he withdrew and collapsed on the bed, leaving her gagging on the floor.

Buffy spit and retched onto the carpet, trying to clear her throat. From the bed, she could hear her husband snoring, already passed out from the combined effects of alcohol and satiation. Tears leaking out of her eyes, not even really aware that she was crying or what she was doing, Buffy pulled herself up and left the room, went downstairs, and grabbing her keys from the counter, ran from the house.

It had been a very long week for Spike. It seemed like nothing was going right for him or the band. The recording sessions had been crap for the past few days, and everyone was getting testy. Of course, he knew that at least some of it was his fault. After his decision to stay away from Buffy, at least for a while, he had been excessively bad tempered with everyone.

Rubbing a hand over his tired eyes in frustration, he rolled over on the couch and tried again to remember just why he had made that particular decision. Buffy had stopped by the studio last week, and they had engaged in some innocent flirting. At least, that’s what he had told Xander it was, when his friend confronted him afterwards.

“Spike!” Xander had yelled in frustration. “There’s no such thing as ‘innocent flirting’ with her. She’s married!”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” Spike snapped back, surprising them both with his vehemence. “Do you think I don’t think about that every single bloody minute?”

“Spike, man, you have got to get a grip on this,” Xander said gently.

“I know, I know. I just don’t know how. She’s all I bloody think about.”

“Maybe you should stay away from her. At least for a while.” Cautiously, Xander proposed what the whole group had been thinking. And Spike knew it was what they were all thinking, and what’s more, he knew they were right. He had no idea if Buffy felt as strongly as he did; he knew she felt something, but even if she felt exactly like he did, Spike didn’t know if she would leave her husband.

“Bugger this,” Spike gave up on the idea of sleep and reached for his guitar. His attraction to Buffy might be playing havoc with his temper, but it was feeding his muse. He had written several new songs just in the last week and a half. But before he could strum more than a few chords, the doorbell rang. Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was indeed as late as he thought, nearly 1:00 am. Who would be on his doorstep at this hour? If his bloody band mates had gotten kicked out of their digs…

“Xander, that better not be –“ he opened the door and stopped in mid-sentence. Buffy was standing on his doorstep, but it was a Buffy he had never seen before. She was shivering violently, even though the temperature was at least 60 degrees. Her clothes were crumpled and her hair was mussed. There were tear tracks on her cheeks, but her eyes were strangely unfocused. Seeing the keys dangling from her limp fingers, he was shocked that she had driven in this condition. He wasn’t even aware that she knew how to get to his house.

“Buffy? Luv, what’s wrong? Have you been in an accident?” He drew her gently inside, checking her frantically for injuries. He didn’t see anything obvious, but…

“Buffy!” Her unfocused gaze worried him the most. She had obviously driven her car here from somewhere, but now he wasn’t even sure she saw him.

“Kitten, look at me, please!” He placed his hands on her shoulders and she started. Slowly, Buffy raised her gaze to him. Her green eyes were wide and still slightly glazed, but she seemed to see him.

“Buffy,” Spike said again, slowly, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head. Relieved, he drew her into his arms. Despite her odd appearance, part of him was giddy at being able to touch her again, even though he knew it was wrong. At first, she stood stiffly in his embrace, but suddenly she collapsed and would have fallen if he hadn’t caught her against his chest. She was still shaking, and he was shocked at how cold her skin felt, despite the temperate weather.

Having no real idea what was wrong with her, it seemed like getting her warm was a good start. “Come on, sweetheart, come over here,” he whispered against her hair. Mostly carrying her, he brought Buffy over to the couch. “Sit down, pet,” Spike coaxed. “Let’s get you warm.”

Either she didn’t understand him or couldn’t get her legs to work, because she just stood there, staring at him with those huge green eyes. Ever so softly, he placed his hands on her shoulders and gently tried to guide her down onto the sofa.

At this, Buffy came abruptly to life. A small, hoarse sound tore from her throat, halfway between a moan and a whimper and she quickly backed away from him, hands upraised. She kept going until her back touched the wall, and then stopped, arms curling in on herself, every line of her body radiating tension and distress.Spike was truly bewildered, and not a little frightened. She was acting as if she were afraid…A cold lump of dread formed in the pit of his stomach, and he slowly began to move toward her.

Taking small, unhurried steps, he closed the distance until she was an arm’s length away, and then he reached out and very, very softly touched only her hand. Careful to not apply any pressure at all, he gently traced circles on her skin, keeping his movements small and hopefully soothing.

“Buffy, luv,” his voice was calm, comforting, despite the fear coursing through his veins. “It’s okay. You’re safe. Only want you to sit down, pet. So you can get warm. Okay? It’s all right…” Gradually he inched closer to her, and slipped his fingers around so that he was holding her very cold hand. She allowed this, but seemed to have gone away inside her head again and her empty eyes sent a sharp ache right to Spike’s heart.

“Buffy!” He was fighting to keep the desperation out of his voice, but losing the battle. If she didn’t come around soon, he was going to have to- What? Take her to the hospital? She didn’t seem to be physically injured. Call someone else? Spike was pretty sure her husband was somehow responsible for her condition, and even if he wasn’t, he doubted that Angel would be much use. He didn’t have Willow’s number, although he supposed he could call Oz and get it, but honestly, he didn’t think the redhead would be much of a help either.

Urgently, he tried again to break through to her, holding her fingers tighter and bringing his other hand up to brush her cheek. “Buffy, luv, please! You have to talk to me. Please!”

His desperation seemed to succeed where his calmness had failed. She blinked her beautiful green eyes and slowly, comprehension flowed back into them. “Spike?” Her voice was oh so small, and a bit hoarse, but he was thrilled that she was finally talking.

“Yeah, luv, I’m here. Are you okay? What – “ He stopped abruptly as Buffy hurled herself at him. This was different from her collapse at the door; now she was actively clinging to him, heartrending sobs pouring from her throat.

“Okay, baby, shhhh, it’s okay.” Spike fell back onto the sofa, bringing her with him so that she was curled in his lap, soaking his t-shirt with her tears. She clutched him tightly and burrowed into his chest until it felt like she was trying to crawl inside him. He tightened his hold on her, running his hands up and down her back, through her hair, trying to reassure himself that although obviously upset, she was physically alright. Minutes or hours later, she began to calm. Her sobs condensed into quiet tears, and Spike finally felt she might be ready to talk.

“Luv, can you tell me? What happened?”

She shook her head, refusing to look at him, but he persisted. “You need to tell me, Buffy. I can’t help unless you tell me what’s wrong.” He hesitated, considering her behavior and knowing what he needed to ask. “Buffy, were you,” Spike paused again, searching for the right words, forcing down the fear that threatened to choke him. “Were you attacked?”

She froze and he stilled with her, every nerve in his body on alert for her answer. After several heart stopping moments, she shook her head.

“You weren’t?” he asked.

Again she paused before responding in that same small voice.

“No, not exactly.” She still wouldn’t look at him, preferring to talk with her head sideways against his chest, staring out the window.

Fighting for calm, he asked reasonably, “How can you ‘not exactly’ be attacked?”“

I wasn’t. I wasn’t attacked. It was just, Angel, and he wanted, and I…” her speech was rapidly breaking down into tears again.

“Okay, shhh. We’ll wait.” He brushed a kiss against her head and laid his cheek against the softness of her hair. His fear for her was rapidly being replaced by hot anger, but as much as he wanted to leap up and beat the facts out of her bastard husband, he knew that being here with her was more useful than attacking Angel.

A few minutes later, Buffy was quiet again, but before he could question her further, she took a deep breath and pulled away from him. Side by side on the couch now, she tried to adjust her clothes, before looking up at him from under her lashes. “I must look awful,” she observed ruefully.

“Nah,” he said smiling. “You’re always beautiful, pet.”

“Right,” she replied drily, then hesitated. “Spike, thanks.”

“For what?”

“Being here,” she shrugged. “Putting up with psycho Buffy. I didn’t know where else to go. I don’t really even remember getting here.

Unconsciously, he laced his fingers through hers, their joined hands resting on her thigh. “Buffy,” he began softly. “Please tell me what happened.”

She hesitated. “I overreacted. I know I did. After, all, we are married, and really, he has every right to…” Trailing off, she shrugged, gradually relaxing into the comfort of Spike’s nearness. She honestly did not remember arriving here, but when she had finally become aware of him earlier, pleading for her to talk, hands busy trying to soothe her with gentle caresses, suddenly Buffy had felt safe again. His fingers flexed in her hand, startling them both.

“Please, please, Buffy,” Spike said in a voice tense with feeling. “Tell me you’re not saying what I think you are.”

“I’m not saying anything. I’m saying I overreacted,” she sounded slightly defensive now, and still there was that strange, hoarse quality to her normally smooth voice.

Spike finally allowed himself to feel frustrated with her. He had been trying to keep it at bay, but didn’t the bloody woman realize that he needed to know what had happened to cause her to show up at his door practically comatose? “Did he force himself on you?” he asked bluntly, taking her chin in his hand and compelling her to look at him.

Buffy shied away. “No. Not exactly.”

“Not exactly,” he repeated skeptically. His heart was pounding, nerves twanging with adrenaline. After all the years of hurting her emotionally, it seemed her husband had finally crossed the line and Spike wanted to…wanted to hit the bastard so hard that his fist came out the other side. Wanted to squeeze his oversized head until it popped. Wanted to hurt him in ways he had never even considered.

“He didn’t force me that way,” Buffy replied softly. “My clothes never even came off,” she smiled bitterly. “Spike, I really just don’t want to talk about this anymore,” she said with a sigh. “Could we just sit here, and, I don’t know, maybe have some tea? My throat really hurts.”

Two beats later, realization set in. Buffy realized what she had admitted, and her eyes widened. Spike jerked and stood mechanically.

“Tea,” he said avoiding her apprehensive gaze. “I’ll make tea.”I

n the adjacent kitchen, Spike grabbed a pot from the hanging rack and threw it so hard against the wall that it cracked in a shower of plaster. Breathing hard, the air burning his lungs, he leaned his arms on the counter and hung his head, trying to come to grips with Buffy’s inadvertent admission. He didn’t have all the details, but with her evasion on whether or not she had been attacked, her remark about staying clothed, and the new information that her throat hurt, he could just about put the pieces together.

He groaned, heart and stomach aching, as he pictured Buffy’s delicate lips forced open, her throat roughly abused, tears in her eyes, her gasps for air….Oh, god. He felt sick thinking about it and so fucking helpless. She had been hurt and he couldn’t stop it. Spike hadn’t cried since his beloved mother had died years ago, but now tears pricked his eyes at the fucking stupidity, the hopelessness of it all. A low, harsh cry escaped his throat, part sob, part growl and he slammed his hands down against the counter in frustration.

Slowly, fingers stole around his waist from behind, and a now warm body pressed into him. “Spike,” she breathed softly. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

“No, it’s not,” his voice was ragged with effort. “It’s not okay at all.” Mentally, he groaned at the consummate irony of her comforting him. “He hurt you, and tomorrow, you’ll probably go back to him.”

“Probably,” she agreed honestly, resting her cheek against his back. “He was - less than sober, and I’m sure he’ll be sorry.”

“That’s no excuse.”

“I know. I do know. But we’re married. And I can’t just walk away from that. No matter what.”

They were quiet for a moment. The house settled around them with small noises that enhanced, rather than detracted from their silence.

“I’m falling in love with you, you know,” he remarked calmly, almost as if it were someone else in his body, forming the words.

“I know,” she answered quietly. She did know. Had known for some time, just hadn’t wanted to admit it.

Ever so slowly, he turned to face her, devastated blue eyes piercing through her heart. They njunwere locked into this moment, and now there was no one to interrupt. The anticipation was brief but heartbreakingly sweet. Like a magnet drawn to its opposite, slowly but inexorably his head dipped to hers and just before their lips met, one word, her name, escaped from his lips on an exhale of prayer.

“Buffy.”

Gently, he explored her lips, tongue laving small, tender bruises, all but invisible to the eyes, until she felt nothing but blissful tingles. He dipped into the sweet part of her mouth, begging entrance. She opened up to him readily and was lost in the sweep of his tongue as it danced with hers. Warmth spread from her center, radiating out into her limbs until she felt feverish and faint, like his arms were the only thing keeping her upright.

Spike was utterly gone, entranced by her sweet taste, like honey and strawberries and all the good things he remembered about summer. She became increasingly pliant in his arms and his hands roamed more freely, moving up to tangle in her soft golden hair, twining a lock around his fingers like a band, moving around to caress a breast, letting the precious weight rest in his palm while flicking a nipple with his thumb, eliciting a gasp of arousal from Buffy.

An eternity later, breath ran short and they broke apart, chests heaving in conjunction, foreheads resting together as slowly they came back to earth.

“Wow,” Buffy breathed.

“Yeah,” agreed Spike, softly. Caressing her cheek one last time, loving the way she turned her head to nuzzle into his hand, he reluctantly pulled away. “Maybe I should make that tea,” he suggested with a slight smile.

A few minutes later, Buffy was reclining on the sofa, leaning against the oversized arm, feet tucked under. The responsible part of her mind had shut down, and for the first time in awhile, she was luxuriating in feeling cared for and completely safe. Silently, Spike entered the room and handed her a cup of steaming tea, complete with saucer. With his matching one, he settled at the other end of the couch, mirroring her position except for his long outstretched legs.She smiled.

“Sometimes I forget how very English you are.”

He snorted. “Just because you Americans can’t make a decent cup of tea.”

They grinned at each other and sat quietly, sipping tea and just relaxing. The high-strung emotions of earlier in the evening had dissipated somewhat, leaving the two feeling calm and content to just be in the same room. Nothing had really changed. She would be going home in the morning. But Spike’s declaration and the kiss had brought things out into the open, and eased some of the tension that habitually zinged between them.

“So,” Buffy began conversationally, eyeing the pillow that had gotten tossed to the floor earlier. “Why are you sleeping on the couch? Doesn’t this place have a bedroom?”

“Yeah, but I don’t like the bed,” he said sullenly, adding something in a tone to low for her to hear.

“What was that?” The teasing gleam was sneaking back into her eyes, and he was more than willing to let her laugh at him, if it meant she would laugh instead of cry. He couldn’t take more of that tonight.

“I said, it’s too lumpy!”

She giggled. “Spike, the Prince and the Pea.”

“Ha, bloody, ha.” But he was smiling.

“How’s the recording coming?” She asked when her laughter ran out.

He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s tough going at the moment, pet. Still having some issues about what to include and how to mix it all together.”

“I thought you had the set list all figured out.”

“We did…” he trailed off. “But I’ve been working on some new stuff, rather get it in sooner than later.”

She spied his guitar under the coffee table. “Play something for me?”

He sighed. Probably not a good idea, considering most of the new stuff was about her, but tonight he couldn’t refuse her anything. “Sure, luv.” He sat up and reached for the guitar, settling it comfortably on his lap and strumming a few chords experimentally before settling into a song.

When you smile

With those eyes

Baby it's like

You place a finger on my heart

And your lips next to mine

Make me think that maybe heavens where you are

God don't send to me your angels

I just wanna hear you say

Forever love

Say it love

Tell me soI can hold you in my soul

And if I go I'll know

He threaded his fingers through a few more chords and stopped to look at her. “That one’s not quite finished,” he admitted.

She had a curious look on her face. Intent and breathless. Her eyes were blazing green, and the color was high in her cheeks. “Play something else,” she demanded softly.

Without thought, the song that had been running through his head all through this strange, complicated night sprang to his fingers.

I'm really close tonight
And I feel like I'm moving inside her
Lying in the dark
And I think that I'm beginning to know her
Let it go
I'll be there when you call
And whenever I fall at your feet
Do you let your tears rain down on me
Whenever I touch your slow turning pain

You're hiding from me now
There's something in the way that you're talkin’
Words don't sound right
But I hear them all moving inside you
Go now
I'll be there when you call
And whenever I fall at your feet
Do you let your tears rain down on me
Whenever I touch your slow turning pain

The finger of blame has turned upon itself
And I'm more than willing to offer myself
Do you want my presence or need my help?
Who knows where that might lead
I fall at your feet

The finger of blame has turned upon itself
And I'm more than willing to offer myself
Do you want my presence or need my help?
Who knows where that might lead
I fall at your feet

He repeated the chorus and fingered the last chord. As the notes died, the silence was total. The calm had bled out of the evening, and the room was again filled with suppressed emotion. Buffy had drifted closer to him as he played, so that she was sitting right next to him, and now he placed the guitar back on the floor and covered her hand with his own.

“Which one was about me?” she asked softly.

“Both,” he replied honestly.

One beat later, eyes locked, and this time Buffy took the first step. She assailed his lips, pressing her own as close to his as possible, slipping her tongue into his mouth to seek his. Without breaking contact, she moved into his lap, straddling him, curling her fingers into his hair and holding him to her. There was nothing gentle about this encounter, it was completely different from their earlier kiss, but there was also nothing frightening about it. They would not hurt each other. And when it was time to stop, they would stop.

Right now, though, stopping was the furthest thing from either of their minds. Buffy knew Spike loved her, and right now, that’s what her body needed, even if her mind wasn’t completely aware of it. Spike was just lost again, in the touch of Buffy’s lips, her tongue, the vibration caused when she moaned into his mouth as he brushed the back of his hand against her breast. He wanted more, was desperate for more, to feel her skin against his fingertips, to brand himself into her so that when she went back to her husband, she would not be able to forget him.

Gently, not wanting to scare her, ready to stop at the first hint of reluctance, he eased his fingers under her shirt and caressed the warm flesh beneath. With quivering fingers, he forged a trail up the smooth skin of her stomach to her lace covered breasts. Expertly slipping fingers under the elastic, he rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Moaning out loud now, she broke away from the kiss and he took the chance to slide down and replace his fingers with his tongue.

Buffy was on fire. She had never, ever felt anything like this before. She was molten lava pouring through his fingers, and she never wanted to stop burning. Tendrils of need pulsed through her, fed by his talented tongue on her breasts. He paused to look at her, blue eyes dark with arousal, and she captured his lips again in a fierce kiss.

Adeptly, he flipped them over so that she was pressed beneath him. Pausing first to make sure she was comfortable with the role reversal, he played his fingers down her body, unerringly finding her cotton covered mound. Again she had to break the kiss as a strangled keening sound broke from her throat. She was so wet he could feel her arousal through her thin pants, and he fought back a shiver.

“Buffy, god kitten, so wet for me,” he murmured. “Let me see, luv, please, let me see you.” At this point, he was not at all adverse to begging if it got him closer to her glorious, sodden center. Her lips were so sweet; he was thirsting, dying for a taste of her more hidden delights.

She opened her eyes briefly and nodded before letting her head fall back onto the sofa. This was wrong. Very wrong. But god help her if she cared.

Gently, Spike eased her pants down her hips, followed quickly by her scrap of underwear. Tossing both aside, he turned to look at her, completely unadorned, laid open for him. With a growl, he fell on her, tasting her juices with one quick lick up her slit.

Buffy’s hips bucked off the couch in surprise. This wasn’t what she had been expecting.

“Spike – “ she began voice breathy with suppressed lust.

“Do you want me to stop, luv?” he asked softly.

“It’s just, you don’t have to…” she said uncomfortably.

“I know. I want to. God, Buffy, you taste like heaven. I’ll stop if you want, but fuck, kitten, want to drink you down. Want to make you feel so good…” he broke off, a fresh rush of arousal pouring through him as a single drop of moisture beaded on her outer lips, just begging to be caught and tasted.

Green eyes intense with need, she nodded, giving him permission, and he rushed to catch the bead on his tongue, glancing over her clit in the process. Buffy nearly screamed, and Spike quickly did it again, just to hear the sound of her pleasure.

Bringing his fingers down to rub gently circles around her clit, always close but never quite hitting it, he stiffened his tongue and plunged it into her molten hot core. She was amazing, burning hot from the inside out and almost virginally tight. He squeezed his eyes shut as he withdrew only to rush in again, imagining his cock strangled by that heat. He switched positions, using his tongue to flick her clit again, and scissoring his fingers inside her, angling up to that special mass of nerves. With his other hand he reached down to stroke his cock, picturing it replacing his fingers.

Buffy was screaming constantly now, his name interspersed with unintelligible moans and whimpers. He felt a fission of purely male pride, that it was him making her feel this way. He had a sneaking suspicion that Buffy’s pleasure was not something high on Angel’s list of priorities. And what a loss for him, because she was incredible. Head thrown back, gold hair streaming down, moans of excitement breaking from her lips. The most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

“Open your eyes, luv,” he demanded when he felt the first flutter of her inner walls contracting. “Want to see you come.”

She did, her green orbs glazed now with need and not fear. Surprised contracted her pupils briefly as she saw him stroking himself, but the lust flared higher after only a moment.

“That’s my girl,” he encouraged, quickening the thrust of his fingers into her now quaking pussy. “Come for me, luv. Want to see you. Love you, sweet girl.” He was babbling now, so close himself, but wanting her to come first, and wasn’t aware of what he said, but she heard him, and suddenly a million points of light burst in front of her eyes and her body exploded in pleasure. She had never felt anything, anything, even close to this.

Just as her first orgasm was easing, he leaned in and gently bit her clit, setting off another, even more intense. “Spike!” she cried, so loud that he hoped the whole world could hear her. He felt his own release approaching, but it was made even speedier by her hot little hand, reaching up to grasp him through his jeans.

They collapsed together in a tangle of limbs, neither capable of words. As she snuggled into his arms, already half asleep, Spike drew the blanket over them both and settled down to watch her, and wait for the morning.

At some point in the night, Spike must have fallen asleep. Exhausted from emotion and exertion, he had to have drifted off. Because now he was waking up, and it was impossible to wake up if you had never fallen asleep. Spike shrugged the blanket away from his chin and stretched his arm slightly, expecting to encounter soft golden hair and skin, only to find empty air. The other half of the pillow was still warm, and it still smelled like her. She had to have been here only moments before. With a sigh, Spike sank facedown back into the sofa. Buffy was gone, and he had no idea what was going to happen now.
***********************************************************

Feeling curiously blank inside, Buffy let herself into her home, intent on a shower and bed. She had already left a message on Dru’s answering machine to let her know Buffy wouldn’t be at work today. It had been so tempting to stay with Spike, curled in his arms, content to sleep the morning away, or perhaps engage in a repeat performance of the previous evening. So tempting, that she knew she had to leave before he woke up, or she would never be able to.

Buffy tiredly entered the kitchen, slinging her bag and keys on the counter, and stopped in her tracks. The very last person she wanted to see was sitting at the breakfast bar, head in hands, a steaming cup of coffee nearby. She had been sure that despite the early hour, Angel would already have left for work.

Hearing the clash of her keys on the granite, he looked up. “Buffy,” his voice ached with exhaustion and his eyes were beyond bloodshot, just red orbs occasionally creased with white.

She held up her hand to cut him off. “Not now, Angel," she said, attempting to move past him. In the hard light of day, she wasn’t afraid of him. Things that happened in the quiet of a dark bedroom couldn’t happen with the sunlight streaming through the kitchen window and the sound of a lawnmower droning somewhere in the distance.

“Buffy. Please.” He turned those injured eyes to her, silently begging her to just stay and listen, just for a few minutes.

She hadn’t seen him look that way in quite a while. So open and vulnerable. With a sigh, she leaned back against the counter. “Okay, Angel. What could you possibly have to say to me?”

“Buffy, last night was…I don’t really remember exactly what happened, but I know it was bad. And I am sorry for whatever happened. I don’t know if you remember, but I was in court yesterday,” he paused and looked at her for confirmation.

Lowering her eyes, she shook her head slightly. She hadn’t remembered.

“And we lost the case. The one we’ve been working on for months now.” She started to interrupt, but he cut her off. “And that’s not an excuse. I’m just telling you what happened. And then,” he paused to rub his forehead. “This idiot paralegal told me they had seen you in some tabloid, getting up close and personal with Spike Giles. He actually asked me if I could get him an autograph.” Angel laughed in disbelief. “I didn’t even know you had seen him recently.”

Buffy blushed slightly. It must have been when she had left the recording studio last week. Spike had followed her out to say a private goodbye. She hadn’t seen any photographers, but Spike had mentioned that he and the band were getting more and more publicity, sometimes of the unwanted kind. God, what that must have looked like…Frantically, she tried to remember exactly what they had done. Buffy didn’t think it had been anything other than an innocent hug, but after last night, every single seemingly innocuous touch was imbued with extra meaning.

“Angel, I’m so sorry –“ she began, but again he cut her off.

“Let me finish, okay?” When she nodded, green eyes troubled and wan, he continued. “So then, I came home and you weren’t here. No note, no message, nothing. I didn’t know what to think, Buffy. And I’m not proud of this, but after that I started drinking. I’m guessing you came home after I’d just about finished the bottle of scotch.” Again he rubbed his head, groaning a little with the aftereffects of all that alcohol.

“I know we’ve been married awhile, and I understand about little flirtations. I’ve had them, too.” Buffy’s eyebrows came up, and he quickly continued. “But to be with him, and get yourself photographed by some dirty paparazzi,” he stopped, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you would do that.”

“That day,” Buffy began, feeling the need to explain herself, “The day the picture must have been taken, I was in the city picking something up for Dru, and I knew the band was in the studio. So I just stopped by to say hi. Spike,” she stumbled a little over the name, desperately trying to hide her guilt,” he just walked me out. Nothing happened there. We were on the sidewalk, in front of dozens of people.” Almost involuntarily, she moved closer to him. He looked so sad… “And last night, I was out with Willow. My very female friend. I didn’t leave a message because,” she shrugged and looked at him carefully. “I didn’t think you would be here to get it.”

“So what now?” he asked, evenly meeting her gaze. “Do you want me to leave?”

“What? No.” Another step closer, drawn by, she wasn’t really sure what. Memories, maybe. Shared history. Guilt.

“I am sorry, Buffy. I would never hurt you, not really. I wasn’t trying to hurt you last night. Just to be close to you,” he looked at her somewhat reproachfully now, and she, knowing that after her time with Spike he had much to rebuke her for, drew another step closer. Now she stood a little behind and to the side of his seat at the bar, a hairsbreadth away from touching him.

“I’m sorry, too,” she breathed.

Slowly, he turned in his chair and drew her close, one arm around her waist, his face at her shoulder. “What now?” he asked. “Can we move on from this?”

Fighting the urge to shudder, she forced herself to try and relax. It didn’t matter that his embrace felt so alien; he was her husband and she was going to have to try and remember that. “I think we can,” she responded quietly.

At this, Angel wrapped his arms fully around his wife, gently playing with her hair, eyes burning with relief and satisfaction. He had her back.
***********************************************************

"Bloody hell!" Spike kicked the microphone stand in disgust, sending it crashing to the floor.

This was possibly the worst recording session the band had ever had, and it was completely his fault. Oz and Xander eyed him dubiously from behind their respective instruments as he once again choked on the lyrics, effectively stopping the recording once again.

He had arrived at the studio determined to include “Fall at Your Feet” on this album. After some initial resistance from the producer, Spike had gotten his way, but now he couldn’t seem to sing the fucking song. His head was full of Buffy; images from last night kept kaleidoscoping through his mind and his concentration was crap today.

“Okay, guys,” the weary voice of the mixing artist came over the intercom. “Why don’t you take five? Spike, you have a visitor.”

He spun quickly around, catching a flash of blond hair inside the booth and jolted out the door. Buffy was waiting for him, her hands twisting around and around in nervousness. She knew she had to see him today, but wasn’t at all sure what kind of reception to expect. Her first thought had been to wait until evening and go to his house, but her heart had complained loudly at the thought of revisiting the scene of last night’s intimacy and not being able to repeat it. So she had decided that this would be better. A public place where she could be sure to catch him, and where they couldn’t indulge in any behavior likely to get them in any deeper than they already were. But now, he was looking at her with such naked emotion on his face; hope, love and torment all rapidly taking their turn in his stricken blue eyes, and she was no longer sure this had been the best plan.

Xander looked from one to the other, and quickly took control of the situation. Clapping the mixing artist on the shoulder, he said, “Steve, it’s been a rough morning. Why don’t you let us take you out for lunch?”

“Ummm, I don't know.” Steve was a little confused by the tension thrumming in the room.

Catching Xander’s eye, Oz steered the man toward the door. “C’mon mate, we owe you.”

As he was leaving, Xander shot Spike a significant look over his shoulder, but Spike was too engrossed in an intimate perusal of Buffy to even notice. Sighing, the drummer closed the door, hoping to God that his friend knew what he was doing.

“Spike,” Buffy spoke first, her voice a whispering caress. She had once again forgotten what an effect his physical presence had on her. She wanted nothing more than to run over and throw herself into his arms, forgetting about the rest of the world and all the hard things she was here to say.

“Buffy,” his words an answering prayer. “You were gone. I woke up and you were gone.” His deep blue eyes were stricken and his words held a hint of reproach.

Wanting nothing more than to go over and sooth him, she instead took a deep breath and fisted her hands. “I know. I’m sorry,” she offered. “I needed to think. I was afraid that if you were awake, I’d never be able to leave,” she tried a shaky laugh, but it didn’t reach her eyes and she knew it.

“Would that have been so bad?” he took a hesitant step forward, desperately wanting her in his arms.

“Spike, stop.”

Her words effectively halted him, freezing him in place, arms still slightly outstretched. “We can’t. You know we can’t. We talked about this last night. Angel’s my husband – “

“Aren’t things just a little different now, Buffy?” he pleaded in a hard-edged tone. “I’m in love with you!”

“I know,” she repeated her words from last night, squeezing her eyes shut, trying to hold back the tears. “But last night, that can’t happen again.”

“And you can’t say you don’t have feelings for me,” he ignored her words. “I know you can’t.”

“Please, Spike. Please don’t.” Her tears spilled over, washing silently down her cheeks.

Bleeding fuck. He had made her cry, and after last night, he wouldn’t have thought she had any tears left. Defeated, he ran his hands through his hair and tried to tamp down his own anguish. “Okay, pet,” he sighed. “You win. Where does this leave us?”

“Friends?” she offered weakly.

“Friends. I’ll try, luv, if that’s what you want, but honestly, Buffy, it might be easier if…”

“If what?” she demanded, panicky.

“If we just didn’t see each other. A clean break.” His heart ached, and the words burned coming out of his mouth, but he had to suggest it. It was almost impossible to think that he could just be her friend after what they had shared last night. To think he could cheerfully send her off to her husband night after night and not constantly wonder what new atrocity might send her running to his front door again.

“No!” Buffy was truly alarmed now. He couldn’t possibly, she couldn’t… “Please no,” she softened her voice, green eyes pleading for understanding. “I’m not ready for you not to be here.”

Spike cursed himself as a sodding wanker, knowing he would deserve every ounce of pain this caused him. “Okay, Buffy. For you, I’ll try.”

“Dru?” Buffy stood nervously in the doorway of her boss’ office.

Drusilla looked up from the inventory lists she was going over and smiled at the younger woman. “Ready to leave?”

“If you don’t mind. I’m just nervous about meeting Angel on time,” Buffy answered, twisting her hands together. She hated asking to leave early, but Angel had made special reservations at an exclusive restaurant in the city, and she didn’t want to disappoint him by being late.

Dru smiled her special secretive smile, the one that always made Buffy think her boss knew more than the rest of the mere mortals around her. “Of course I don’t mind. Have a good time!”

Buffy turned to leave, but Drusilla stopped her. “What are you wearing? That new green dress you showed me last week?”

“I was thinking about it. I don’t know if Angel will like it though. I’m afraid he’ll think it’s too revealing or something.”

“Hmmm…” Dru replied, pretending to consider. The dress was dark green silk, with a sweetheart neckline and a flared skirt just above the knees. In all honesty, she could care less if Angel liked it. Drusilla was thinking about someone else.

“He’ll love it,” she said sincerely. “You should definitely wear it.”

“Okay,” Buffy smiled, eyes sparkling. She completely trusted Dru’s instincts, on fashion and just about everything else. “I’ll see you later!” she chirped, turning again to head out the door.

“Oh, and Buffy,” Dru stopped her once again, just before she could disappear around the corner. “Happy birthday.”

Buffy gave her another smile and left the office. Seconds later, Dru heard the gallery door swing shut. Excellent. Now to make sure all the pieces were in place. Languidly, she opened her address book, running a dark red fingernail down the page until she came to the number she had stolen from Buffy’s cell phone earlier. Humming to herself, she picked up the phone and began to dial.
************************************************************
When Spike had originally gotten the invitation, he had been completely bewildered. His cell phone had rung around seven last Thursday night, when he was sitting in Xander’s living room eating Chinese takeout and watching the World Cup with his bandmates. He seemed to head home later and later these days, simply not able to face his empty house until he was too tired to care that Buffy wasn’t there. Her definition of being friends did not lend itself to late-night visits, even just to talk.

He missed her horribly. Oh, he had seen her and spoken to her. But the casual touching seemed more off-limits now, and his fingers continually hummed with the ache of wanting to stroke her hair, caress her skin, even just hold her hand. He had to move out of the living room and into the seriously uncomfortable bed, because it was impossible to sleep on the couch without remembering the sight of her, head flung back with that gorgeous hair falling down, and green eyes burning with passion. For him.

But she had made it clear that thoughts of that kind were also off-limits. And she didn’t invite him back to her home either, he assumed to avoid a situation where Spike and Angel might meet again. So when he answered the phone to find Angel’s assistant on the line, he was not unreasonably surprised.
“Ummm, hi,” he had answered her officious greeting unusually tongue-tied.

“Hello,” she had responded crisply. “I am calling on behalf of Angel O’Connell and Buffy Summers. Mr. O’Connell would like to invite you to a birthday dinner for his wife, next Friday evening at Per Se. Will you be able to attend?”

Spike had stuttered some more, something he supposed sounded like an acceptance, because she replied, “Very good. Please arrive no later than 7:00pm and do not mention this to Ms. Summers, as her husband wishes to surprise her.”

Well, that explained some things. If Buffy didn’t want Spike and Angel together, it seemed like Angel had other ideas. Although Spike was pretty sure the other man had some sort of ulterior motive, something other than just gathering his wife’s friends for her birthday. So should he go? After hanging up the phone, he had turned to Oz and Xander and dazedly explained the purpose of the phone call.

“Oh yeah, we’re going to that, too,” Oz had replied nonchalantly.

“You and Xander?” Spike arched an eyebrow.
“No, me and Willow. She was invited and I’m tagging along as ‘plus one’.”

“And you’re just now mentioning this?”

Oz shrugged. “Sorry, mate, I forgot. Some of us don’t think about blond girls 24/7.”

Spike ignored the pointed criticism. “Well, I’m not bloody going. Why would I want to sit there all evening and watch her prick of a husband gloat?”

Xander decided to step in, cautiously, “Why would he gloat?”

Incredulously, Spike turned on him sharply. “Because,” he said as if speaking to a very young child, “He has her and I don’t.”

“Does he know that?” Xander continued. “I mean, I know he knows he has her,” he babbled. “But does he know you want her?”

“Would you know if some hanger-on of Anya’s was in love with her?” Spike retorted.

Xander bit back a rejoinder and considered the question. “Point taken.”

“But it is her birthday,” Oz interjected. “Wouldn’t she want you to be there?”

“How am I supposed to know what she wants? She doesn’t even know what she wants.”

Despite some evidence to the contrary, his friends had wisely left that question unanswered and the conversation moved on. But Spike had been thinking about little else. He kept bouncing back and forth, making up his mind and then changing it. He had bought her a birthday present, a lovely, but perfectly acceptable, friend present. But now that the evening had arrived, he was of half a mind to wait and give it to her tomorrow. Surely she would forgive him for not showing up. Surely she wouldn’t even want him to show up.

He was pacing back and forth in the hallway at the recording studio, trying to decide whether to go home or actually attend this ill-conceived birthday dinner, when his cell rang. He checked it and saw the number for the gallery where Buffy worked. She had called him from there once or twice, usually just to pass the time while there weren’t any customers. Wherever he was, whatever he was doing, he always dropped everything to concentrate on her voice, even if she was just calling out of boredom.

“Buffy,” he answered warmly. “Happy birth-“

An unfamiliar female voice cut him off. “Not Buffy. Sorry to disappoint you.” The voice was low-pitched and melodious; with an unusual cadence that made Spike sure he would have remembered if he had met the woman.

“Sorry. Who is this?” he asked, somewhat suspiciously.

“Drusilla Windham, perhaps Buffy has mentioned me?”

“Oh, right sure. You own the gallery.” He couldn’t help being perplexed. Why was Buffy’s boss calling him, unless…

“Is Buffy okay?” he asked urgently.

“She’s fine. Off getting ready for the birthday dinner her husband put together.”

Spike thought he detected a slight undertone of distaste at the words “her husband” and smiled a little. At least he wasn’t the only one who thought Buffy deserved better.

“Actually, that’s why I’m calling,” Dru continued. “You will be attending, won’t you?”

“Honestly, I haven’t decided.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” she answered softly, almost to herself.

“Well, why should I?” Suddenly, his control snapped and he began to vent to this perfect stranger. “I seriously don’t want to see her canoodling with hubby dearest all evening. And I’m not sure she would even want me there, with her bloody “let’s be friends” trip…” Spike realized abruptly that he might have said too much; he didn’t know what, if anything, Buffy had confided to her boss.

But Dru replied as if he hadn’t just spilled his heart so someone he’d never met. “Spike.” She suddenly sounded very serious. “You have to go. It’s Buffy’s birthday and you have to be there. No matter how hard it is, you need to be there. Promise me,” she said intensely.

Somewhat taken aback, Spike stuttered an assent.
“Good. I’ll see you there. I’ll even save you a seat,” Now there was a little bit of teasing in her voice, and as he hung up, Spike wondered just exactly what kind of woman Buffy worked for.

Drusilla sat back in her chair, relieved. The pieces were all in place. “Pain before pleasure,” she murmured to herself, a satisfied smile forming on her face. “But eventually pleasure.”

Besides the guest of honor, Spike was the last one to arrive. He entered the restaurant apprehensively, feeling swallowed by both his apprehension and the muted blues that covered every surface. Speaking quietly to the host, he was directed to a round table in the corner where Oz and Willow were seated, chatting amiably with a lovely dark-haired woman. Spike took a seat across from them and next to the woman he assumed must be Drusilla, leaving two empty seats to his right and hoping that Buffy and not Angel would take the chair next to him.

As he took his place, Dru turned to him, an intimate look flickering across her face. “I know who you are,” she smiled slightly and offered him her hand, palm down in the European fashion.

With a bemused look at Oz and Willow, he gallantly took the proffered fingers and raised the hand to his lips, barely making contact with her skin. An odd sense of déjà vu swept over him, and he quickly released her and sat down, shaking his head slightly to clear it.

Drusilla laughed, amusement now evident in her big dark eyes. “Don’t worry, I won’t bite,” she said.

“Right,” Spike said confusedly.

“So, Spike,” Willow broke in, trying to bring the conversation back to something more normal. She quite liked Drusilla, but the odd interaction between her and the blond man was a little unnerving. “What did you get Buffy for her birthday?”

Spike smiled and gestured at the wrapped present he had placed on the table. “You’ll have to wait and see.” He was really proud of his gift; it had taken some effort to find and was worth a pretty penny, although probably only Buffy and her boss would realize its value.

The redhead grumbled good-naturedly. “Why do I have to wait? I’m not the birthday girl…” she broke off suddenly, her face lighting in a smile. “They’re coming!”

Spike looked over at the entrance, catching his breath at the sight of Buffy, beautiful in a green silky dress. One that he just knew he could feel the warmth of her skin through…She looked up at her husband and smiled, and Spike’s heart clenched. Right. Not his to touch. Just friends. Bloody hell, this was going to be a very long evening.

********************************************************************************************************
Angel was being very charming. He was already waiting downstairs when she arrived at his office, instead of making her phone up for him and stand uncomfortably in the lobby for fifteen minutes. He complimented her dress. He gave her the choice of catching a cab or walking the few blocks, and when she timidly suggested the walk, he took her arm to safely steer her around errant pedestrians. During the ten minute stroll, he kept up a patter of effortless conversation, almost lulling Buffy back into the rhythms of their earlier relationship, when it had been easy to talk to him. She actually started to look forward to the rest of the evening. Maybe this was what they needed. Time alone outside of the house, with no distractions.

Inside the quiet, cool interior of the restaurant, Angel stepped behind her to help remove the light jacket she was wearing over her dress. “Now, Buffy,” he began as he gently pulled it down her arms, sweeping her hair back into place when it was clear. “I know you’re not overly fond of surprises, but I thought, since it was your birthday…”

She gave him a puzzled look but allowed him to lead her deeper into the restaurant. A flash of red hair from a corner table caught her eye. “Angel, Willow and Oz are here. We should go and say hi…” she trailed off as her husband smiled broadly.

“Happy birthday, Buffy.” He kissed her cheek gently. “I thought it would be nice to get together with some of your friends to celebrate.”

Okay, so they wouldn’t be alone, but it was really sweet of him to invite her new friend…As they drew closer, she noted with some surprise that Drusilla was also at the table, next to – Oh, no. He wouldn’t have. Apprehension swept through Buffy as she found herself staring into Spike’s intense blue eyes. But why shouldn’t her husband have invited another of her new acquaintances? As far as he knew, she and Spike were just friends.

They were at the table now, and Buffy was quietly trying to keep from hyperventilating. This was not a good idea. Angel was greeting their guests and holding out her chair when Spike again caught her eye.

“Breathe,” he mouthed, a teasing smile playing around his lips. Even though he understood her consternation, she was so cute when she was flustered that he couldn’t help smiling as she dropped into the chair next to him. And hey, she was sitting next to him. Of course, Angel was on her other side, but still…

Taking his advice and inhaling deeply, Buffy gathered herself back together and returned his smile.

“Hi,” she said in a small voice.

“Hi,” he replied. “Happy birthday.”

“Surprised, Buffy?” Dru caught her attention from Spike’s other side.

“Very,” she playfully reproved her boss. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me this afternoon!”

“And ruin the fun?” Drusilla smiled, raising her eyebrows.

“Happy birthday, Buffy!” Willow squealed from across the table.

“I’m glad you could come, Wil, and you too, Oz,” Buffy said to her enthusiastic friend. Oz smiled in his laid-back manner and added his more reserved birthday wishes.

“Now that everyone has met, and Buffy’s recovered from my little surprise,” Angel smiled at his wife and Buffy smiled back.

Spike felt like he had been punched in the stomach. His beautiful girl was smiling at that wanker of a…..husband. Right.

“I suggest we go ahead and order some champagne to celebrate,” Angel continued. “I’ve taken the liberty of ordering the chef’s tasting menu for the table, if that’s satisfactory?” Everyone nodded in agreement, except for Spike who was still scowling at the floor. Angel smiled, just a little. “And please don’t worry about the check. The evening is, of course, on me.” He beamed benevolently at the table.

Oz glanced at Spike and sardonically raised an eyebrow, to which Spike could only shake his head. Angel did know who they were right? The two men could easily afford the cost of dinner, even in this overpriced place. Catching the exchange, Willow elbowed Oz and gave Spike a warning glare.

“Thank you, Angel, that’s very considerate,” she said out loud.

Champagne was ordered and poured, and the conversation moved easily along, mostly thanks to Willow, who seemed determined to make the evening nice for Buffy’s sake. Spike didn’t say much, unable to keep from noticing every single opportunity that Angel took to touch his wife. He squeezed her hand, brushed hair from her cheek, caressed her knee under the table, all with a little smirk in Spike’s direction. Oh yeah, he knew all right.

Spike didn’t even realize how tightly he was gripping his glass, fingers fisted tightly around the stem and muscles corded with tension in his arm, until he felt a cool hand stroke his skin, gently but insistently pressing down on his arm to make him lower it to the table.

“Relax,” Drusilla said softly, lips curving in a sly smile. “Don’t let him know it’s bothering you.”

“It’s a little difficult,” he grumbled, but conceding the woman’s point, he smiled back at her and tried to release some of the tension from the arm she was still gently caressing.

Buffy caught the interaction with a frown. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she didn’t like the way Spike was smiling at her boss, and letting her rub his arm. She was already having a hard enough time trying not to dodge Angel’s unusually overt displays of affection. A bolt of jealousy lodged in her stomach, making it clench painfully as she watched Dru’s hand lingering on top of Spike’s and saw her smile up at him and laugh. A moment later, Spike turned to her, but she ignored him, bestowing a dazzling, if somewhat brittle smile of her own on her husband and surprising him by nuzzling into his hand when he brushed a lock of hair off her forehead.

Spike looked at her for a moment with hurt, hooded eyes, before, with a slim hand on his chin, Drusilla insistently drew his attention back to her. The first course arrived, followed shortly by the second, and throughout the meal two of the three couples engaged in general conversation. But Spike and Dru remained in a little bubble of their own, conversing in tones too low for the rest of the table to hear. Oz and Willow occasionally threw curious glances their way, but both were a little relieved that Spike seemed to have found someone who might alleviate his fascination with Buffy.

As for Buffy herself, she was resolutely not looking at them. She smiled and laughed with her husband and friends, and a casual observer might have thought her perfectly happy, but Willow noticed that her eyes were too bright, and her food virtually untouched.

When the plates were all cleared and the group was waiting on dessert, a band began playing in the corner of the restaurant, something soft and sweet, and several couples drifted onto the dance floor. “Dance with me?” Buffy asked Angel with a smile. She knew she was flirting with her husband, but Spike’s attention to Dru hurt so much that concentrating on him was the only form of relief she could think of. Not that it was helping much.

Angel returned her smile but shook his head. “Not right now, Buff,” he said. “You know I’m not really into that.”

For the first time in awhile, Dru turned her attention to someone other than the blond man on her right. “If you would like to dance, Buffy, I’ll loan Spike to you for a few minutes. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind,” she said sweetly, urging Spike up and out of his chair.

Confusedly, Spike rose and nodded.

“That’s okay,” Buffy tried to back out of the situation, but before she could completely renege, Angel interrupted, with a small, gloating smile directed at Spike.

“Go ahead and dance with my wife. As a favor to me,” he said magnanimously.

Silently, Buffy followed Spike to the dance floor in the corner.

“Buffy, luv,” he breathed, putting his arms around her and smiling down into her eyes. It was a sweet relief to be able to touch her. “I didn’t think I was going to get a moment alone with you tonight.”

Buffy remained silent, keeping her eyes averted to a spot somewhere over his shoulder and not allowing her body to relax into his like it desperately wanted to.

“Kitten,” he frowned. “Is something wrong? It’s okay, we’re supposed to be dancing together, nobody will think anything…” He trailed off when she shook her head, still refusing to meet his eyes.

“I’m sorry to drag you away from the table like this,” she said in a clipped voice.

“You’re not-“

“Sorry to drag you away from Drusilla.” Her voice tripped over the name, even though it was one she spoke almost every day, and the words were infused with a venom which she had never directed toward the older woman, or anyone else, before.

“Dru?” Spike stopped and almost smiled before the unfairness of it all hit him. She was jealous. She was bloody jealous!

Looking around quickly, he grabbed her hand and drug her off the dance floor and out through the propped open exit door. They were in an alley now, behind the restaurant, the sounds of conversation and music barely drifting out from inside.

Once outside, he released her and she instantly brought her arms up to cross around herself, physically trying to hold the pain in. She had spent an entire evening watching another woman flirt with him and it hurt more than she ever thought possible.

“Buffy,” he turned to her, voice tense with barely controlled emotion. For the first time ever, he was angry with her. “You don’t get to be jealous of Dru. You don’t have the right.”

“Don’t have the-“ Buffy choked off her words, the first hint of tears peeking out of her green eyes. “I thought you loved me,” she said in a smaller, softer voice.”

“I do,” Spike cried. “Do you think Drusilla, or anyone, means a thing to me right now? You want to be “just friends,” and I’m trying, I really am, but god help me, Buffy, it’s still all about you.” He closed his eyes briefly, trying to get a handle on his emotions. “And you don’t get to be jealous.”

“Do you have to flirt with her right in front of me?” Her own anger was finding its way into Buffy’s voice, and she threw the question at him fiercely.

“Do you have to kiss your husband right in front of me?” He flung back at her.

Suddenly exhausted, Buffy hung her head, letting the tears come. He was right. Completely and totally right. Spike didn’t belong to her, and if Dru wanted to flirt with him, she had every right. And he had every right to respond.

As always, her tears pricked Spike’s heart. Gently, he touched her face, catching the little drops of moisture on his thumbs and wiping them away. “D’you know what we talked about, me and Dru?” he asked quietly.

She shook her head.

“You. The whole time, we were talking about you.” He sighed, allowing himself to finally take comfort from her closeness. She mumbled something, lips pressed into his fingers. “What, sweetheart?”

“I love you.” She said it softly, almost reluctantly, but admitting it felt wonderful, cleansing almost. She hadn’t allowed herself to think it before tonight, that this constant longing for him might be real love, but seeing him with another woman had brought her feelings into achingly sharp focus.

Spike couldn’t breathe. Buffy loved him. While freely admitting his feelings for her, he hadn’t really expected her to reciprocate, at least not verbally, not under these circumstances. Now, no matter what, he had that. Silently, he thanked Dru and her tactics, underhanded though they might have been, he had no doubt about what she had been up to.

Unable to stop himself, he kissed her, oh so softly. Neither tried to deepen the kiss, but just took it for what it was, and allowed their lips to linger, gently pressed together, in silent communion.

“Now what?” he asked quietly when they broke apart.

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

He turned away from her. “I’m going away for a few days,” he said, holding up a hand to forestall her protests. “We’ve got a break from recording, and I’m going to go somewhere, maybe up into the mountains. I need to get away, Buffy,” he pleaded for her to understand.

“And when you get back?” she asked, timidly.

“I don’t know.”

They stood facing one another, eyes locked, the noise from the restaurant and the street beyond only a dim buzz in their ears. They stood looking into one another, all their shared moments, every caress and kiss, every endearment humming between them, and realized that they truly had no idea where to go from here.

The next day was Saturday, and Buffy wasn’t expected to be at work. Which was a good thing, because her head hurt considerably. With a soft moan, she rolled over, burying her face into the pillow, knowing instinctively that Angel was already gone. No such thing as a five-day work week for him. Again, though, this was not a bad thing, all told.

After her confession in the alley, she had allowed Spike to lead her gently back inside where they had shared a dance laced with soft innocuous touches, small whispers and caressing looks. As they headed back to the table, Buffy’s heart burned a little more with every step. How was she ever going to get through this? Angel was smiling at her, possessiveness glinting in his dark eyes, and it seemed like everyone was looking at her expectantly. As soon as she reached her chair, she had lifted her champagne glass for a refill. And she continued to lift it, every time the dry, bubbly drink was almost gone.

Desperately, Buffy closed her mind to any internal protests and sought all of the liquid courage she could get as she somehow laughed and smiled through the cake cutting and the present opening. She barely remembered leaving the restaurant, except for the image of Dru leading Spike outside, one slim hand on his arm, that was burned into her eyelids.

Opening her eyes a tiny crack, she winced at the sunlight that seemed to rush into the room for the specific purpose of blinding her. Very carefully, with small easy movements, she sat up and fumbled for her robe and slippers. For some reason, she didn’t want to be in this bed anymore. Snagging an afghan out of the closet, she dragged it behind her listlessly as she went down the stairs and into the living room, curling up in the sanctuary of the couch.

Not even bothering with a pillow, Buffy just laid her head on her forearm and let the thoughts jumble up in her head. Spike. Angel. Dru. Pictures from the last evening and the whole of the past few months cascaded through her mind, in no particular order, significant moments mixing with mundane ones as they fought for dominance. She was just so tired.

Stretching her leg out, Buffy’s foot accidentally bumped the coffee table, sending another jolt of pain to her head and something skittering to the ground. When the sharp ache eased, she opened her eyes to see what had fallen. Her birthday presents from the previous evening had been dropped unceremoniously there last night, by either herself or Angel, she wasn’t sure. Again, her memory was kind of lacking. It was her husband’s gift that had fallen, the diamond earrings coming loose from the packaging and clanging on the floor. Gingerly, and with some distaste, Buffy retrieved them and set them back on the table. They were much too gaudy for her taste, and she would probably never wear them, except to please Angel. And in her exhausted state she wasn’t able to dissemble, even to herself, that pretending she liked something to please her husband would be enjoyable. In fact, if he were to come home right now, it might not even be possible. Buffy felt drained beyond any pretense, and if Angel were here, there was no telling what might come out of her mouth.

Would that be so bad? Her inner voice was at it again, and Buffy had no strength to argue today. Looking for a distraction, her eyes fell on Spike’s birthday present, and she smiled a tiny smile, the most she could manage in her current state. It was a small painting of her mountain, the one she climbed to think about her mother. The significance of the gift and the thought and trouble that had to have gone into locating it were more than enough to make it the most special present she had probably ever received, but on top of that, it was by Winslow Homer and worth several thousand dollars.

When she had opened it, a little apprehensive at what Spike might choose to give her in front of her husband, it had taken her a minute to get over the beauty of the simple watercolor and realize the significance of what she held in her hands. Immediately she had opened her mouth to protest the costly gift, but his voice at her ear stopped her.

“Let it go,” he whispered, his breath causing shivers to race up and down her spine. “Let me give you this.”

She had obeyed him and not made a fuss. After all, no one except herself and Drusilla would have any idea of how much it was worth. And now, seeing it lying innocuously on her coffee table beside Angel’s completely unthoughtful gift made her heart swell with love and pain. She turned over, burrowing into the couch, trying to stop the tears seeping from under her lashes and finally blissfully falling back into oblivion.

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

Frustration and uncertainty flowed through Spike’s veins as he passed over the border into Vermont. He was about 180 miles away from his rental house, away from Buffy, and was for some reason reluctant to go further. What if she needed him? He had been hesitant to leave the restaurant last night; she was pretty much out of her head, after washing down vast quantities of alcohol and he didn’t completely trust in her husband’s ability to get her home safely. But Drusilla had propelled him out, and he had obeyed.

Again he shook his head, a glimmer of a smile gracing his lips as he thought about the dark woman and her machinations the previous night. He was certainly glad she was on his side in this…

This. What the bloody hell was this, anyway? A game? Winner take Buffy? He rebelled at the thought of his beautiful girl being no more than a prize for male egos. Oh, yeah. Not his girl. His muddled mind kept forgetting. She had certainly looked like his girl last night, clinging to him on the dance floor, the echo of her words, the most glorious words he had ever heard, hanging off her lips. The illusion had broken, though, with their return trip to the table and Buffy’s decision to hide her pain under a champagne induced smile. Which he completely understood, although it hurt to watch her step falter as she walked away, knowing that when she woke up the next morning, when the alcoholic fog began to clear, she would still have the pain to deal with and would more than likely be doing it alone. Because he couldn’t be there to do it with her. That wouldn’t help anyone.

With a bit of desperation, Spike slammed his foot down on the accelerator and shot forward, determined to put more distance between them. It seemed beyond his control when his body took over, steering him onto the next exit ramp. Looked like a nice enough town. He wasn’t stopping because of her. He wasn’t. Really.

It was a much chastened Buffy that shuffled into the gallery the following day. She got it now. Alcohol was so not the answer. After finally coming out of her champagne induced langor the previous day, all of the pain had still been there, lying dormant in her heart until she got around to noticing it. Although, god knows, she still had no idea what was the answer. More than anything, she wanted to call Spike. But she couldn't. Wouldn't. He had gone out of town to get away from her, and though she knew he would answer if she called his cell, she didn't want to do that to him. There didn't seem to be much she could do for him these days, but she could leave him alone now, for the moment.

Hesitantly, she perused the gallery, eyes sweeping left to right over the big room. The lights were on, so Dru had to be here. Quickly, Buffy began to walk toward the back, thinking that if she could get to the stockroom, maybe she could avoid her boss for a little while longer. She no longer felt any anger toward the older woman; there was no point. Spike was right - she had no room to be jealous. As long as she was married to Angel, she had no say in what he did or whom he did it with. At least, that's what her mind said. Her heart screamed in pain at the thought of what could have happened after the party. She had seen them leave together...

"Buffy?" Dru's voice called absently from the direction of the office. "Is that you?"

"Yes," she answered, sighing. Almost made it. But what was the saying? Almost only counted in hand grenades?

"Come in here, would you?" her boss asked, dulcet tones making it more of a command than a request.

Hesitantly, Buffy edged into the room. Drusilla sat behind the desk, going over an inventory list and sipping a mug of coffee. Another cup sat on the opposite side of the desk, still steaming. "Have a seat," Dru waved airly at the chair opposite.

Slumping down into it, Buffy gripped the mug gratefully. She could really use the caffeine. When she was settled, she reluctantly looked up at Drusilla, who was regarding her gently with compassion in her dark eyes.

"How are you?"

The kindness in Dru's voice almost made Buffy cry. How could she have ever spoken so hatefully about this woman who had never been anything but nice to her? Even if she and Spike had...Buffy's stomach lurched and a jolt of jealousy rocked through her. It must have shown on her face, because Drusilla reached out to take her free hand over the desk.

"Buffy," she said firmly. "Nothing happened. Nothing was ever going to happen."

"But, I saw you...and he..." There was no point in wondering how her boss knew what was going through her mind. This was Drusilla. She always knew.

"No. What you saw was," the older woman sighed, searching for the best words. "What you saw was comfort. He needed some, badly. And I was there," she shrugged and then levelled a sharp look at Buffy. "You are aware, aren't you? That he is so desperately in love with you that no one else even exists."

Dropping her gaze, Buffy twisted her hands together in her lap. "I guess."

Incredulous, Dru spoke more sharply than she intended. "You 'guess'? Don't play coy, Buffy. You know. And you feel the same way." Buffy refused to look up and Dru cast her eyes skyward, trying to regain patience. This would take finesse, not blunt force. Taking a deep breath, she changed tactics.

"Buffy, what do you feel for Angel?"

Buffy glanced up, surprised. "I'm not sure anymore," she answered softly, shock making her honest.

"Think about it," Drusilla urged.

Closing her eyes, Buffy let snippets of memory play at her brain. Images of their first dates, their wedding, holidays, last Valentine's day, the birthday dinner two days ago, that awful night last month...There were tears in her memories, plenty of them, but it hadn't all been bad. Still though...She shook her head and opened her eyes to look at Dru who still regarding her with so much compassion Buffy could hardly stand it. "It's not what I feel for him. It never has been," she admitted softly. There was no doubt who the "him" in question was.

Drusilla checked her smile. Finally, some honestly. Now maybe she could be a little more candid herself. "Buffy," she began softly, praying it wasn't too soon. "I've known you for years now. I've seen you since the beginning of your marriage to Angel. There's no doubt that you've changed since then." She held up one sliim hand to forestall the inevitable protests. "I know that everyone changes through time. But the way you've changed..." Dru stopped to take a breath. This was proving harder than she thought it would be, her very real affection for the confused blond getting in the way of what needed to be said. "I don't think the way you are now is the way you're supposed to be. Angel takes something away from you, but Spike, he gives it back."

Immediately Buffy's brain set up a protest, but the little voice that always niggled at the back of her mind sighed, feeling something like truth in the other woman's words. She thought of all the times Angel corrected her, bypassed her opinions, flat-out told her she was wrong. Maybe there was something there.

"I don't - " she began, a repressed breath heavy in her voice. Startled by the sudden buzzing of her cell phone, she jumped startled out of her seat, accidentally bumping the table and splashing coffee onto her sweather. Groaning, she pulled the phone from her purse, brows wrinkling at the caller id. It was her home number. Angel had been gone when she had woken up, so who could be calling from their phone? Curious, the flipped the cell open and answered. "Hello?"

"Buffy." Her husband's voice was heavy and hard. "Come home. Now."

"Angel? What are you doing there? And I just got to work..." she trailed off in confusion.

"Now."

"Ummm, okay." He was obviously upset over something. Probably better if she went home and got it over with. A ball of fear curdled in her stomach as she thought over the events of the past few months. He couldn't know about Spike, could he?

"Dru, I've got to run home," she grabbed her purse and all but sprinted out the door. "I'll be back in later, and I promise I'll make up the hours!"

Left alone in the office, Drusilla stared at nothing, eyes unfocused. After a few moments, she reached for the phone and rapidly began dialing.

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

"Angel?" Buffy blew through the front door, dropping her purse on the floor and calling into the quiet house. "I'm here, what - " She broke off as her husband suddenly loomed up in front of her.

"What the hell were you doing?" he snapped.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, heart racing.

"You know. And at your birthday dinner. The big dinner that I planned and paid for, invited all your little friends," Angel sneered the word, watching her flinch with impassive eyes.

Buffy's mind tore through the confusing events of that evening. Had someone seen her and Spike kissing in the alley? "Angel," she said softly, placatingly. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"I am referring," he enunciated every word with careful precision, as though speaking to a very young child. "To this."

Taking a step back to catch the newspaper he forcefully thrust at her, she fearfully glanced at the cover. It wasn't really a newspaper, just a gossip magazine. But there on the cover, in bitter black and white was a photo of the two of them. Not kissing though. With a sigh of relief mingled with frustration, Buffy dropped in onto the floor.

"This?" she asked incredulously. "This is what you drag me home from work over?"

"It's plenty," Angel answered tersely.

Sweeping past him, Buffy started toward the stairs. "This is ridiculous. I'm going to go change my shirt, and then I'm going back to the gallery."

"You aren't going anywhere until I get an explanation!" He grabbed her arm roughly, but she pulled away from his grasp and stormed up the stairs.

He quickly followed her, spinning her around in the bedroom doorway. "What is this about?" Her husband was yelling now, and puncuated each of his words with a poke at the page of print he had recovered from the floor.

"Why do you care?" Buffy replied, frustration mounting. "I know you don't like him. So a picture of us arguing ought to make your day!" Pivoting, she headed back for the stairs, deciding to forego a clean sweater and just get the hell out of there.

"Don't walk away from me!" Again, Angel grabbed her and again she pulled away. "It doesn't make my day to have your picture splashed all over the pages of paper like this," he shook it disgustedly before hurling it to the wall. "Everyone saw you, do you know that, everyone I know saw this and laughed!"

"And that's what you care about isn't it?" Buffy started down the stairs, but anger blurred her vision and somehow her foot never quite connected with the step. She felt - or did she?- a sudden pressure at her back and then she was falling, spinning, head banging sharply on a succession of stairs before finally coming to rest in a heap on the floor.

Dazed, she looked up, pain making sight hazy. Angel was standing frozen at the top of the steps, face deathly white in shock. Could she move? Yes, it hurt a lot, but she could. Gingerly, she picked herself up. Her husband took a step toward her, foot hovering over the stair she had missed.

"No," her voice was tiny but forceful and he stopped his movement. As quickly as she could, Buffy limped to the door, grabbed her purse, and made her way outside, running, once again, from her husband.

Somewhere in the room something was buzzing, forcing it's way through the dazed recesses of Spike's consciousness. It had been four in the morning
before he had been able to fall into a troubled, somewhat intoxicated sleep and the annoying sound pricked his mind, gradually dragging him back to himself.
Fumbling for the nightstand, he found his cell phone and cracked open his eyes to check the caller id. The gallery. Buffy.

"Hello?" he answered somewhat foggily, rubbing his forehead in an attempt to kick start his brain.

"Spike." For the second time, he was greeted with an unexpected voice. Now, though, Drusilla's tone was clipped and urgent and soberness instantly
dawned on him.

"Dru? What is it?"

"You need to come back, Spike. Now."

He was already moving, frantically throwing things into his suitcase, heart pounding so loudly he was sure the people in the next room could hear. There
was only one reason he could think of for Drusilla to summon him so premptorily back to the town he had just left the previous day.

"Is she okay?" Please let her be okay. What had he been thinking, going off and leaving her like this?

Dru hesitated and Spike's heart stopped beating. Oh god. No.

"She's...going to be okay. I think. Just come home as soon as you can."

"I'm on my way," he said shortly, clicking the phone closed and rushing out of the room. There had better not be any police on the road this morning,
because he was planning on doing a lot of speeding and did not have time to stop for a ticket.

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

Gingerly, Buffy opened the car door and got in. Her entire body ached and her right wrist was pretty much useless. She hoped it wasn't broken. Pretty sure
she was going to feel a lot worse when the adrenaline wore off, Buffy tried to think about the best place to go to recover, physically and emotionally. A sob
started in her throat. Had that really just happened? No. Can't think about that now. Have to get somewhere safe first. Of course, the first place that came
to mind was Spike's house, but he wasn't even home. She couldn't go back to the gallery. And Willow was too far away; Buffy would never be able to drive
into the city, and the idea of betraying her injuries to curious stares on the train was too much to bear. Again, her thoughts came back to Spike.
His home beckoned her heart like a lighthouse, and she made up her mind. Even if he wasn't there, she could still go to his house. She knew where
he kept a hidden key in case he locked himself out, as he confessed he was apt to do. And maybe it was for the best that he wasn't around. She had no
idea what he would do if he saw her like this. No, it was good that she could go there and be alone.

Barely twenty minutes later, and there she was. Paying no attention to her surroundings, she stumbled out of the car and bent down to retrieve the key
from under the front step. Her hands were starting to shake, and she could think of nothing but locking herself inside and curling up on his couch. As
she awkwardly put the key in the lock, she was startled to feel the knob turning in her hand. Head flying up wildly, she was shocked to meet the curious
hazel eyes of her new best friend.

"Buffy?" Willow asked inquisitively. "What are you doing here? You know Spike's not..." Suddenly she took in her friend's face, and the redhead's eyes
went wide. "Oh my god. What happened to you?"

Unable to speak, with no idea of how to explain this, Buffy only shook her head numbly. Gently, Willow drew her inside the house, shouting for Oz to
come downstairs. "We're house-sitting," she explained rapidly to the silent girl blindly following her through the kitchen and into the small
dining room. "Spike thought it might be nice for us to have a few days together, without Xander and Anya or my roommate around."

"Willow, what - " It was now Oz's turn to stop sharply at the sight of Buffy.

She wrung her hands together and pulled out a chair from the table. "Sit down, Buffy," she urged. "Let me see." Her eyes swept over her friend, noting,
beside the obvious discoloration of her face, the swelling of her left ankle, the way she cradled her right wrist and oh my god, were those fingerprints
on her arms? "What happened?" she asked again.

"I fell," Buffy responded in a small voice.

Something was not right here, but Willow shoved her uncertainties aside for the moment. What was currently most important was making sure her
friend was going to be okay. "What do you need, Buffy?"

"Will," Oz's shocked voice came from behind her. "She needs to go to the hospital."

Buffy's head came up rapidly at that. "No," she asserted vigorously. "No hospitals. I hate hospitals." People died there, people like her mom. And
hospitals meant questions that she was so not ready to answer.

"He might be right, sweetie," Willow said gently, kneeling on the floor in front of Buffy's chair.
"I don't know how badly you're hurt."

"No," Buffy repeated, high-pitched and frightened. With surprising strength, she gripped her friend's hand. "Please, no. I'm okay. Please, Willow,"
she begged.

"All right, all right," soothed Willow, startled by her vehemence.

"Willow," Oz said again, more insistently. "She needs to go."

Buffy whimpered, and Willow stood up, blocking her from her boyfriend. "She's scared, Oz," she said quietly. "Let's just leave it awhile."

"No. This is ridiculous, look at her!"

With a start, Willow prepared to defend Buffy. She had no idea what had happened, but she didn't want her friend any more traumatized than she
already was.

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

As Spike jumped out of the car and approached his house, he could hear upraised voices coming from inside. When he arrived back in town, he
hadn't been sure where to go. He knew Buffy wasn't at the gallery with Dru, and her car hadn't been at her own home, although Angel's had, a fact
which did not make Spike at all more comfortable. Remembering the last time she had been hurt, he had then gone to his house, and sure enough, her
car was in his driveway. Seeing that she was well enough to drive made him breath a sigh of relief, but the shouting coming from inside made him
even more apprehensive.

Without bothering to announce his arrival, he burst into the dining room, taking in the scene in one swift glance. Oz and Willow were yelling at each
other from opposite sides of the table, Oz angry and Willow's stance screaming defiance. In between them, a small slight figure was curled into a
chair, head resting on the table, blond hair spilling out in a tangle. From the slight shaking of her shoulders, he could easily tell she was crying, and
his fists clenched in anger.

"What the bloody hell is going on here?" he roared, cutting through their argument, slicing silence into the room. Oz and Willow stared, shocked at
his sudden appearance, but Spike's eyes were focused on Buffy. "Kitten?" he asked, his voice infinitely gentle, a drastic contrast to his last statement.

Through a collectively held breath, she slowly raised her head. Tears sparkled in her green eyes, and there were wet tracks down her cheeks. Her
hair was mussed, and her lips convulsed silently. But her face, oh her face. All of his very worst nightmares were made manifest in her face. One
cheekbone was rapidly turning green, while the other struggled between red and black and the skin between her eyebrow and temple was
mottled and dark. Spike could not breathe. His lungs were collapsing and he was absolutely certain he was going to throw up. He held her eyes for
a long moment, not wanting to believe what he was seeing, praying he was caught in a very bad dream, knowing it was all too real. In the next
instant fury, blinding white hot fury, like nothing he had ever felt before, roared up in him, momentarily blinding him, and he spun around and headed for
the door.

Buffy choked out a cry and pushed herself up from the table, intent on reaching him, but her battered body slowed her down considerably, and he was
outside before she could get to him. "Spike!" she cried, clinging to the front door, forcing her feet down the stairs, moving past the pain. He
stopped, wordless, watching her struggle forward. "Stop. Where are you going?" Finally, finally she was within touching distance, and
she stumbled, forcing him to either catch her or let her fall. The feel of his warm, strong arms around her waist, all but holding her up, released a
fresh torrent of tears.

"Where do you think I'm going?" His words were clipped, angry, belying the tenderness with which he supported her weight. "I'm going to
kill him."

"No, you can't," she pleaded.

"Why not?" Still, he had that terrible terseness in his voice, each word cut off on the point of a dagger. "It's very simple. He hit you. I'm going to kill him."

"He didn't hit me." Her quiet words penetrated the raging fog filling his brain, and he brough his head down to look her over again.

"So how exactly did you end up looking like you've gone ten rounds with a bloody bus?"

"I, he, we were arguing, and then the stairs," she struggled to explain.

Fresh horror blossomed in the pit of his stomach. "He pushed you down the stairs?" he breathed.

"No. Maybe. I'm not sure. It all happened so fast..." she trailed off, seeing the awful fear in his eyes.

"Buffy," her name was a prayer on his lips. "If he hit you, I would happily murder him. But," he struggled to talk, closing his eyes briefly, a lump suddenly
in his throat. "People die from falling down stairs. He could have killed you." A sudden image of her, lying on the floor, small body impossibly twisted,
eyes open and staring swam behind his eyelids. Spike caught his breath, almost choking, and reflexively closed his hands tighter on
her skin. Buffy forced herself not to flinch, even as his fingers scraped the bruises on her back. He felt the slight movement though, and his
eyes flew open. "Now," he said in a tight, wire-strung voice. "Now I'm going to have to torture him."

"Please." Her voice was small and breakable, her hands scrabbling for purchase on his shirt, trying to hold him to her. "I'm afraid," she
whispered.

"I will never, ever let him hurt you again, sweetheart," he swore passionately, meaning it with every fiber of his body.

"No, I'm afraid for you. If you go over there..." she trailed off, eyes wide with panic.

"Buffy, baby, I can more than take care of myself. He deserves," Spike broke off, shaking his head, unable to think of a punishment bad enough.
"Whatever it is, I deserve to do it to him."

"You can't. Please, Spike," she repeated desperately. "I'm not even sure what happened."

He released her slightly, fingers ghosting over her arms, caressing the bruising fingerprints adorning her skin. "And these? Are you not sure how
these got here?"

"Spike, please!" Buffy was sobbing again, wretchedly sure that if he left her sight, horrible things would happen.

"Spike," Willow's soft voice broke through as she came down off the porch from where she and Oz had been standing, their own argument forgotten.
"She's upset enough. Come on inside. Don't make it worse for her."

With a deep, bone-chilling sigh, Spike dropped his head, feeling some of the blind rage draining away. Buffy was almost hysterical in his arms,
clutching hard at his skin, and he knew that no matter how much he really wanted to inflict damage on her husband, he could never tear her away
from him, not like this. Taking a deep breath, Spike smoothed her hair, even now, under these awful circumstances, wondering at it's
softness. "Okay, luv," he whispered. "You win." He turned his energy away from revenge and instead channeled it into trying to calm her
down with gentle caresses and whispered endearments, until finally with a deep shudder her tears began to trail off.

Willow watched with tears in her own eyes as Spike gently lifted Buffy into his arms, not allowing her to even take a single step, and motioning
for Oz to hold the door, carried her back into the dining room. He carefully deposited her into a chair then took the seat next to her, lifting her injured foot
tenderly into his lap. Oz and Willow trailed behind, taking the remaining chairs. The room was silent, no one quite sure what to say in the wake of
such strong emotion. Suddenly, Buffy's phone pinged loudly, making them all jump. Her purse was lying on the table within reach, so Buffy pulled it over and easily tugged out the phone. She held it lightly
in her hand, not sure what to do.

"It's him," she said quietly.

"Don't answer it," Spike growled. Buffy obeyed, laying the cell down on the table, and they all listened as the ring echoed into silence. Moments later,
Willow's phone began pealing. Startled, she automatically reached for it, but Spike stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"Don't," he said. "He's looking for her."

When his own phone began to chime, though, Spike was ready. He grabbed it and violently flipped it open, hatred in his eyes. "You fucking bastard.
How dare you touch her -" The venom in his voice shocked no one, but Buffy firmly extricating the phone from his hand did.

"Angel," she murmured quietly, voice devoid of emotion. They could all hear the rattle of his voice on the other side. She said only two more
words before hanging up, an adamant "no" and a quiet, "maybe."

Every eye was on her as she tossed the phone down, bringing her hand up to her forehead and wincing in pain.

"He wants me to go home now."

Spike started to speak, but she cut him off with an upraised hand. "I told him I wasn't ready yet. He wants to talk to me in the morning, though."
She paused, dropping her eyes. "I have to face him eventually."

"No way in hell are you going over there alone," Spike said fiercely. It was Buffy's turn to protest, and his to stop her. "No. I'll go with you."

"Spike," Oz began hesitantly. "That might not be a good idea. It might be a little...inflamatory."

"Good," he replied bluntly.

"No," Willow cut in. "Oz is right. Buffy doesn't need to see you get into it with Angel. I'll go with her."

At this, Oz looked like he was going to protest. "Me being there won't upset him, like seeing one of you might," the redhead continued sensibly.
"And he's not going to do anything in front of me. If it'll make you feel better, you can drive us and stay out of sight."

With a sigh, Spike gave in. "Okay. Come by in the morning, then." Willow and Oz knew when they were getting the brush off, and really, there
had been no doubt about where Buffy would stay the night. After gathering up their stuff, Willow gently hugged her friend goodbye. "I'll see
you in the morning. Spike," she admonished. "Take care of her, okay?"

Meeting Buffy's soft eyes, Spike could only nod. He would care for her forever, if he could.

The front door scraped softly closed, and Buffy and Spike were alone. He held her eyes for a long moment, not sure what he was looking for in the green depths, before dropping to his knees in front of her with a sigh. "How bad is it?" he asked trying desperately to keep an even tone, trying to keep the emotion from leaking out.

She gave a shuddering breath before answering in the same manner. "Not as bad as it probably looks. My ankle and wrist might be sprained, or just twisted, but I don't think they're broken. I can move them. Other places hurt," she winced, trying to take internal stock of the sore spots littering her body. "But I think it's just bruises." Being here with him, with the stillness of early afternoon all around them, it was hard to think straight. She just had no idea what was going to happen, or even what she wanted to happen. Thus the almost clinical detachment toward her injuries.

"Can I-" he stopped, trying to control himself. "I need to see," he said gently. He needed to see for himself just what had been done to her, just what he should have done something to prevent. What he wasn't sure, but somehow he just knew he could have, if he hadn't left, if he had refused to let her leave the last time...If he had done just one thing differently, he might not have ended up where he was now, staring up into her beautiful, marred face and trying to figure out just how they were going to find a way through this.

Lowering her eyes, she nodded and carefully raised herself to stand before him, favoring her injured ankle as she turned away to face the wall. Without looking up, she slowly raised the hem of her shirt over the smooth expanse of her back, and then gathering it under her arms so it wouldn't fall, she unbuttoned her pants, shrugging them down her hips, stopping as they hit the bottom of her spine.

Spike caught his breath. She had obviously landed hard on her right side, because a bruise darkened her soft skin nearly from her hip to her chest. Various other, smaller injuries dotted the landscape of her body. Still on his knees in front of her, he gently placed his hands on her hips and turned her back to face him. Trying not to hurt her, but desperately needing the contact, he hugged her around the waist and placed his cheek against her bare stomach. Tears were fast pooling in his eyes and he struggled not to let them fall as he breathed in her sweet Buffy smell and thanked god that hurt though she was, she was still standing here with him.

Dazedly, Buffy linked her arms around his neck, absently playing with the unruly curls at the nape of his neck. They could have stayed like that for hours, each taking comfort from the other's physical presence, had her legs not suddenly given out in protest. Spike felt the small tremor milliseconds before her knees buckled and before she could fall he again swept her up in his arms. "Luv, I'm sorry," he shook his head, trying to clear the emotions out of the way to find the thread of logic he needed to take care of her. "Just got caught up for a moment," he smiled down at her gently. "I'm not going to make you go to the hospital, but we need to do something to help you feel better." As he spoke he began to move, carrying her up the stairs and through the master bedroom to the bathroom where he deposited her gently on the floor. She swayed on her feet, but stayed upright. "I think a bubble bath is definitely in order. What do you think, kitten?"

She smiled up at him shyly. "Yeah," she agreed. "That sounds nice."

"Right." He busied himself with starting the taps and dumping bath crystals into the steaming water. This would be good for Buffy, but he definitely felt awkward. He wanted more from her, wanted to touch her and convince himself that she was truly going to heal. But he was not going to initiate anything, not under these circumstances. "Nice hot soak will definitely help those sore spots. Now," he gestured to the water. "You just take as long as you need, and I'll be uh..."

"Spike," she stopped him, her cheeks blushing red and her eyes on the floor. "I, uh, can't..." she gestured to her injured wrist, awkwardly trying to manuever her sweater with the other hand. "Help me, please?"

His heart in his throat, he gently took the corners of the shirt and begin to lift them slowly over her head. It wasn't easy, trying to draw her sprained wrist out of the sleeve without hurting her, and he concentrated on that instead of the golden skin that appeared inch by inch in front of his eyes. He couldn't help an indrawn breath when the shirt finally pulled free and he could see the tips of her rosy nipples peeking from behind a demure white lace bra. Quickly he averted his eyes and made to leave the bathroom.

Buffy huffed a little in annoyance. Okay, she knew she wasn't looking her best at the moment, but it wasn't as if he hadn't seen it all before, and she couldn't exactly finish undressing one-handed. "Um, I'm going to need a little more help."

"How much help?" His voice was strangled. He knew it was wrong, but even injured as she was, god help him but he wanted her. Wanted to make it all better with his hands and mouth until she was signing in pleasure instead of pain. Needed to touch her and replace every memory of her bastard husband....But this was so not the time. He was barely hanging onto himself; he just hoped he could control his emotions long enough to give her what she needed.

"Pretty much all of it," she replied, an amused smile quirking at the corner of her mouth. This was so not a funny situation, but here was Spike, who usually couldn't keep his hands away from her, trying to get out of taking off her clothes. Irony sucked.

Okay, just do this quickly and get her in the tub. He reached around, carefully avoiding her bruises, finding the clasp of her bra and undoing it with his nimble fingers. He half expected her to reach up and catch it, shielding herself, but she didn't and it fell to the floor. She was naked from the waist up now and he could hardly breathe. Without looking up, he moved his hands to her hips to help her shrug her pants the rest of the way off. Feeling his hesitancy, she caught his chin in her hand, forcing him to meet her eyes.

"Hey," she said softly. "It's okay. You're not doing anything wrong."


"I can't-" Ceasing his attempts to remove her pants, he pulled away from her and looked at the ground, the tight rein on his emotions slipping right through his hands. "You're hurt, and I...I know I shouldn't, but Buffy, luv, I just want to - to touch you. I'm so angry and so," he choked a little and ran his fingers through his hair. He shouldn't be burdening her with this, not now, but it felt so good to try and express this tangle of emotions that the words just kept pouring out of him. "So scared. That you're not going to be okay. That something worse is going to happen. I don't want to push you into anything, but I just need to feel you, to make sure - "

"Spike," her voice was a little shaky. She was so used to him being the strong one that his breakdown surprised her. "It's okay. I'm not ready for anything....like that." As usual, her natural shyness made it impossible for her to say the words. "But you can touch me, if you need to." She lifted his hand, drew it up and placed it gently over her heart. "See? I'm okay. Yeah, I'm hurting, and probably not too attractive at the moment," again her lips quirked into a smile, cutting him off as his head came up swiftly in protest. "But I'm okay."

Her skin burned underneath his fingers as he gently traced patterns on her chest. Softly, barely making contact, he ghosted over the soft skin of her breast and finally met her eyes. His other hand came up, fingertips caressing her cheek and trailing over her lips. Dipping his head slowly toward her, he silently asked permission and when she nodded slightly, he gave in and brought his mouth to hers. At first the kiss was almost chaste in its gentleness, but the electricity that sparked down Buffy's spine made her lean in to deepen it, wanting more. She swayed again on her feet, but this time it was from the sensations evoked from Spike lips and tongue, from the small caresses he continued to trail along her breasts, her back and stomach, from the fingers that tangled in her hair. He lifted her up, setting her on the counter, moving between her legs to keep up the contact, to keep touching her. Slowly, the knots in his stomach began to unravel. She was relaxing into him, whimpering into his mouth. Finally he could make himself believe she was going to be alright. With a small sigh, he broke away, resting his forhead on hers for a moment, trying to control his breathing.

"Okay," he said quietly with a hint of finality in his tone. "Okay. It's better now."

She smiled at him, trying to control her own body. His touch made her want more, but this was not the time. "How about that bath now?"

"Right," he returned her smile. He turned his attention back to the task at hand, feeling much easier about the idea of undressing her now that some of the tension had been released. "Lift up a little, luv," he instructed.

She did her best and between the two of them, they managed to slide her pants and underwear off without causing her too much pain. Buffy still sat on the sink, now completely nude, feet swinging gently inches from the floor. Easily now, he let his hands smooth over her calves and knees, up to her thighs, where he placed a small, wistful kiss before lifting her up and helping her step into the tub.

A contented sigh pulled from her lips as she sank down into the hot water. Already, she could feel some of the aches begin to ease. Bending over her, Spike pressed one last kiss to her forehead. "Just relax, kitten. I'll be right out here if you need me." She nodded and he turned to leave, not quite pulling the door shut so he could hear her if she called.

Out of Buffy's sight for the first time since coming home, Spike ran a suddenly tired hand over his eyes and tried to think of what to do next. It was only afternoon, but he felt like he had lived days since Dru had woken him up this morning. Dru. He should probably call her, in case she was worried. Although, he though ruefully, with her uncanny sixth sense, she probably already knew what was going on. Still, it was only right that he let her know for sure.

He moved into the kitchen, listening for any sounds from the bathroom, while he picked up the phone and dialed. Drusilla picked up on the first ring.

"Spike?"

"Why am I not surprised that you knew it was me?" He replied half in amusement, half in exasperation.

"It's called caller id," she countered sarcastically. "Is Buffy okay?" she asked, seriousness creeping into her voice.

"She's pretty banged up, Dru," he admitted. "But yeah, she will be."

"Good. I thought so, but.." On the other end of the phone, Dru paused briefly, trying to clear her head. "I just wanted to make sure. Thanks for calling me, Spike."

"Sure. Thanks for calling me, earlier. I'm not even going to ask how you knew..."

"Well, I could tell something was wrong by the way Buffy left the gallery, but for the rest," she smiled. "Probably better left unmentioned."

"Right."

"Call me later and let me know how it goes?" Dru asked.

"I will. Dru..." he hesitated.

She cut him off before he could ask. "I can't give you any answers, Spike. Only Buffy knows what she will do. Take care of her."

With a sigh, Spike hung up the phone. It would have been nice to get some advance warning from the all-knowing Drusilla, but it seemed he was on his own.

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

When the water began to cool, Buffy reluctantly sat up and slowly started to pull herself out of the tub. She thought she could manage to do it herself, despite the stinging of her left ankle when she tried to put weight on it. She didn't want to have to bother Spike again. With a grimace, she forced herself upright, clinging to the shower wall for support and stepped out on the cold tile. Looking at her discarded clothes with disdain, she wrapped a towel around herself as best she could and limped through the bedroom and out into the hallway.

"Spike?" she called softly.

"Luv? Are you okay?" He bounded up the stairs and stopped, startled to see her standing in the hall wrapped in a towel.

"I"m fine," she assured him. "But do you maybe have something I could borrow to wear?" she bit her bottom lip pensively. "I just don't want to put those other clothes back on. They're on the floor and they got all wet..." Her nose wrinkled and he had to smile at her utter adorableness.

"Sure, kitten. Come on." He moved past her and she followed him back into the bedroom. He stopped and thought a minute before opening a dresser drawer and taking out a pair of sweat pants and a tshirt. Handing them over, he asked "Do you need help getting dressed?"

"Probably a little," she blushed again.

"It's okay, sweetheart," he soothed her with a smile and a wink. "Not exactly complaining, here."

Getting the tshirt on was the hardest part; threading her sprained wrist through the sleeve took some manuevering. She kept the towel held up until the soft cotton was in place, falling nearly to her knees. The pants were equally big, nearly falling off her slim hips, but at least they were dry and even more importantly, the clothes belonged to Spike, and she could thought she could detect a whiff of something that smelled like him clinging to the shirt.

When she was dressed, his hands lingered on her arms. Swimming in his clothes, the smell of his soap clinging to her skin, she seemed more than ever like she belonged here, with him. Like she really was his girl. Pesimissim warred with hope, and the hope was rapidly winning as a familiar feeling of possessiveness stirred in his heart. Suddenly the room seemed small and the bed seemed very big. She glanced up into his dark blue eyes, feeling the pull of his emotions, and desire surged through her. Blinking, she looked away quickly, and of one acord they both turned to leave the bedroom and go back downstairs. The couch was at least marginally safer.

Spike settled down on one end and was blissfully happy when she didn't hesitate but snuggled rignt into him. He lifted his arm and brought it around to hold her, gently caressing her damp hair. Buffy signed happily, content to just sit with him, silently basking in his attention. Spike, however, knew there was a conversation to be had, one he dreaded. Better to get it over with and banish the ghost in the room. Or rather, the Angel.

"Buffy," he began hesitantly. "What are you going to do now?"

She automatially stiffened. It didn't look like he was going to let her play the avoidance game any longer, but really, she didn't think talking about it was going to help anything. "I don't know," she answered honestly. "I have to go back, tomorrow."

"I know," he soothed, gently rubbing her shoulder, trying to ease away the sudden tension. "Willow will be there, and she'll help you get your things, and whatever you can't take, we'll go back for, or I don't know, maybe we can even hire someone to do it for you..." he broke off, considering the logistics of moving her out of the house she shared with her husband.

"Spike," she stopped him, hand fisting in his shirt even as she pulled her head back to look into his face. "I don't know that I'm leaving."

"Well," he considered. "I suppose you could always make him leave, but I thought..."

Again, she cut him off. "You don't understand. I don't know what I'm doing yet."

He stared at her aghast, face pale with shock. "How can you even consider..." his voice gained in volume, unable to comprehend what she was saying. "You're not seriously considering going back to him?" All of his fear and pain came out in a strangle, cutting the last word off with venom. She dropped her eyes, refusing to look at him. Horror and realization flooded his mind, catching him completely by surprise. "You are, aren't you. Just like last time. Oh, fuck," he groaned aloud. "Buffy, tell me you're not going to do this." He shook her gently, alarm making him careless for the first time of her injuries. Wincing, she moved away from him, scooting toward the other end of the couch.

"I just don't know, Spike," she said helplessly, confusion twisting in her mind. "What would I do?" She twisted her hands around , still not wanting to look at him. "I can't make him leave the house; it's in his name and anyway there's no way I could make the mortgage payments. If I left, where would I go?"

"Here!" he said vehemently. "You would be here, with me!"

"For how long, Spike? You won't be in New York forever, and I can't trail around after you, letting you take care of everything. When my Mom died," her voice hitched slightly as it almost always did at the thought of her mother, "The insurance was barely enough to cover the medical bills. And I have student loans...my job at the gallery doesn't even cover those." She dropped her head into her hands, tears leaking out at the hoplessness of her situation.

"You can't possibly be saying you would stay with him just for that, for money!" he exploded. "I have money, Buffy. Lots of it. You don't have to worry about that," he softened his voice, reaching out to gently pet her curls. "Let me take care of you."

She shook off his hand, refusing the comfort and easy solution. "I can't. I just can't. Why, Spike, why would you even want to do that?" she cried. Her breath was coming faster now, hitching in her throat and she could hardly control her tears.

"I'm in love with you! You know that!" He couldn't keep the emotion from tumbling out, he could not let this happen.

"But why? Really, you barely know me. Spike - " Abruptly, she cut off, hysterical laughter bubbling from her lips even as the tears continued to run down her cheeks.

"Buffy?" Spike was suddenly alarmed as she bent over, unable to stop the frenzied laughter that interspersed with sobs and racking indrawn gasps as she tried to catch her breath. Frightened, he reached out to her, rubbing her back gently, trying to sooth her. "Just breathe, luv," he whispered softly. "It's okay. It's going to be okay. Just breathe, in and out," he murmured as gradually, she calmed.

Buffy buried her face in her hands, desperately trying to control her breathing as black spots hovered at the edges of her vision. Finally, Spike's gentle touches and murmured encouragement began to reach her and she was able to get a grip on her emotions, to mute the hollow laughter and restrain the sobs until only small hiccuping gasps broke the silence.

Very slowly, Spike reached out and pulled her against him. The steady thump of his hearbeat under her ear calmed her further until at last she was completely quiet. "Kitten," he whispered quietly, not wanting to disturb her but needing to know. "What brought that on?"

She hesitated for a moment before asking in a very small voice. "What's your name?"

His head came up sharply. Whatever he had been expecting, that was not it. "What do you mean, sweetheart?"

"Your name. It can't really be Spike."

His head fell back to the couch, overcome by the implications. He was totally, madly in love with the woman and somehow it never occurred to him to tell her his given name. How the bloody hell could he expect her to trust him to take care of her? "It's William,luv," he answered quietly. "But it's been years and years since anyone has really called me that."

"William," she tested it on her tongue, and hearing it in her voice, her felt another jolt of love shudder through him. "William?" she used it now to recapture his attention, to see how it would feel.

"Yeah, luv?" He took her hand in his as he felt her settle more comfortably in his loose embrace.

"Can we just, let it go, just for now?" she pleaded softly. "I'm really, really tired."

He melted. She was bound to be exhausted, after the morning she had. "Of course, sweetheart. Do you want to go upstairs, or - "

She nestled closer into him, drawing her feet up on the couch. "Can I just stay here? Feels so good..." Already, her eyes were drifting shut, her breathing evening out.

"You can stay, luv. As long as you want," he whispered, heart clenching, hoping she would take him up on it.

All the rest of the day he watched her. When she finally awoke from her nap, stretching and tentatively cheerful, he had been reluctant to reopen the subject. They talked about inconsequential matters, traded childhood stories, gently teased one another. When day bled into evening, they ordered Chinese and watched a cheesy movie, gleefully flicking rice at each other, stopping just short of a full-fledged food fight. When tiredness crept up on her again, they snuggled together under a blanket on the couch as a matter of course. And as she chastely fell asleep in his arms, he finally dared to hope.

Buffy stared blankly at the wooden door, tracing the whorls of age in its patterns. It really was quite an impressive door, cut from a single piece of oak and stained dark and shiny. Funny, she had never really taken the time to look at it before, always breezing in, running out...Now, though, she was frozen in front of it, not sure if she should knock or let herself in, not completely sure she should go in.

"It's okay," Willow encouraged gently from behind her. "I'm with you. Let's go in."

She heard her friend's soft words, but was unable to make her body obey. She really didn't want to be here. Not that she was afraid. She wasn't. Even now she couldn't be completely sure what had happened yesterday. Maybe he hadn't pushed her. Maybe he had reached out to grab her again and she lost her balance. But when she pictured the coldness of her husband's dark eyes when he yelled at her, and compared it to the tenderness that always shone out of Spike's blue ones, she just wanted to run away.

Without really making the decision, she whirled around, away from the door and back toward the driveway. She couldn't do this. Spike wouldn't mind letting her stay another night, and maybe tomorrow she would feel stronger -

"Buffy?" Startled, she jerked back around. The door had been flung open from the inside and standing framed in the familiar doorway was a very unfamiliar woman. Her short blond hair was impeccably styled and her smart business suit and perfectly applied makeup made Buffy feel suddenly very drab in her borrowed clothes and loosely tied back hair.

"You are Buffy, aren't you?" The stranger asked, all confidence flicked with impatience.

"She is," Willow affirmed suspiciously, eyes narrowing slightly at this unexpected turn of events. "And you are?"

"Of course, please come in, both of you." Officiously, she led Buffy unresisting through the doorway, waiting until Willow joined them before firmly closing the door, shutting away the outside world and Buffy's chances of an easy escape.

With a falsely earnest look, she took both of Buffy's hands in hers. "Buffy, my name is Darla. I'm a relationship therapist and Angel asked me to be here this morning to -"

"Buffy?" Again her name was called as her husband came around the corner, but this time her body reacted instinctively, jerking away from Darla and taking several steps back. "Buffy, I thought..." he trailed off as she refused to take his outstretched hand, eyes blazing green fire in his directions. "I thought she could help," he said conciliatorily. Swallowing hard, he seemed to notice Willow for the first time. "Thanks for bringing her home," he nodded in an obvious dismissal. "I'm sure Buffy will call you later."

"She's staying," Buffy cut in, her voice small but defiant.

Angel's tone turned smooth, manipulative. "Buffy, I don't think you really want her here wile we discuss this..."

"Now, Angel," the blond therapist tsked, laying a hand on his arm. "Remember, we have to consider Buffy's needs, and if she is more comfortable with her friend..." Darla stopped, searching for the name.

"Willow," Buffy supplied quietly.

"If she is more comfortable with Willow here," Darla continued, smiling benignly at the redhead. "Then I think we need to allow it." That settled, she grabbed a clipboard off the counter and gestured toward the living room. "Now, why don't we go in here and get comfortable so we can have a little dialogue."

Mind whirling with confusion, Buffy automatically followed the other woman down the hall. Why was Angel doing this? Did he want their marriage that much? Hesitantly, she sat down on the loveseat, Willow settling next to her and trying to look comforting. For her part, Willow was not at all reassured by this turn of events. She was pretty certain this was a game designed for Angel's benefit, but she wasn't sure her friend was strong enough to see through it.

Darla and Angel sat on the couch opposite the two friends, the therapist immediately taking the lead in the conversation. "First of all, Buffy, Angel tells me you had a little accident yesterday. Are you all right?"

Willow's temper flared at the suggestion that Buffy's injuries resulted from a "little accident," but bit her tongue at the pleading look her friend gave her.

"I'm fine," Buffy answered shortly. "Excellent. We're all glad you recovered sufficiently to join us today," she gave Angel a sharp look, nudging him to speak.

"I'm glad you're all right," Angel looked at her sadly. "I was worried."

"I'm sorry," replied Buffy very softly.

"You should have been worried!" Willow exclaimed, now unable to keep quiet.

"I really don't see how-" Angel started, but Darla cut him off.

"Angel, Buffy wants Willow to be a part of this, so we need to let her speak. Willow, now tell us, why do you think it's a good thing that Angel had to worry about his wife?"

Buffy was unable to stop an automatic flinch at the term "wife." Willow saw the movement and patted her hand encouragingly. "Because he," she paused, an unaccustomed timidity flaring as she took in the two pairs of cold eyes focused uncompromisingly on her. Taking a deep breath to draw the courage to say what need to be said, she continued strongly. "He pushed her down the stairs."

Darla gasped, and Angel groaned, putting his head in his hands. "Willow, is that what Buffy told you?"

"Not exactly," the redhead hedged. "But we all know it's what happened."

"Buffy," the therapist prodded gently. "Is that what you think happened?"

"Maybe," Buffy whispered miserably, staring at her hands.

"Maybe?" Darla echoed. "So you're not sure?"

When Buffy refused to look up, she turned to the man seated next to her. "Angel? From your point of view, what happened?"

"You fell." He stared hard at Buffy, dark eyes glinting. Buffy risked a peek across at him and was startled by the tension in his face. "You fell, Buffy," he continued impassioned. "And I knew what you thought. You always want to think the worst of me lately," his tone was aggrieved now, and only Willow caught the tell-tale twitch of his eye.

"I'd like to ask about something Willow said a moment ago," Darla said, silkily manipulating the conversation. "Willow, when you said 'we all know', who exactly were you referring to?"

"Myself," Willow answered slowly, recognizing the trap. "And my boyfriend, Oz. And Spike," she reluctantly admitted.

"We already knew that, of course, from the few choice words Mr. Giles exchanged with Angel on the phone yesterday," Darla began m matter-of-factly.

"Buffy," Angel interrupted urgently. "If your friend," his lips twisted on the word. "If he really thought I had hurt you, and he really cares about you, then why wasn't he here yesterday, breaking down the door? I would have been!"

Willow's anger flared again. "He tried!" she exclaimed. "Believe me, he wanted to. But Buffy was practically hysterical and begged him not to."

"But if he had really wanted to," Angel persisted. "If he really cared that much...Buffy, are you sure you know what he really wants with you?" he asked condescendingly.

Buffy's head jerked up at that and again Willow started to defend Spike, but Darla raised her hands to shush them. "I think this is getting a bit out of hand. Why don't we leave it for not and discuss something else. Buffy, I'd like to talk about your mother."

"My mother?" Buffy was bewildered at this change of subject.

"Yes," Darla replied, striving for a compassionate tone. "I believe she passed away several years ago, right before you met Angel?"

"That's right," Buffy replied quietly, already blinking back tears. "Did you and your mother ever talk about the future, Buffy?"

"Sure of course," she answered softly.

"What did your mother want for you?"

Buffy paused, considering. "Well, we talked about me getting my art history degree. My mom was a curator at a museum and I always loved going to work with her when I was little, and then later volunteering as a student guide."

"That's great," Darla smiled encouragingly. "It sounds like you’ve taken just the path she wanted for you, career-wise. But how about personally, Buffy? What did she want for your personal life?"

"Well," she paused again, searching her index of memories for snippets of conversations about love, relationships, marriage. "She never really said specifically. I know she wanted me to be loved and taken care of, probably to get married."

"Your father left you and your mother when you were fairly young, didn't he?"

"Yes, but this isn't about him," protested Buffy.

With a faint smile, the therapist persisted. "He left your mother for another woman, didn't he?"

"Yes," Buffy nodded slowly.

"Buffy, how would your mother feel about your relationship with Spike?"

It hit her hard, like a blow to the stomach. The image of her mother's disapproving face swam in front of her eyes. She had considered it before, briefly, but quickly shoved it to the back of her mind, justifying her actions in other ways. Her father's affair had gone on for months before he finally left her mother, and her mom had known about tit the whole time. Buffy closed her eyes, remembering how betrayed she had felt, the almost physical pain of remembrance assaulting her senses.

Willow felt sick as she watched her friend rapidly lost color. This was not going well at all. "That's not fair," she protested. "It's a completely different situation!"

Darla continued as if she hadn't spoken. "What exactly is your relationship with Spike, Buffy? Because we all know you're more than just friends. It's time to be honest," she said gently, that same supercilious smile hovering on her lips. "Have you slept with him?"

Buffy became even paler. "No," she whispered hoarsely, her voice barely audible, eyes firmly fixed on the floor.

"But you've done other things, haven't you?" A hint of reproach colored the therapist's voice, and Buffy couldn't even bring herself to speak; she could only nod slight, faintly acknowledging her guilt.

"Buffy," Willow began softly, desperately trying to find a way to comfort her friend and turn the blame back where it really belonged.

"Willow, Angel cut in firmly. "I really think it's time for you to leave now." Willow looked at Buffy, expecting her friend to rebuff Angel's request, but the blonde only stared at her hands.

"Maybe he's right," she whispered.

"Buffy, I can't just leave you here by yourself!" "If you are worried about your friend, don't be," Darla interjected smoothly. "I plan on being here for the rest of the day, and anyway, I think we have cleared up yesterday's little incident to everyone's satisfaction, right?" She stared hard at Buffy, who acknowledged her look with another small nod.

"Buffy," Willow lowered her voice in desperation. "What about Spike?"

Finally, Buffy looked at her friend, green eyes swirling with hurt and confusion. "I need some time alone, Wil. Tell him...tell him I'll come see him tomorrow afternoon. I'll come by before the concert." Tomorrow Blue Flame was supposed to do a mini-concert for winners of a radio contest. In all the fuss, Willow had forgotten, and she bet that Spike had, too.

Reluctantly, Willow nodded and rose. She didn't want to leave, but felt she really had no choice.

"You can see yourself out," Angel said curtly. The redhead dragged her feet as she slowly made her way out the door. She was not looking forward to having this conversation with the two men who waited at the end of the driveway.

Spike saw her coming and made to jump out to meet her. Hurriedly, Willow got in the backseat and slammed the door before he could leave the car.

"Where is she?" he asked tersely. He had been going crazy, sitting here with Oz, not knowing what was going on inside the house. Buffy had been so quiet this morning, he couldn't tell where her head was.

"Spike," Willow began hesitantly. "It was really bad. They completely ambushed her. Angel hired this 'relationship therapist' to talk to her, but..." she trailed off, unable to fully explain how the situation had gotten so completely out of hand. "Somehow this woman, she turned it around, made it all about Buffy's mom..."

Spike closed his eyes, not wanting to watch Willow form the words. "She's not coming, is she."

It was a statement, not a question, but Willow answered it anyway, as gently as she could. "No, she's not. She said she needs some time alone. She'll see you tomorrow, before the concert.

He sighed. He had forgotten about the bloody concert. "Is she safe?" he asked abruptly.

Slowly, Willow nodded. "I think so. The therapist is still there..."

Fierce despair tightened around Spike's chest like a band. Here they went, around the circle again. Bloody fucking hell. But what could he do? He knew what he wanted to do, but marching in there and physically carrying her off would probably only get him arrested. Slowly, he began to back out of the driveway, to wait for tomorrow, and one more chance to make her see.

Click. Click. Click. The tapping of her heels sounded confident and sure as she made her way toward the restricted access gate. Maybe, she thought, if she seemed that way to everyone else, somehow it would be true. Because inside, Buffy was a complete mess. Her nerves quivered, she jumped at every sound, and she was absolutely sure that her soul was bleeding through her skin, that any second now she would look down and her pretty green scoop-neck sweater, the one Dru gave her for Christmas last year, would be stained with red. Scarlet for her guilt and her lack of contrition. Because now, in spite of spending her last few waking hours dogged by the reproach in her husband's eyes, and the sleeping ones haunted by her mother's disappointment, here she was, running straight to Spike.

Angel hadn't wanted her to come. Darla hadn't wanted her to come. They had stopped just short of tying her down, and from the look in her husband's eyes, she knew he had at least considered it. She wasn't completely stupid. She knew something was off there. Probably since Angel was footing the bill, Darla had to give his side more consideration. But just because it was shady, didn't mean the therapist was wrong.

Buffy told herself that she was only here because she told him she would come. Had left him a message confirming it, her voice shaking with relief just hearing him on the answering machine. She didn't have any answers for him, didn't know what she was doing, or even where she should sleep tonight, but oh god she just had to see Spike. She wanted him to hold her so much that she ached with it. So here she was, clicking her way toward the backstage area, pumped full of pain killers, makeup hiding the worst of her fading bruises. Trying to get to him as fast as she could.

She spared a small smile for the security guard and started to breeze through the gate when he reached out to bar her way. "Sorry, doll, you can't go back there."

"Excuse me?" Buffy was a little shocked. All of Spike's people knew her on sight and knew she had an all access pass to the band. Spike had made absolutely sure that she could get to him anytime, anyplace. At second glance though, Buffy found that she didn't recognize this particular man. He must work for the club, she realized.

"It's okay." She smiled reassuringly. "I'm a friend of Spike Giles. He's expecting me."

"Right." The guard eyed her appreciatively. "While I'm sure he wouldn't mind a visit from a sweet little piece like yourself, no one said anything to me about letting girls backstage."

Buffy huffed in frustration. She really, really needed to see Spike. "I'll just call him," she mumbled, turning away. She so did not appreciate this man's attitude.....Her frustration mounted as, once again, her call rang through to voice mail. "Hi, Spike. It's me. I'm out front, but the guard won't let me come back. So, I guess call me or just come get me. Bye." With a sigh, she snapped her phone shut and turned pleadingly back to the guard.

"Look, you just saw me call him," she said reasonably. "He really is expecting me, so please, just let me in so I can find him."

"You know." Slowly, the man entered her personal space, his gaze taking in her bare legs and coming to rest somewhere decidedly south of her face. "If you really want to get back there, maybe we could work something out."

Before Buffy could bite out what would surely have been a sharp retort, a hand reached in and sharply jerked the guard backwards. "Hi, Buffy."

"Hi, Xander," she replied gratefully. "He wouldn't let me in, and..." She trailed off, not wanting to repeat the suggestive comments.

"I heard," he said grimly. "You." He addressed the guard sharply. "Are fired. Get out of here."

"You can't fire me! I don't work for you!"

"Tonight, you do. So leave."

"But..." The guard looked decidedly petulant, now that he had been caught out.

Xander turned to him harshly. "Consider yourself lucky that it was me that caught this, and not Spike. If it'd been him, you wouldn't just be fired, you'd be on the floor."

The guard gulped, sensing the truth in that statement, and hastily backed down the hallway.

"Thanks." Buffy gave Spike's friend a warm smile, one that he didn't return.

"Don't thank me," he said flatly, in answer to her quizzical stare. "I was kinda hoping you wouldn't come. That maybe you would just disappear off into the sunset with your husband."

"Why would you say that?" she replied plaintively. Buffy was really hurt. She had tried hard not to get in the way of any of the band's activities, and made an extra effort to be nice to Spike's friends.

Xander heaved a sigh and stuck his hands in his pockets awkwardly. "Look, Buffy. You're a nice person, and I'm sure under different circumstances..." He trailed off, trying not to let his temper get the best of him. "But what you're doing to Spike is not nice. And he's my friend."

"What am I doing to Spike?" she asked in a small voice.

"You really don't get it?" He released an explosive breath and unintentionally, his voice racketed up a notch. "Do you know why his cell is off?"

Buffy shook her head, suddenly feeling very small and afraid.

"Anya took all of our phones away, because the press keeps calling. They want to know about the married woman Spike is sleeping with. And then there' s the fact that ever since yesterday, he's been drinking like it' s the end of the world."

"Spike's drinking?" she whispered. Theoretically, she knew he did, but he hadn't, never around her, not enough to count.

"Yeah. A lot." Again, he paused, jerking his hands out of his pockets to run tired fingers through his hair. "Your...relationship, whatever it is, is killing him, Buffy. He's miserable, moody all the time, angry..."

By now, tears were leaking out of the corners of Buffy's eyes, trailing down her face, and ruining her careful makeup job. "I'm sorry," Xander said, not really sounding sorry at all. "But it's the truth. The best thing you could do for Spike is leave him alone. He's better off without you.”

With that, he stalked off and left her, standing in the middle of the hallway, shoulders sagging and tears dripping unheeded off her cheeks. Maybe he was right. She had come here, only thinking of herself, only wanting the comfort Spike could give. Drawing a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders and approached the dressing room door, shaking, shuddering, but trying to find the courage to give Spike what he needed.

Apprehensively, she opened the door, softly calling his name. "Spike? Are you here?"

"Buffy, luv." The endearment was a sigh of relief as he took her in from across the room.

Weary and resolute, she met his darkened blue eyes. Whatever Xander said, whatever Spike was feeling, his eyes held nothing but love and concern for her. How had they gotten here? Suddenly she just didn't understand it. There was no reason, no way, that they should have found each other. A concert and an impulsive email from a fan, and how the hell did that lead to standing here, in this dressing room, looking at a man who loved her completely, despite everything. Despite the fact that she was tearing his life apart?

"Oh, Spike," she choked out in a small cry, and suddenly, he closed the distance and she was in his arms. He felt the same, smelled the same, and she breathed in deeply, trying to memorize the scent, the feel of his arms around her, his fingers twining in her hair, trying to find the strength to pull away.

"He's better off without you." Xander's words whispered in her ear and quickly, before she could think about it too much, she brought her arms down and tugged away, stepping back out of his reach.

"Sweetheart, are you all right? You've been crying." He reached out to caress her cheek, but she evaded his hand.

"We have to stop this," she said in a shaking voice, not meeting his eyes.

"Stop what? Buffy?" Something deep inside Spike started to tremble. She wouldn't, not now....

"This." She flung her arms out in frustrated explanation. "We can't do this, be this, anymore. It's not... We just can't. I can't..." She trailed off, forcing the words out through a throat filled with thorns. "I can't be with you anymore." The words were forcibly torn from her throat, and it seemed to Buffy that she ought to be able to see them, fully formed letters spilled accusingly on the floor, but when she looked, she saw, only Spike staring at her in disbelief, pain contorting his features.

"Buffy, luv, you don't mean that, you're upset, it's all right, we'll fix it..." he rambled desperately, grabbing her hands, trying to hold her to him. His head ached and his heart lurched into his throat and stuck there. Mind whirling, words jumbled into his head, what could he say...do...

Gently, she squeezed his hands and pulled away. "I do mean it, Spike," she said softly, voice choked with tears. "It's not right, it never has been."

His blood boiled, exploding upwards, and he could feel tears pricking his eyes, and god he hadn't cried in forever. "You don't mean it," he insisted, trying to grab her hands, her wrists, any part of her he could reach and hold onto. "You can't just throw us away like that!"

"Spike," Buffy pleaded, begging for him to understand. "I don't...I just...I have to."

"No," he replied harshly. He would not let her do this. Heart splintering, he finally reached her, put hard hands on her shoulders, to make her look at him. "Do you get what this is?" He shook her slightly, her green eyes overflowing with tears but unafraid. His head was swimming, so crowded with whiskey and anger and hurt, but his brain registered her lack of fear. Good. She shouldn't ever be afraid of him, even when he couldn't breath, couldn't think straight... Swallowing hard, his words a harsh whisper, he said, "Do you get what this is? I. Love. You." Every word was flung fiercely at her, trying to pierce her, make her see. "Do you get what we have? Do you know how rare this is? How hard to find and keep? Do you?" He was yelling now, maybe she can't hear him properly...Shaking her slightly, he came to himself and pulled away, fists clenched, pain and anger warring in his eyes.

"I know," she said brokenly, hugging herself, trying to remember why this was best.

"Then what the bloody hell are you so afraid of?" he roared suddenly, finally making her flinch.

"Hurting you more." Her voice was so small, barely whispered into the air, but he heard it, and paused, then dropped his head into his hand with a bitter, choked laugh.

"So you're ending things with me, fucking knowing exactly how I feel about you, so that you won't hurt me more." He didn't even look up for her response. "And you're going to throw what we have away, to stay with your fucking bastard husband. That," he bit off sharply, "is fucking rich. Just bloody fucking perfect."

Suddenly he looked up at her, and for the first time ever, his eyes were cold. "Well, then," he said, and now his voice was remote, completely unfamiliar. "Since it's what you want, I guess you'd better be on your way."

He surveyed her one more time, blue eyes shaded with impassiveness, almost hiding the spark of pain. She wanted to hide, but even more she wanted to hurl herself into his arms, say she didn't mean it, beg for forgiveness. Her body shook with the effort it took to restrain herself and as he brushed past her to leave the room, she nearly fell over with the effort it took to stop her fingers from clutching him. Automatically, he reached out to steady her, but stopped short, letting her stumble, and with a last searching look, was out the door and gone.

She trailed him out into the corridor, with no conscious thought, simply not knowing where to go now. She could hear the roar of the crowd and dimly thought that Spike was probably headed straight to the stage. Sure enough, she stopped short in the wings to watch as he strode out to join his already assembled band. Raucous cheers swelled as he grabbed his guitar and turned to face the audience, anger and angst warring on his face. Striking a dissonant chord, he paused, tension radiating off of him in waves, waiting for the band to catch up. This was not the way they had planned to open, hadn't even really rehearsed this song, but rapidly they switched gears, fell into the rhythm, and soon, hard, pulsing music blared out, angry and hard.

Here come the monsters Making trouble in my headache again Hallucinations of a nature making me wanna scream aloud Wakeup love your blind eyes are dripping hope and sex The other night I couldn’t fight youAnd now I want revenge

I just don’t need it Can’t stop bleeding You’re throwing it all away I want another life to begin again I want another life to begin again

Tears falling thick and fast, Buffy blindly turned away. She couldn't listen to anymore. Had to get out of there. Nearly falling over Anya, ignoring the concerned call of the other woman, she fled.

******************************************************************* By the time she made it home, the painful, gut wrenching sobs had mostly stopped, and the tears were gone, but only because she had no more left. Her eyes felt raw and tender, her chest hurt, and all she wanted to do was crawl into bed and try to make sense of what she had just done. Try to figure out what she had left.

She fumbled at the front door, hands shaking so hard she couldn't get the key in right. Finally she managed and the lock tumbled, the door falling open with her weight against it. Voices, murmurs of sounds, coming from the living room, and a strange smoky smell hung in the air, so thick and pungent it could almost be seen. Suddenly, Buffy was afraid. What else had happened, while she was busy ripping out her own heart?

Hurrying on unsteady feet through the kitchen to the living room, she stopped short in the doorway, almost toppling over headfirst at the abruptness with which her feet had stopped, unable to move anymore. For the millionth time today, her breath strangled in her throat as she took in the scene she had unwittingly walked in on. Angel standing, pants down, behind Darla, who was bent over the couch with her skirt hiked up to her waist, and still not a single hair out of place. Suddenly Buffy got the urge to laugh hysterically. Of course. What else? A stray giggle actually bubbled up into her throat when she caught sight of what had caused the odd smell. Hanging half out of the fireplace, a stray spark zipping up to lead to a still smoldering pile, were her jeans, the ones Spike had signed when this whole mess started.

Her mind went absolutely blank, simply unable to handle any more, and she felt completely numb as mechanically, she turned around and started walking."Buffy!" Angel called, desperately trying to pull up his pants. "Wait!"She didn't stop, didn't pause, didn't even increase her speed. She simply walked carefully through the kitchen and out the door.

Not 48 hours after she had last stood there with Buffy, Willow was back in front of the ornate front door to her friend's home. She had been late to
the concert the previous night because of an appointment with her advisor, and so had missed Buffy's dramatic exit, but she knew immediately that something was wrong .
No one could ever accuse Blue Flame of being easy listening, but the dissonance that Spike was pushing was much harsher than anything Willow had heard from them before.
Unfortunately for Willow, no one was talking. No one except Anya, who had only seen the blonde rush tearfully away from the stage. Oz, always taciturn anyway, had
nothing to contribute, and even Xander was being unusually silent. And Spike, he refused to even say her name. He had thundered off the stage and stalked straight to a bar. For all she knew, he was still there.

So here she was at Buffy's house, hoping to find out what in god's name had gone on last night, having no idea what state she would find her friend in. Hesitantly, she rang the door bell, surprised when Angel almost immediately threw open the door. He stared at her with dark, bleary eyes, and she wasn't entirely sure he recognized her.

"Oh," she squeaked. "H-hi, Angel. I was hoping to see Buffy."

"She's not here," he said abruptly, moving to slam the door.

"Wait!" Willow couldn't just leave it there. She really needed to make sure Buffy was okay. "Do you know when she'll be back?" she asked timidly. She was just beginning to take in Angel's appearance, and all kinds of warning bells were going off in her head. The normally suave lawyer was more disheveled than she had ever seen him. His clothes were wrinkled, and he was unshaven, dark, prickly stubble decorating his face. Stubble through which, she slowly realized, eyes widening, a track of bright red lines were laid. Lines that looked an awful lot like scratch marks.

"No. She's out..." He hesitated briefly, eyes flickering. "She's shopping. She'll be late. I'll have her call you."

Now Willow didn't stop him from shutting the door on her. She was in over her head here, and beginning to be a little afraid. Taking a few steps back to her car, she quickly brought out her cell phone and dialed Buffy's number. The ringing seemed awfully loud, and the redhead abruptly realized that she was hearing it in stereo. Carefully reapproaching the house and peering in the window, she could clearly see Buffy's cell phone on the kitchen counter, peeking out from inside her purse. Another few steps and around the other side of the house confirmed Willow's growing fear.

Both the family cars were still in the garage.

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

"Spike." Willow's voice stuttered through the connection.

Rubbing a weary hand over his head, Spike stared up at the ceiling of the apartment that Xander, Anya and Oz shared. He was flat on his back on the couch, a bottle of whiskey close to hand. This is where he had been for....he didn't know how long. Since the concert ended and the bar closed and Buffy had tried to hand him back his heart, ripped and bloody though it was. Hadn't worked, though, he though blearily. She must still have it 'cause fuck if he could feel it beating in his chest.

"Called the wrong number, Red," he mumbled. "Oz isn't here."

"I called for you," she answered impatiently. "Spike," she hesitated, needing to know but not wanting to cause him any more pain. "Spike, have you seen Buffy?"

"Don't want to hear that name," he growled, fresh pain splitting his chest. Fuck, he had been sure he was numbed. Must need more alcohol.

"Get over it, Spike. This is important. Have you seen her?"

"No, I bloody well have not. I'm not her keeper. Not anymore," he mumbled. "Wanted to be, wanted to keep her..."

"Spike, wake up and pay attention!" Willow nearly shouted. "Do you have any idea where she might be?"

Maybe it was the way Willow's words trembled around the edges, the last consonants jerking into a slight tremor. Maybe it was the way she yelled at him, when Willow never yelled at anyone. Maybe it was even a little bit of Drusilla's sixth sense rubbing off on him, but something in Spike's brain sparked and fizzed into full attention.

"I would assume she's with him." He bit off the word venomously, slurring it slightly, but Willow thought he seemed more aware. Which was good, because she really needed thinking Spike right now, not drunk-off-his-ass-mooning-depressed Spike.

"Do you know...Is there anywhere she would go, if she was-" Willow broke off, not wanting to voice her fears. "If she was in trouble?" she finished, nearly whispering.

His heart jumped a little as he sharply remembered the last two times she had been "in trouble." "Why?" he asked forcibly. "Why are you asking me this?" The first fibers of alarm were beginning to unfurl in his brain, brushing away the alcoholic cloud he had covered himself in.

"Don't panic, not completely, not yet," Willow warned, even though it was obvious to both of them that she herself was already all with the complete panic. "No one's seen her since the concert, since - " she faltered briefly then resumed, the words rapidly flying out now, tripping over each other in her hurry to tell him everything. "Since she left you. I went to her house, to see if she was okay, but Angel wouldn't let me in the door. Said she was out shopping. So I called her cell..." she trailed off, her rapid narrative coming to a stuttering halt as a hint of anguish colored her words. "And I heard it ringing. From inside the house. And Spike, her car was still in the garage."

Spike was already up, long legs tripping over themselves after their period of inactivity. His head was buzzing, and it seemed that maybe she had returned his heart after all, because it was beating hard enough to break out of his chest. The room seemed to be spinning slightly, and he remembered everything, everything in one bright flash. Green eyes sparkling full of laughter, soft lips on his cheek, silky hair tickling his nose, sweet, slight weight in his arms, tears falling gently on his shoulder. What if, what if....And damn it why had he been so hard on her? Cut himself off as her escape route on purpose when he knew, knew this could happen. He was a fucking idiot...Should never have put his hurt feelings before her safety. Should have stood there and took everything she said and still been there for her. If anything had happened to her, he would never forgive himself. He would never get over it, never get over her.

"Where are you?" he asked abruptly.

"Your place," Willow answered quickly.

"And you're sure she's not there?" A flicker of hope lit his eyes.

"I'm sure," she replied softly.

"Stay put," he ground out. "I'll be there as soon as I can." Jamming the off button savagely, he began throwing on clothes. Shirt, shoes, wallet, keys. Before he could throw himself out the door, though, a streak of sanity appeared in his mind. Fuck. He couldn't possibly drive. Had had way too much to drink. Even if he was feeling stark sober. The train would take too long. Could call a cab.

He was never more grateful to see his friends than when they burst through the door moments later, returning from a late breakfast. Throwing his keys to a surprised Xander, he bit out abruptly, "My house, you're driving. Let's go."

In the end they had all gone, piling into Spike's car, tension zooming through the air after he had briefly explained Willow's phone call. In record time and not without breaking several laws, including all the speed limits, they pulled up in front of Spike's house. Willow was pacing anxiously as they all spilled out, and her surprise at seeing Anya, Xander and Oz with Spike barely registered before she was racing toward him, blurting out what she had just realized, what she should have realized all along and couldn't believe she had been so stupid not to have thought of earlier. She and Spike in turn had all assumed Buffy had left, gone somewhere to hide, but what if...

"Spike," she gasped desperately. "I just thought...What if, what if she didn't go anywhere? What if she's still there?"

His eyes hardened and his fists clenched as the implications hit him full force. Still there. Trapped inside the house. Maybe hurt. Oh, god. During the car ride he had plenty of time to consider all the things he fervently wished he had done differently, all the things he could have done to let her still come to him. Of all the moments, the one that stuck in his mind was his last glimpse of her as he left the dressing room. She had stumbled, and he had automatically reached out for her. Catching her had quickly become second nature to him, after all. But this time, he had stopped himself, let her fall for the first time ever in his presence. If he hadn't done that, if he had touched her that one last time, then just maybe she would have come to him for help...But what if Willow was right? What if she wasn't able to go for help? A nightmare of images flashed through his mind, and Spike clicked through them like a rolodex. If she needed help and wasn't able to get it, then there were three main possibilities. She was too injured to move, she was restrained in some way, or....Nonononono. He closed his eyes as an imaginary siren went off in his ears, blocking out what could not be true.

The rest of the group was waiting silently, waiting for him to take the next step. His eyes opened with a snap. Couldn't get lost in what might be. Have to help her first. "Right," he said strongly, decisively. "I'm going to her house."

"Spike," Willow began worriedly. She had known this was where they were headed, but the possibilities still bothered her. "There's no way Angel will let you in."

"Ain't gonna be no 'letting' about it, Red," he said grimly. "You and Anya stay here, just in case she shows up. And Anya, on the chance that she's not still there, use your contacts. Start looking around. Check hospitals, the train station, anywhere else you can think of." He turned to Oz and Xander then, silently sizing up his friends. "You coming with?" he asked nonchalantly, knowing they would.

"Of course," replied Xander quietly.

"All right. Let's go intimidate the hell out of Angel."

The car ride was quick and silent. Spike tried to organize his thoughts, to come up with a game
plan, but his mind and body were buzzing with apprehension and he finally gave up, figuring he would just have to go with his instincts. When they arrived, he turned to his two companions.

"Stay in the car for now. We don't want to make more trouble than we have to."

"How will we know if you need us?" Xander asked.

"You'll hear screaming," responded Spike grimly. "Lots of it."

He jumped out of the car and sprinted to the front door. Every cell in his body was reverberating with fear and tension, screaming the need to find her, touch her, make sure she was okay. Ignoring the bell, he pounded on the door. It opened swiftly, flying inward while Spike's fist was in midair. "I need to see Buffy," he bit out roughly, dropping his hand to his side, fingers beating a nervous cadence against his thigh.

Surprise flickered behind Angel's dark, impassive eyes. Like Willow, Spike was surprised at the lawyer's appearance, but his eyes narrowed at the sight of the scratches on his cheek. Stark and red, they looked an awful lot like defensive wounds.

The two men stood for a moment, locked into a silent stare. Spike stood straight, tension playing on his spine, angry and afraid, but desperately trying to keep a cool head while Angel was slightly hunched, fatigue creating lines on his face where none usually existed. Despite the weariness his body wore, though, his eyes glinted with venom for the blonde man on his doorstep. The two men had only met once, but any pretense at civility was well over and they both knew it.

"She's not here." Each word came out harshly, stinging with spite. A swift hand tried to slam the door, but Spike was prepared and before the wood came near the latch, his shoulder made contact and he was past the door and into the kitchen.

"Forgive me if I don't believe you," he spit out sarcastically, voice ice cold and climbing in intensity. "Her purse is here. Her cell phone is here. Her car is in the garage," he ticked off the points one by one. "Where the hell else would she be?"

Angel remained silent, impassive.

"I'm going to find her," Spike growled and started for the living room.

Angel caught him by the shoulder, roughly pulling him back. His tone was just as jagged and even more vindictive. "She's not here. Get out of my house!"

One hit was all it took. One hit imbued with all the fear and hurt and anger that was boiling in Spike's heart and Angel was down. Ignoring the other man's groan, he again headed through the living room. There was no sign of Buffy, so he ran for the stairs, taking them two at a time, stopping at the top where he was confronted with a row of doors.

Spike had never been upstairs in this house, and had no idea which room was most likely to hold her. "Buffy?" he called gently, his soft voice a marked contrast to the harsh tones he had used with Angel. "Are you here, luv?"

He pushed open the first door, seeing nothing but an empty bedroom, probably for guests as it wasn't big enough to be the master. Determindedly, he strode further, toward the next door, still calling for her. "Kitten? It's alright, just tell me where you are.." It killed him to think that she might not want to answer him, but even worse was the fear that she wasn't able to.

The next two rooms were empty as well, and finally he pushed open the last door at the end of the hall, the one that must be the master bedroom. The room was dark and still. And empty. Frantically, Spike flicked on a light, hoping to see something more. Maybe she was on the floor, in the closet, in the bathroom. Desperation swiftly mounting, he thoroughly checked the room, but finally had to accept that Buffy just wasn't there.

Turning on his heel, he raced down the stairs and back to the kitchen, stopping abruptly at the sight of Angel, who had pulled himself off the floor and onto a bar stool. One hand was propped on the counter, holding his forehead and the other was mopping his bleeding face with a wet rag.

"Where is she?" Spike asked again, voice so sharp he was briefly surprised that it didn't shatter the crystal vase on the bar before reaching Angel's ears. Menace in his swirling blue eyes, Spike took a threatening step forward. "Have you got her stashed away somewhere, is that it? What have you done to her?" he roared, self-restraint at last gone, vaporized under the fear he could not shake.

With a sigh, the other man raised his head to face him. "Nothing," he answered in a voice gone flat, only the very edges tinged with disdain. "I didn't touch her. She left."

"Why should I believe you?" Spike sneered, now close enough to invade Angel's personal space.

"I don't really care what you believe."

"If you've hurt her..."

"I didn't!" Angel shouted finally, repeating himself. "I didn't touch her!"

"Then why would she leave? Without her wallet, her phone, her car?" Spike emphasized. He was starting to believe she might not be here, maybe even that Buffy's husband didn't know where she was. But he just knew with a certainty that chilled him, that a rational Buffy would never have walked out without any of her belongings. "If you didn't hurt her, then why did she leave?"

"I was...upset with her," Angel finally started, eyes dropping to his lap. "When she went to see you." His voice was quiet now. He had finally reached his limit, and realized that he might as well tell the truth. Couldn't let this idiot who seemed to have stolen his wife go on thinking she was hurt. He might do something stupid like call the police, and then what would happen? Angel's reputation might be ruined, his job threatened. Doubtless the truth was a better alternative than whatever crazy scenarios Spike would come up with.

"She came home earlier than I expected. Darla was here." He finally glanced up at the blonde, wondering if he was going to have to spell it out. He wasn't. Sickening comprehension flooded Spike's face, picturing what his Buffy, who was already broken apart, must have walked in on. His fist itched, and after very brief consideration, Spike saw no reason not to let it have it's way.

"That's for cheating on her," he grunted, knocking Angel off the stool and onto the floor. He shouted in surprise and tried to get up, but Spike was on him again before Angel could plant his feet. "That's for the bruises." One punch. "For the sprain." Another. "For the mind games." Another. "For-" Suddenly Spike was grabbed from behind and hauled away from Angel's prone form.

"Spike," Xander and Oz were dragging him backward. "That's enough. You have to stop, man," Oz insisted. Briefly, Spike struggled with them. So many more things Angel deserved to be punished for.

"Spike," Oz spoke urgently, but before he could finish, a car door slammed and Anya and Willow came through the open door at a run.

"Spike," Willow gasped, sparing only a small glance at Buffy's husband unconscious on the floor. It was no more than she had expected after all. Really she was just glad he seemed to still be breathing. "We've found her."

Immediately, Spike stopped struggling and stood stock still. Carefully, Oz and Xander let him go.

"Where?" he demanded in an almost whisper.

"Willow means I found her, or at least a friend of mine did," Anya spoke up importantly, a self-satisfied smile hovering on her lips. "I had a PI friend of mine who owed me a favor do a quick look around, and he found her almost immediately. I'm surprised we didn't think of it."

"Anya," Spike said through clenched teeth. "Where is she?"

"Well, she was at the bus station. She showed up on a security camera, buying a ticket."

"How could she have bought a ticket, with no money?" Xander wondered aloud, unintentionally interrupting his girlfriend.

Willow slapped her forehead in consternation. "I forgot. She always keeps around $50 on her. She said it was her emergency money in case she lost her purse."

"It must have taken all $50," Anya mused.

"Where is she?!?" Spike was thoroughly frustrated now.

Anya laid a comforting hand on his arm. "She bought a ticket to California, to Sunnydale. She should be arriving in..." she looked at her watch and counted swiftly. "About six hours."

Spike looked wildly around him, thoughts swirling. She had gone home. But she had no money. No family or friends left there. All alone, with no money, what would she do at night? What could happen to her? Blindly, he turned and raced out the door.

"Spike, wait!" Anya cried, reaching him before he could throw himself inside the car.

"Can't wait. Have to get to her. She's all alone," he said imploringly, voice thick with emotion.

"I've already booked you on the next flight. It leaves in three hours. She'll just barely beat you there," said Anya officiously. It was usually her job to manage travel arrangements for the band, and she took the position seriously, even if it was paying exorbitant sums for a same-day flight so the lead singer could chase down his errant, married girlfriend.

Spike stopped and took a deep breath. He knew where she was. She was relatively safe for the moment. He could get to her. "Thank you," he said sincerely, blue eyes shining with gratitude.

"No problem," Anya shrugged, smiling. "It's what I'm here for. You should know, though..." she hesitated. She didn't want to add to his concern, but he needed to know, when he found her..."Spike, the attendent who sold her the ticket said, and it was even obvious on the video tape. Buffy was kind of out of it. Distant, like she was on autopilot, not really thinking clearly."

It was no less than Spike expected. He had seen her hurt before, knew firsthand how her eyes glazed over when she was dealing with too much. It did increase his worry, though. Would she be coherent enough to take care of herself, both on the bus and after she got there? He had a few minutes now, to think. To consider. Why the hell had she decided to run all the way to California? "Why didn't she come to me?" he mumbled, rubbing his hand over his forehead, not even really aware he had spoken out loud.

"Spike," Xander took a step forward, cheeks flushed with apprehension. "I need to tell you something."

Spike looked up curiously. "What is it, Xan?"

Xander's eyes roved the ground, the sky, anywhere, anything but look at Spike and face the confrontation he knew was coming ever since he heard about Buffy's disappearance. "At the concert, the other night. I saw her before you did," he mumbled. " I...said some things."

"What kind of things?" Spike's voice was deceptively calm, but his eyes started flashing.

"The truth," Xander burst out defensively. "I told her the truth. That she was hurting you. Damn near destroying you, even. That she should leave you alone..." He trailed off. In the clear light of day, while he still thought his reasoning was sound and the sentiments true, it seemed like less of his business.

Tightly fisting his hands and dropping his head, Spike fought for calm as the puzzle pieces dropped into place. She couldn't be with him. Was afraid of hurting him more. For the second time in less than an hour, he badly wanted to hit someone.

"Do you know what you've done?" He pushed the words out of a throat so tight he felt like he might be choking. "How dare you try to get between us!"

"I wasn't!" Xander exclaimed. "I just...I saw how you were, and she obviously couldn't see it, and I just..."

"Enough," growled Spike. "I can't listen to this right now. I have to go." He turned away, fingers tightly clenching the door handle.

"Spike," Xander called him softly, heart heavy and confused, but not wanting to leave it like this. "I'm sorry."

He turned to look at the people gathered, all of them here, worried, because they cared and him and about Buffy. He nodded shortly, a look of understanding passing between him and his oldest friend. Then, without another word, he got in the car and drove away. The others could pick up the pieces here. Spike had to get to Buffy.

Through the wait in the airport, through the flight, the interminable landing, a litany of pleas and curses repeated in Spike's head. He viciously cursed Angel, Xander, himself. For pushing her away, to this, to running away from him. A tiny part of him even whispered blame onto her slight shoulders. When he looked at it detached, from afar, he could see how it happened. A man could only take so much. And thanks to Xander (even mentally the name tasted sour on his lips, despite the moment they had shared earlier), he was sure Buffy believed she was doing the right thing. She had a tendency toward denial, after all, even a talent for it. Had probably closed her eyes to the pain and plunged in, heedless of the agony he felt when she literally slipped through his fingers. Sure she was doing the best thing for him.

His reaction had been visceral. Wanting to hold onto her, keep her, so much it twisted his heart inside out, and being denied yet again, he had simply shut down. If only he hadn't been drinking, didn't have alcohol flooding his veins, making every reaction sharper, but his mind foggier. If he hadn't been drinking, he might have at least found the presence of mind to consider her safety. Might not have pushed her so hard. Might have kept enough of a fragile hold on her so that when it happened, when her husband's final betrayal sunk in, she still might have come to him.

But he had been, and she hadn't. And now he was here, in the back of a cheap taxi, on the last leg of his trip to find her. He was so afraid. Even though Spike knew on a rational level that she was okay, had even talked with people who had seen her recently, including the cabbie currently in the driver's seat. There were so many things that could have happened to a young woman alone on a cross country trip with no money. He needed to drink her in with his own eyes, feel her soft skin, her pulse thrumming beneath his fingers, before the tight steel band around his heart would ease.

Once he arrived in Sunnydale, she hadn't been hard to track down. The bus station was tiny, and pretty girls traveling alone so late at night were always memorable. The ticket attendant, spurred to action by the desperation in Spike's eyes, had helped him track down the cab driver who had picked her up a few blocks away.

"I saw her walking alone down the street," the older man had explained. "And thought maybe she was in trouble. It's not a nice neighborhood, especially after dark. So I stopped and asked. She told me she didn't have money for the fare, but," the man raised kindly eyes up to Spike. "I couldn't just leave her there. I have a granddaughter about that age. So I offered her a ride."

After thanking the powers that be that Buffy had found kindness instead of danger, Spike had immediately demanded to be taken to her destination.

His musings were interrupted as the car pulled to an abrupt halt. The engine idileing, the older man turned to his passenger. "I didn't particularly want to leave her here, either. But she insisted. Said her house was around the corner..." he trailed off uncertainly, and Spike got his first glimpse of the place Buffy had run so far to get to.

A cemetary. They were parked in front of a cemetary. Of course. The name on the gates and the approximate location matched the place he had sent flowers to what seemed like a lifetime ago. "Can you wait?" he asked the cabbie.

"Of course."

Taking out his wallet and throwing some bills at the man, he quickly jumped out of the car and raced down the path, every second counting as he tried to get closer to the woman he loved.

He saw her almost immediately. She was facing away from him, kneeling gracefully on the hard ground, head bowed before the tombstone that towered over her. The moonlight glinted sparks of silver and gold in her hair, and Spike stopped and caught his breath. She was a vision. So lovely he wasn't completely sure she was real after all. Maybe he had only been chasing a dream...

But her shoulders jerked slightly at his gasp, and although she didn't look up or turn around, her head sank a little more, minutely acknowledging his presence, and she was Buffy again. Not a dream or a vision, but the flesh and blood woman he loved more than his own life. The graveyard was utterly still. No birds or animals played here, there was no breeze to ruffle the grass. Just the moonlight casting strange shadows and the silence that hung like a heavy cloak over the surreal tableau. Finally, as he had a million times before, Spike breathed her name, casting it out into the air like a caress.

"Buffy." She didn't move or speak, but just having her in front of him was easing the ache a little. As much as he wanted her close, in his arms, he knew he needed to be cautious. The last thing he wanted was to spook her further, send her running away again. Although this time, he told himself grimly, if he had to he would damn well catch her before she left his sight.

Her unresponsiveness was beginning to bother him, all too remnisicent of the night she had shown up on his doorstep, suffering the aftershocks of what might as well have been rape, but before he could make up his mind to speak, she broke the silence.

"I had to come here." Her voice was heavy and restrained, but at least she was talking to him.

"Why, luv?" he asked carefully, trying to rein in his emotion.

"I had to talk to her. Try to explain, to figure it out." There were so many voices, emotions, in Buffy's head that she couldn't find the words she needed. All throughout her crazy flight down here, to the town she grew up in, she had one goal in mind. She needed her mother. And this was all she had left of her, this cold stone in the middle of a sea of cold stones. But it was what she had, and so she had come here, not even thinking past the moment when she could sit on the ground and place her cheek against the coldness that was all she had, maybe all she had in the whole world now that everything had fallen so completely apart. But it wasn't enough. The chill from the ground and the granite had settled into her heart and she knew it wasn't enough to fix anything.

"Buffy?" Her name sounded again through the darkness, carried on the breath of a man she thought lost to her, who had come looking for her even though she had turned him away again and again, for reasons even she couldn't make sense of anymore. And Buffy broke. Broke completely, sinking to the ground in anguish, forehead and nose sinking into the grass because she couldn't see, couldn't breath anymore. Choked sobs tore from her throat and she could taste dirt in her mouth, gritty and metallic.

But suddenly Spike was there, lifting her up, clearing away the dirt with a gentle hand and with her face buried in his chest instead of the ground, even though she was still crying, she found that maybe she could breath after all. He gathered her into his arms, holding her on his lap, his own nose buried in her hair, tears leaking out of his own tightly shut eyes. God, she was so cold. Shivers wracked her body as her sobs continued, crying out every moment of pain and hurt she had endured. Feeling helpless under the onslaught of such blinding emotion, he could only pull her closer, taking his own comfort at finally feeling her body safely wrapped in his arms, murmuring small endearments, whispering his love quietly in her ear.

They sat there on the ground, in front of Joyce Summers' grave, wrapped closely together for what seemed like an eternity. Gradually, Buffy's sobs became small cries, which died off into whimpers that eventually stopped all together. Even after she was quiet, Spike still held her close, rocking her gently, unwilling to let go now that he finally had her in his arms, soft skin right under his fingertips. If he let go, she might disappear again...

"Are you really here?" she asked him quietly, voice wobbly and unsure.

"I'm here, luv," he reassured her. "Where else would I be?"

She shrugged slightly and pressed together as closely as they were, he felt the movement rather than saw it. "God, anywhere else," she said bitterly. "Why did you come after me?"

He pressed his head even closer to her, whispering in her ear, his breath a gentle breeze on her cheek. "I will always come for you. Whenever you need me. I love you, Buffy."

"I'm so sorry, Spike," she began brokenly.

"Don't." His whisper was fierce. "It doesn't matter right now. The only thing that matters is that I found you- and you're safe." He took in a great gasping breath, relief finally hitting him like a wave. "Sweetheart, I was so worried about you. No one knew where you were. I thought something had happened to you, that you were hurt..." He held her tighter, fingers dancing on her skin to reassure himself that she really was here with him, really was okay.

"I'm fine," she breathed gently, nuzzling into his shoulder.

"And if you had been, if anything had happened to you," he continued roughly. "I never would have forgiven myself."

"Spike, I - " she raised her eyes to his, and broke off as the depth of emotion swirling in his blue eyes washed over her. One moment...another, and then he was holding her hard and his lips were on hers and now she really was drowning. Tongues met and clashed as he demanded reassurance with his mouth and his roaming hands. The cold was forgotten and now Buffy was blazing as he clutched at her, fingers wandering her body without restraint.

She moaned softly as one of his hands journeyed down to her center, where all the heat was now collecting. And Spike was suddenly overcome with the need to imprint himself on her, right now, to make her fall apart under his hands. She tasted so sweet, so much like what he remembered from that one glorious night, and he wanted, needed, more. He shook with emotion as his hand found it's way under her skirt to brush against her clit. Fuck, she was wet. Buffy was mewling now, twisting against him, trying to get impossibly close, completely gone in a haze of need as he expertly scissored his fingers inside her. In a matter of moments she was coming hard on his hand, gasping loudly, her pink lips forming a perfect 'o' of pleasure.

When her tremors stopped, and she was once more resting against him, trying to catch her breath, he removed his hand and gently smoothed down her skirt. That shouldn't have happened. It was too much too fast. And in a graveyard, for god's sake.

"Buffy, luv," he began, voice shaky. But she stopped him with a gentle look. Her turn to soothe him now.

"Shh," she said simply. "It's all right. Better than all right," she tried for a smile and a teasing tone but couldn't quite look him in the eye, and the graceful sweep of her eyelashes against her pale cheek nearly did him in all over again.

"God, I love you, sweetheart." His heartfelt admission helped her over the fleeting chagrin, and now she did meet his eyes.

"I love you, too."

He rested his forehead against hers for another moment before swinging her into his arms, not willing to relinquish the feel of her skin against his for a single second. "C'mon, luv. Let's go home."

He rested his forehead against hers for another moment before swinging her into his arms, not willing to relinquish the feel of her skin against his for a single second. "C'mon, luv. Let's go home."

Where was home, really? Spike pondered as he gently tucked Buffy into the backseat of the cab, still softly murmuring endearments in an attempt to soothe her and himself. He knew without a doubt that for the rest of his life, wherever she was would be home. But what about her, his girl who had been through so much in the past few days? Where would she feel safe? Back in New York, at his house, or maybe Willow's? Not her own, that was for damned sure. Even if she wanted to, he was finally going to put his foot down and just refuse to take her there.

"So where to?" the cab driver asked patiently, waiting as Spike deliberated. "Back to the bus station?"

"No..." Spike said decisively. He certainly wasn't going to let her repeat that journey, but it was after midnight and there wouldn't be any more planes leaving LAX tonight, even if the cabbie would drive them there. Even if he thought that was the best thing to do, which now he really didn't.

"Buffy?" Her eyes were closed as she leaned back, resting her head against the seats, but at his voice, they slowly opened. A streak of pain flashed through Spike's heart to see the sadness and confusion that still lingered in the green depths. His voice became even gentler as he softly brushed a strand of hair off her cheek.

"I'm not sure we really can get home tonight. There won't be any more flights leaving until tomorrow....Of course, though, sweetheart, if it really means that much to you, I'll find a way. Could probably charter something..." Silently, he willed her to say no. He wanted her to have whatever would help her through this, didn't care about the expense, but honestly believed they could use a little time, even if it were just one night, before they jumped back into the mess left in New York.

She smiled at his willingness to give her what she wanted, no matter the cost. It was ironic, really. "It's fine, Spike. Maybe a hotel? I'm tired..." she yawned, trying not to let him see just what an understatement that was. She really had been running on autopilot, brain determinedly shut off, until reaching the graveyard when all those sharp emotions had come roaring back all at once. The cold realization that her mother's comfort was truly unreachable, the torrent of tears shed in Spike's arms, the quick surge to ectasty and then the fall back to earth had left her head leaden and her mind clouded. Her eyelids were so heavy....Unintentionally, they fell closed again and while she wasn't really asleep, she wasn't quite awake either.

"Sure, pet," he replied softly, stroking her cheek again just for the pleasure of feeling her skin under his fingers before turning to the driver. "Is there a decent hotel in town?"

"There's a couple," the older man considered. "I'll take you to the one that's less likely to be full. A little off the beaten path, but still very nice."

"Okay," replied Spike. "Thanks, and..." he stopped short, not sure how to express his gratitude toward the man who had been kind to his girl. "Thanks," he finished lamely.

"No problem," the cabbie smiled. "I'm just happy it all worked out."

As they threaded through the dark streets, a new tension surfaced in the backseat of the car. So much between them, neither seemed able to get past the heavy flood of reckoning to make light conversation. As usual, communication was easier between hands and skin than with words. Careful not to move suddenly, still feeling like he needed to go slowly, not spook her, Spike gently slid an arm around Buffy's shoulders, softly stroking her arm. Slowly, minutely, she slid sideways until she was leaning on him, her head resting on his chest. For a few moments her breathing was ragged as she fought sleep, feeling the weight of uncertainty that curtained them, but her exhaustion was too great and soon the tempo of her breaths evened out and Spike knew she had fallen asleep. He was just beginning to contemplate the next step when his phone buzzed in his pocket, causing him to jump slightly. Buffy mumbled incoherently, but did not wake, and carefully Spike pulled his cell out, frowning at the caller id before flipping it open to speak.

"Hey, Anya..."

"Spike!" His manager's usually even, practical voice was agitated, sparking a flame of concern in Spike's imagination. What now?

"What is it, Ahn?"

"Spike!" she repeated, sounding exasperated now. "Buffy! Did you find her? Is she okay?"

"She's fine," he answered curiously. He knew everyone was concerned about her, but Anya's franticness seemed a bit out of place, especially since she herself had located the missing girl. "She's right here with me."

"Oh, thank god," she breathed. "She's fine. Spike has her," she told someone on her end of the line. For a moment, Spike listened to the jumble of conversation on the other side of the phone, but finally tried to call Anya's attention back.

"Anya?" he asked firmly, careful not to raise his voice enough to rouse Buffy. "What is going on?"

"Willow got a call from Buffy's boss. Drucinda or Druella, or..."

"Drusilla." Spike supplied.

"Yes. Anyway, she was hysterical. Something about Buffy missing, which we already knew, but then there was this thing about a graveyard, someone watching her, and danger... and well, it all seems a little fantastical now," Anya admitted. "But she was so sure. So I called. But you have Buffy and everything is fine," Slowly her voice climbed back to it's normal self-assured pitch. "So I'll let you go now. Bye."

Spike hung up the phone, a sinister chill creeping up his spine. Funny how he hadn't even thought to call Drusilla. She probably could have saved him a bit of time. But what was all that about someone watching Buffy? And danger? Could it be something metaphorical, or had Dru really seen something threatening her? Wrapping his love tighter in his arms, Spike decided that he didn't really want to know. Whatever could have happened, didn't happen. Buffy was safe and by god she was going to stay that way if he had to glue himself to her side.

Less than fifteen minutes later, after giving a fond goodbye and an extremely generous tip to the cabbie, they were checked into the hotel and walking down a hallway toward a suite with two beds. Spike had breezed through check in, being clear about what he wanted in a manner that implied he was used to getting exactly that, and without giving Buffy an opportunity to argue. Even though he knew logically it probably would have been a good idea to give her some space, he hadn't been able to talk himself into seperate rooms. He had come too close to losing her too recently to be willing to let her out of his sight. If he had his way, he would hold onto her while she slept, so there would be no way for her to disappear again, but that really was up to Buffy, and hence the two beds.

They reached the room and Spike used one hand to jam in the key card to unlock the door while keeping the other firmly around her waist. She had been silent through check-in, content to remain pliant in his arms, but the click of the door unlocking seemed to jolt her, adding sudden tension to her spine and she straightend and moved away slightly, not out of the circle of his arm, just so that she was standing a little more upright. Spike immediately felt the loss of her warmth and hoped to god that she would let him sleep beside her. Nothing else. No matter how much he was tempted, there would be no more runaway caveman impulses tonight.

"This is us, luv," he said as he swung open the door and clicked on the light. He suddenly felt awkward, almost like a schoolboy on prom night bringing his date to a hotel room, not knowing if she would approve or run screaming back to the party.

Buffy finally moved completely away from him and wandered into the room. Turning away for a moment to lock and bolt the door, Spike looked back to find her standing in front of the mirror but not looking into it. Her hands were resting on the low dresser in front of it, supporting her weight there, fists flexing slightly, while she stared down at her hands as if she didn't recognize the skin as her own. The curve of her cheek, the slope of her shoulder were impossibly eloquent and Spike felt himself turning inside out once again for this beautiful girl and the impossibility of ending up here with her.

"Buffy," he breathed, but he honestly didn't know what to say next and the moment was frozen as she continued to stare at her hands, the sweep of her eyelashes betraying the thousand thoughts running through her mind. Finally she stepped back and looked up, meeting his eyes through the mirror, and smiled a little.

"You sure went through a lot to get me into a hotel room." The tone tried to be teasing, but her attempt fell flat, and her eyes creased in concern as tension raced across his face. "I'm sorry," she followed up hurriedly, as awkward silence fell. "That was a bad joke. I'm just," she stopped to scrub a hand across her face before finishing. "Really tired."

"Of course, luv." Their emotions were all over the place, and Spike knew that while they had large, difficult things to discuss, no good could possibly come of going over any of it tonight. Heaving a sigh, he conceded that maybe they needed physical distance as well. "You stay here," he indicated the bed behind them. "There's another bedroom through there, I'll take that one." He couldn't resist taking one more kiss from her sweet lips, but pulled away before it overheated and became more. "Good night, sweetheart."

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

It could have been minutes or hours later, as Spike lay awake staring at the ceiling, when he heard the soft shush of the door sweeping over the carpet. Hesitantly, her shadowy form crept into the room, almost as if she was afraid of being discovered. Without a word, he raised the covers in invitation and she stole silently underneath. Her face was wet with tears, but her body was warm, and wrapped closely together, finally they slept.

Dawn had just barely begun to peak, it's dim light stealing past the edges of the heavy curtains that covered the window, when Buffy awoke. There was none of the confusion she might have expected to feel at waking up in a strange room; she knew exactly where she was and all the circumstances that had led up to this point. Slowly, careful not to wake Spike, she slid out from underneath his arm and eased off the bed. Her bare feet made a shushing sound on the carpet as she crept toward the window and edged behind the full-length curtain so that she could look out without letting any of the light filter into the still-dim room.

The ocean was right outside, and despite the early hour, there were already some people on the beach; sunworshippers wanting to get in as many rays as possible, joggers taking advantage of the cooler air, children who had been too excited to sleep any longer. One young teenager in particular caught Buffy's eye, probably because she looked a bit like her own younger self. Blond hair tied back, tanning lotion gleaming around a pink bikini, the girl wore headphones, smiling and bopping her head to a tune only she could hear as she laid out a towel and prepared to bask. Buffy smiled a little, but tears threatened as she clearly remembered when she herself had been that girl. With nothing more on her mind than perfecting her tan. And maybe getting a date for Saturday night.

Hushing an almost hysterical giggle, Buffy thought to herself that at least she had that part covered. In spades. For whatever reason, she was sure that Spike would happily be her date every Saturday for the rest of the forseeable future. And probably every other night of the week, too. And she didn't really doubt that Angel would want her back, regardless of whatever was going on with Darla. He just didn't let go of anything easily, even when that "thing" was a thinking, breathing person. And she really just didn't know what to do about that.

As the tears started to pool once again, she shook her head sharply, forcing them away. She had cried enough for a few lifetimes, maybe she could hold off the waterworks for today. In fact...she looked speculatively down at the beach. Maybe she could just forget everything for one day. Just one day. To have some real, honest to god fun and maybe relax a bit. She was pretty sure she could convince Spike to stay one more night. He couldn't be any more eager to head back to the mess in New York than she was. One day, as a gift for them. And then, she swore to herself, she would face reality and figure out what exactly she was going to do with the rest of her life.
****************************************************************************

Spike was dreaming that he was caught in a wind tunnel. He could hear air rushing loudly past....Muttering about the strangeness of dreams, he flipped over in the bed, trying to coax his mind back to sleep, when two things suddenly became very clear to him. One, he was alone in the bed, and two, the sound was not a dream. His eyes snapped open, instantly searching for Buffy, muscles tense. She had to still be here, where could she possibly have gone this time....Oh. The bathroom door wasn't shut all the way and he could see her silhouetted in the opening. The source of the noise that had invaded his dreams was obviously a hairdryer, which meant that Buffy had been awake for some time. With a groan, he climbed out of bed, heart bridling at the thought of making the necessary arrangements to take them back to New York.

"Spike?" The hairdryer shut off and Buffy peaked around the edge of the door. "Are you awake?" she asked unnecesarily, leaving the bathroom and coming toward him. Without waiting for an answer, she surprised him by moving straight into his arms and giving him a soft kiss on the cheek.

Slightly stunned, he stared at her. The weeping, over-wrought girl of the night before had been replaced by a Buffy he hadn't seen in awhile. Not that she wasn't always exquisitely beautiful to him, but so often lately she had been hurt or sad, that he had forgotten just how stunning she could be when she wasn't struggling under the weight of some world-ending crisis. Her hair was curled and pinned casually on top of her head, and she was wearing a simple green sundress she had procured from somewhere, probably the hotel shop. As the sleeve shifted on her shoulder, he could see a strap of black beneath it, one that looked curiously thick to belong to a bra. But more than the outfit and the hair, what had him blown away was the expression on her face. She was smiling, nearly beaming, and her green eyes were dancing with mischief.

"You are so gorgeous," he whispered sincerely, almost reverently, making her smile grow even brighter.

"Do you like it?" she asked, giving a small twirl. "I thought we both needed some fresh clothes, so I went downstairs while you were sleeping..." A small wrinkle appeared on her forehead, marring the bright expression of a moment before. "I hope you don't mind...I charged everything to the room. I'll pay you back."

"Don't even mention it," he growled playfully, daring to sweep her off her feet for a moment to spin in a small circle around the room. "I'd pay anything to see you look so happy, pet."

She giggled and as always, the sweet sound melted his heart. He was mush in her hands, ready and willing to do anything she wanted, say anything, be anything...wear anything? "Um, pet," he said carefully, eyeing the packages laid out on the dresser. Presumably they held clothes for him, but something he could see peeking out of the bag had him wondering. "Just exactly what do you have in mind for today?"

Her smile slipped for the barest of moments, and Spike's heart constricted, wondering just how much of this new levity was real. But then it was back again, and he though maybe he had imagined the sudden worry in her eyes. She backed away and sat down on the bed, leaning back on her arms so she could easily look up at him. "I"m not really that eager to go back right away. I kinda think I could use a break from everything; really just wanna forget for a little while. And it's been so long since I spent any time here," she admitted. "And so I thought 'what's one more day'?" Flinging her arms out expansively, she fell back on the bed, so that Spike had to lean over her to see her eyes, make sure this was really what she wanted.

"You want to stay here today?" he asked, kneeling on the bed, head propped up on an elbow that rested just to the side of her head. He wasn't any more eager than she was, to hurtle right back into the mess waiting for them to sort out. After being so afraid she was lost to him, he was more than happy to follow her lead now and try to forget, just for a little while. Oh, he knew everything, all the problems would still be waiting for them, but surely they would be stronger, could face them better, after some recovery time. Right? Without thought, he reached out to caress her face, tracing her lips gently, just so bloody glad she was here for him to touch.

"Yeah, I do," Buffy sighed quietly, eyes quivering closed at the contact, her breathing slightly hitched. Easily, he leaned in to close the distance, bringing his lips to hers, wanting the connection, wanting a taste of her, just wanting. Her hands automatically came up to link behind his head, holding him to her, fingers caressing the nape of his neck and ruffling his hair. It was so easy for him to get lost in her, so easy to forget. With a shuddering breath, Spike gently broke the kiss and opened his eyes to look down at her, laid out on the hotel bed in her pretty green dress like a gift he could unwrap, technicolor against the white duvet. He probably could, doubted she would protest, knew it would take only a few small moves on his part to make her eager....Regretfully, he stood up and moved a few steps away. He wanted to be able to touch her, have her, openly, with no complications, and since he hoped to god they were close to that, surely he could wait a little longer.

Buffy made a mewl of protest at his sudden move that almost made him reconsider, but she sat up and met his eyes wryly, understanding without him having to say the words. "So, today?" he prompted.

"Today," she grinned, a wicked gleam lighting her green eyes. "Today, I want to go to the beach."
********************************************************************

Several hours later, Spike contemplated whether he might actually have gone stark-raving mad. Maybe the plane crashed, or Angel had actually managed to get in one good punch, and he was lying in a hospital bed somewhere, dead to reality and instead living in some crazy dream world where he got to go to the beach with Buffy, massage sunscreen into skin as soft and smooth as original sin, while she held her hair back and smiled at him over her shoulder. Where he got to lie next to her prone form on a sandy beach in front of a million people who couldn't care less. Where it seemed like he and Buffy were just an ordinary couple, doing ordinary couply things. Where things actually seemed like they might work out.

With a small sigh of contentment, Spike tugged the brim of the cap covering his tell-tale platinum locks further down over his head. He definitely didn't want to be recognized here. Didn't want anything to mess with the small island of denial they had carved out, just for today. That was all they needed anyway, for the press to snap shots of him sunning with his married mistress....Which was of course, how they saw her. They didn't see the truth, which was way too complicated for anyone to suss out, including him and Buffy sometimes. All he knew was that he loved her beyond reason and please god she was finally going to leave that fucking bastard husband...

"Spike." Her breathy voice, dazed with heat, interrupted his internal monologue, and he quickly banished all the evil thoughts. No worries for today. Right. "Yeah, luv?" he answered gently.

"Just seeing if you were awake." She lazily opened her eyes, squinting a little in the sun, and then sat up abruptly, reaching a tentative hand out toward him. "Oh my god, are you okay?"

"Of course," he answered, puzzled. She hadn't suddenly added mind-reading to her talents, now had she?

"Your chest," she gestured, lips quirking in amusement, even though her eyes were concerned. "Spike, did you even use sunscreen?!?"

"Um, no?" he answered sheepishly, a rueful look in his eyes as he followed her gaze down to his chest, which was now decidedly pinkish edging toward red. He had been way too involved in smoothing the cream into every crevice of her delicious body, giddy with delight at having an legitimate reason to reacquaint himself with every perfect inch of her,covered as she was by only a tini black bikini that he almost didn't want her leaving the room in...

"Spike, focus!" She laughingly brought his attention back into the present. "Come on, we have to get you out of this sun."

They gathered up their towels and started back to the hotel, fingers linked and swinging gently between them. Both of them felt the strange normalcy of such a small gesture, but didn't want to remark on it in case talking about the thing broke the spell.

"So what now, pet?" he asked. "We've still got the better part of the afternoon to spend here."

Buffy carefully considered her options, green eyes thoughtful. "Do you think we could get a car?" she asked.

"Sure, sweetheart. Whatever you want," he glanced at her curiously. "What 've you got in mind?"

"I was thinking," she hesitated. "Maybe you won't want to, and if you don't that's fine, but I thought, maybe..." she trailed off, looking up at him uncertainly.

"Whatever you want," he repeated with an affectionate smile. "No babbling necessary."

"Right," she nodded and answered his smile with a small one of her own. "Well, I thought it might be nice to drive around a little, show you the town. Not that there's so much to see, but, I grew up here, you know? And I haven't been back in forever. And I'd like to show you."

A fission of warmth crept down Spike's shoulders, relieving some of the seemingly ever present tension. She wanted to show him the town she grew up in. No matter that she hadn't intentionally brought him here, they were here, and she wanted to show him. That had to mean something. Letting go of Buffy's hand, he slid an arm around her waist and pulled her close, resting his head briefly on top of hers, breathing her in and enjoying the moment. "I would love that," he said sincerely.

Another blindingly brilliant smile and she snuggled into him briefly before tugging loose and darting away. "Race you back to the hotel!"

Surprised into laughing out loud, he started after her, sand flying under their feet as he came close enough to mock grab at her before letting her pull ahead and scoot into the lobby before him. She was giggling again, and the light in her eyes made him giddy. This was how she should always look, always always always, wanted her to be laughing and happy and...

"I win!" she teased, stopping just inside the door to let him in. He couldn't resist putting his arms around her, just wanted to be close to her when she was like this. Spike knew he wasn't thinking quite straight, there was something intoxicating about having his gorgeous girl so carefree and easy with him, and being able to touch her was absolute heaven.

"What do you want for a prize?" He asked, gaze fastening on her mouth. He knew exactly what he wanted.

Her thoughts followed his, and she rose up on her tiptoes so she could reach him, softly brushing his lips in a teasing kiss. Not enough. Arms around her waist tightened and he deepened the connection, letting his tongue play along the seam of her mouth until she gave a small sigh and opened to him. Never enough.

A small cough alerted them to the presence of the desk clerk and they abruptly came back down to earth. Buffy pulled away first, cheeks stained red as she closed her eyes in embarassment. "Whoops," she murmured softly, looking up at him from under lowered eyelids, a smile still playing at the corners of her mouth.

"Never mind, luv," he bent to whisper in her ear, breath warm against her cheek. "Bloke's just jealous. Wishes he had a beautiful girl to kiss in public places." With a smile and a wink to her, he approached the desk and made arrangements for a rental car to be delivered for them.

"I'd like to change first, if that's okay," she interjected, avoiding the clerk's eyes, a rosy blush still coloring her face.

"Course. We'll have a few minutes before it gets here. Ready to go up, then?"

They went up to their room, and changed out of their swimsuits, chatting easily about nothing. Buffy changed in the bathroom, but didn't shut the door all the way so she could still talk to Spike. Although he tried not to, she knew when he surreptiously peeked inside the door and she giggled to herself. She was quickly discovering what if felt like to wield a bit of feminine power. It was a heady feeling, knowing Spike was so attracted to her, and it kind of made her feel like a teenager again, just discovering what she could do to a boy with a smile and a toss of her hair. It had never been like that with....Nope. Not going there today. Just going to enjoy.

In a matter of minutes they were changed and heading back down the hallway, hands once again linked. Spike lifted his hand in greeting to the desk clerk, who indicated that their ride was there. When they exited the lobby into the sun-drenched day, the requested car was waiting right out front, keys in the ignition. Buffy stopped abruptly and squealed in glee when she saw that it wasn't a typical rental car sedan, but a roadster convertible.

Spike gave her a sideways smile, congratulating himself for making the special request. "Like it, luv?"

"I love it!" she replied with that sunny smile that was quickly imprinting itself on his heart as his favorite sight in the world. "I always wanted one of these, but they're not very practical in New York...." she trailed off, not wanting to bring up anything remotely tied to the problems of reality.

"Well, we're not in New York, are we," he interjected smoothly, opening the passenger door for her, before getting himself situated in the driver's seat and starting the car.

Buffy bounced a little as she fastened her seatbelt and leaned over to turn on the radio. Scrunching her forehead, she said, "Let me see if I remember what I used to listen to." She thought for a moment and then turned the dial. Surprisingly enough, Blue Flame's first single drifted out of the speakers. "Must still be a good station!" she giggled, as Spike rolled his eyes in mock consternation.

"So where to?" he asked as they pulled out of the parking lot.

After a second of consideration, she directed him to turn right. "Um, that way, I think."

"You think?" he raised an eyebrow. "Not going to get us lost, are you, pet?"

"No," she said, playfully defensive. "It's just been awhile since I was last here."

She pointed out the mall, and the playground near the elementary school she had attended. The high school, next on the list, looked so much smaller than she remembered. It wasn't like she had grown; Buffy was the exact size and height she had been in her junior year, so it was funny that the building seemed to have shrunk while she stayed the same.

"I'll bet you were the Queen Bee in high school," Spike teased, luring her out of the brief reverie she had fallen into.

"Not exactly," she responded lightly. "I was more of an all-around girl. Good grades, friends with everyone, really. I was a cheerleader though."

"Now that I would have liked to have seen," Spike grinned lasciviously. "You in one of those teeny skirts, doing cartwheels and splits..." He drifted off into his own reverie of Buffy dressed as a cheerleader when she shocked him nearly into swallowing his own tongue.

"I still have the uniform. Maybe I could show you sometime," she said innocently, only a hint of a smile and the glint in her eye giving away the seductive overtones.

The car jerked a bit under Spike's hands and he took a deep breath as he steered smoothly back to the center of the road. "You trying to kill me, pet?" he exhaled slowly, only half-joking. Under the circumstances, Buffy had never been sexually bold with him, never teased. He had no idea what she would be like in normal conditions, but if this was any indication, he was in for a hell of a time. That was assuming of course - no. Just no. Not going there.

"This is the downtown area," She went on in a more normal pitch, pointing out the window at a street with shops lining both sides. "Kinda our Main Street, although it isn't called that. There's this bookstore that I used to love to go in, they always had something different, books you couldn't find at a big chain store." There was a slight catch in her voice that had Spike glancing at her in concern, but she went on in nearly the same tone. "And my Mom's gallery used to be right down there. It's a restaurant now. She just rented the space, so it wasn't like I could keep it after..."

Now she couldn't control the quaver in her words, and he quickly reached over to take her hand, caressing her palm in silent comfort. Buffy cleared her throat and squeezed his fingers once before releasing them and continuing in a stronger voice. "So anyway, that's mostly it for the town. Not very large. If we go down this way," she pointed to a side street ahead on the left, "we can do a quick turn through my old neighborhood." She continued to chatter a bit about old neighbors and anecdotes about the town, while Spike followed her directions to a comfortable looking Colonial with a modest front porch and flowers blooming in the yard. He pulled to the side of the wide street and let the car idle while Buffy collected her thoughts.

"It looks nice," he offered quietly.

"It was," she said, a wistful smile on her lips. "You know, things weren't always easy and drama-free, with my dad leaving and all, but still, it was a nice place to grow up. It was home, you know?" Her hands were twisting in her lap, and he reached out to still them, once more letting his fingers stroke her soft skin in an effort to soothe the slight sadness that had come over her.

"I haven't really found that, since here," she continued. "Not in college, or in New York. It just never felt right."

"You'll find it again, sweetheart," Spike promised softly. We'll find it, he added to himself.

"Yeah," she replied, agreeing without any real belief behind it. "So," she brushed a hand over her eyes, visibly pulling herself back from the edge of melancholy. "It's getting kind of late. Maybe we should have dinner?"

"Sounds good," he said, voice still gentle as her smile tugged itself back into place and her inital enthusiasm begin to return.


"I remember this really great little Italian place, or we could just go back to the hotel and order room service..." And out of the blue, there was that seductive tone again. Their eyes caught, heat flaring between them as they contemplated the possibilities. Buffy broke the gaze first, with a small rueful laugh. "On second though, better not."

"Right," he responded, equally rueful. Soon enough, though, he silently promised them both. "So which way to the Italian place?" He started the car again and pulled back onto the road as they headed into the darkening horizon, determined to enjoy what they had left of their day of denial.

Cars sped past at the speed of Spike's own thoughts as they whipped down the highway. He hadn't yet asked Buffy where exactly she wanted to return to, was just heading to his house automatically, assuming that's what would be best, almost scared now of breaking into her thoughts to actually ask her. The flight back from California had been hellish. Unable to get a direct passage on such short notice, they had detoured through Minneapolis and gotten stuck there for several hours due to mechanical failure. Then after finally being allowed to board, they had sat on the tarmac for nearly another hour before being told to disembark while another plane was found. Now that they had finally touched down back on the east coast, located his car in the labyrinthine lot and inched out of the exit queue to finally make the interstate, it was nearly dusk. And Buffy had been getting quieter and more withdrawn with every minute.

She had woken up more subdued than the day before, when the glowing haze of denial had cloaked all their actions, but really he had expected that. What he hadn't expected was her continual withdrawal until she seemed to hardly be able to meet his eyes and only answered any questions in a clipped, monosyllabic tone. He tried not to take it personally, knew she was confused, probably scared, but his body was tightening up, zinging with the tension of not knowing where her head was.

Buffy jumped when the ringing phone shattered the settled quiet, startling her momentarily out of the daze she seemed to have fallen into. As the day wore on and they encountered one delay after another in getting back to New York, she had gradually realized that while fun, the day of denial hadn't actually accomplished anything when it came to her making the hard decisions, may have in fact made things more difficult. She nearly felt like a different person, and the things that had come before were something that she heard about once, that had happened to an acquaintance or maybe even just something she had seen on tv. It certainly had all the elements of a made-for-tv movie, she thought bitterly. And how was she supposed to make decisions based on something that seemed to have happened to someone who was not her?

She realized that Spike had steered to the side of the road, letting the other cars pass them, while he answered the call. “Hey, Ahn, “ he said in a tight voice. “What's going on?”

“Spike, I don't know how to tell you this...” his stomach clenched when he heard her hesitant voice. What the bloody hell else could possibly happen to them? Were they never going to be allowed a moment's peace? Or maybe they had used up all they would ever get yesterday...

“Just spit it out,” he told her tersely.

“There are reporters,” she started slowly. “At your house. Camped out. Waiting for you.”

“What?” he exclaimed into the phone, making Buffy jump again with his vehemence. He offered her a small, apologetic smile before closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the seat in an effort to stay calm. “How the bloody hell did they figure out where I live?”

“Spike, I don't know. We did everything we could to keep it a secret. The only thing I can think is maybe someone from the studio...”

“Bloody buggering hell,” he mumbled, more to himself than either girl within earshot. Firmly rubbing his head, thumb and forefinger smoothing down the sides of his face in an effort to ease the tension, he told Anya he would call her back soon and clicked the phone shut. Taking a deep breath, he sighed, giving them both another moment of quiet before they would have to deal with the new problem.

“What's wrong?” Buffy asked in a small voice, turning her face up to him, breaking the stillness.

“Luv,” he turned to face her and reached out to take one of her hands in his, stroking her palm soothingly with his thumb. “That was Anya. There's a problem with the press. Some idiot gave out my address, and now apparently there's a bunch of 'em camped out, waiting for something newsworthy to happen,” he said, voice heavy with sarcasm and frustration.

“Which turning up with me would be,” she answered flatly, pulling away from him and staring down at her palms.

“Probably,” he replied honestly. “But sweetheart,” Insistently he reached out and latched onto her hand again, holding it more firmly, trying to send comfort through the link. “We can go anywhere else you want. Could stay with Willow, or at the band's flat in the city. Could get another hotel room, here or there. Whatever you want, we'll do.” Spike tried as hard as he could to make his voice sound reassuring. He really would do whatever she wanted, whatever he could, but he was unsettled by the thought that the place where they had already shared so many moments, that he knew she considered a kind of sanctuary, was now off-limits.

The silence seemed to stretch out forever while he waited for her answer. Buffy suddenly felt incredibly weary. Was this just going to keep happening? An endless cycle of things not working out for them? Xander's words, never truly forgotten, just pushed away by circumstance and, she thought, by her own stubborness, crept back into her head. This wouldn't be happening to him if it weren't for her. Spike could be happily esconsced in his house, press-free, with some beautiful unattached girl....And suddenly she couldn't get the image out of her mind. Spike, happy and relaxed, smiling at some unseen girl, and that part really made her want to claw her own eyes out, but in the end she desperately wanted him to be happy.

“Buffy?” he asked softly. Her fingers had tightened on his, nails making small indentions in his skin. Abruptly realizing what she was doing, she forced her grip to relax, made her fingers lie down and behave and not mirror the fierce pain echoing in her heart.

“Maybe,” she said, voice even softer than his. “Maybe I should just go to my house.”

And suddenly his hand was gone, he was gone, and the door had slammed so hard that the whole car shook with reverberations. She sat for a moment, in shock, watching him through the windshield as he slumped down onto the hood, head held angled behind a neck thickly corded with tension and hands fisted at his sides. Four, five, six cars flew past their spot on the side of the highway before she could force her body to move, find the nerve to mechanically get out of the car and take up a place beside him.

She opened her mouth, not really knowing what she was going to say, but he stopped her with a hand flung out in front of her body, like he was trying to keep her from flying out of a car during a crash, and a word muttered too low for her to hear. “What?” she asked quietly, more statement than question, her inflection as tangled as her thoughts.

He looked up at her then, just barely turning his body towards her, but she could see his eyes and suddenly it was hard to breath. The swirling blue had darkened to nearly black, and she could see anger and love all twisted up together, veiled by something that looked like posessiveness, something that had her own body instinctively tightening and responding to. “No.”

“What do you mean, “no”...” she trailed in a whisper.

“I mean bloody no, Buffy!” His tone was harsh, but this was absolutely the end of his limits. She had pulled the rope holding his self control intact just a little too far and now it had sprung back on her. “You are not going back there! I don't fucking care what I have to do. I don't care if I have to just hold you down until you get it. I will not let you go back there. I will not let you go back to him!” he roared the last word at her, forcing her a step back, and the uncertainty in her green eyes, the mar on her forehead and the last of the bruises that she couldn't quite cover up snapped his anger and abruptly forced him the other way, making him nearly choke as he reached out for her, once again desperate to feel her and know she was safe.

“Buffy, you can't, you can't make me do that again,” he pleaded with her, skimming shaking hands over her pliant form in a way that was way too familiar for the side of the road, but Spike didn't care, too far gone in remembering what it felt like to see her hurt, remembering the agony he had suffered when she was missing. “I just can't go through that again. I need to know you're safe, Buffy!”

“Spike,” she began soothingly, a little awkward in this role reversal where he was the one that needed calming. “It's okay, it's okay, I can go somewhere else, Willow's maybe, and you can go home. They won't bother you if I'm not there.”

“No,” his voice desperately sad. “I need to stay with you. Need to know you're okay.”

Buffy put her arms around his neck and leaned her head into his chest in a effort to calm them both. “Okay,” she whispered, leaning into him, acquiesing both because she wanted to and because the desperateness in his voice, the pain in his eyes, frightened her. “Okay.”

Slowly, his rapidly beating pulse begin to calm, and he begin to speak again more softly, words muffled slightly by her hair. “ I can't tell you how scared I was, luv, when no one knew where you were. Can't even begin to describe it. Kept remembering how you'd been hurt before. Kept seeing your face, your eyes. I was bloody out-of-my-mind terrified,” his arms tightened on her reflexively. “Buffy, you can't ask me to go through that again. If he hurts you again, one more time, and it's because I let you go back there, I won't be able to live with myself.”

“Okay,” she repeated, pulling back slightly to look at him. “I'm sorry I scared you, Spike. I never meant - “

Shaking his head, he shushed her. “Don't have to be sorry. Not really your fault, luv. Just a mad jumble of accidents and misunderstandings.” He sighed and let her go, leaning against the hood once more and staring out into the slowly darkening sky. It was almost sunset. Unconsciously, she mirrored his position, so they were side by side, but no longer touching, eyes suddenly unable to meet. For awhile the only sounds were the whirring of wheels spinning away on the concrete of the highway, the occasional jangle of music from a passing car, and the steady, slight rustle of their breathing.

Buffy laid her palm on the still warm metal of the hood, trying to put her thoughts into some kind of order. What she wanted, was pretty sure she needed even, was warring with the words Xander had said to her. The words that had pretty much started this latest disaster. Just because she had handled things badly, though, didn't mean those words were untrue. And she couldn't just ignore them, like she had tried to the day before. She knew Spike loved her, and she knew she loved him. She couldn't yet work out the details, or imagine the scenario in which it would happen, but she knew in her heart that her marriage was over. But she didn't want to be with Spike if that meant making him unhappy.

Almost before she realized what she was doing, Buffy was speaking, throwing her concerns quietly out into the open. “Spike, did Xander tell you...” she paused briefly, not wanting to cause friction between the man she loved and his best friend.

His jaw clenched. “Yeah, he did. And Buffy, he had no right to say those things to you. What' s between us is our business and he had no right to interfere.”

“Yes, but,” she waved away his words, wanting to get to the point. “But was it true?” Unable to face him, she kept staring straight ahead, out toward the miles of pavement and the sun that was beginning to sink into the horizon.

“It doesn't matter,” he turned to look at her, caught her face in profile, her hair and skin golden in the rays of the sunset and was caught up yet again in how very much he loved this woman. Nothing mattered but her.

“Spike,” she drew out his name in a slightly agrieved tone. “It does matter. Was it true?”

Heaving a sigh, he brushed a hand tiredly through his very mussed hair and gave her the truth. “In a way. Some of it.”

Her voice became very small again and she wrapped her arms around her torso, hugging herself against the slight chill she was just beginning to feel. “I don't know what to do. I don't want to hurt you anymore. But it seems like no matter what I do, I am hurting you. Please tell me, Spike, what can I do?”

Caught by the helplessness in her tone, he gently placed his hand under her chin and turned her so that she had to meet his eyes. Finally she peered into his face, wariness, fear, hurt and love all mixed up in her gaze. Unable to help himself, he pulled her closer, placing a soft kiss on her forehead before shifting her away again so she could see the honesty painted in his expression.

“Buffy, do you love me?” He knew she did, had heard her say it, but had never asked the question straight out before, and he found himself holding his breath, waiting, even though nearly certain he knew the answer.

“Oh, Spike...” she breathed and tears leapt into her eyes, barely trickling down to the corners. “I love you.”

Another breath and an even more difficult question for him to ask. “Do you want to be with me? Really be with me?” His eyes bore into hers, holding her still with only the force of his emotions, willing her to finally admit out loud what he had known since nearly forever. It was time to stop hiding behind assumptions and equivocations, time for the truth to be spoken out loud. “Buffy, are you ready to leave Angel, end that facade of a marriage, and be with me?”

He didn't even realize he was afraid of her answer until she met his gaze and nodded slowly. “I want to,” she gasped tearfully, almost afraid of admitting it.

“Are you going to?” He pushed her, relentless, hating to see her cry but needing the answer for both of them before they took one more step, made another move that could plunge them back into despair if they didn't have a clear guidepost.

Moisture still shining in her eyes, magnified by the last of the sunset's ray, she finally lifted her chin, defiant. “Yes,” she answered clearly this time. “I am.” Decision made, show of defiance over, she collapsed into him, shuddering with something that felt like relief. It was done.

His breathing eased as he caught her, and something seemed to click into place for both of them with her heartfelt admission. “Then it's easy,” he said, looking adoringly down at her, wiping the tears away with his thumbs. “Just let me be with you. No more worrying about what Xander said or about Angel...Buffy if you'll just stay with me, let me take care of you, I swear that's enough, more than enough to make me the happiest man on earth.” And I'll make you happy, he promised himself fiercely. No matter what he had to do, who he had to hurt, however much money he could throw at the problems to make them go away, he would do it.

He kissed her then, unable to hold off a single moment longer without having the taste of his girl on his lips. She was still crying and the tears deepened her usual sweet flavor, but she responded enthusiastically, pressing herself against him, relief and love pouring through her veins, thrumming between them like a living thing. It was never enough, but after a few minutes they broke apart, simply standing together, silently acknowledging the depth of this new step. The wind grew colder, making them shiver and by silent agreement they broke apart and headed back to the car. Reluctant to let go before absolutely necessary, Spike walked her to the passenger side, opened her door and with an even deeper level of tenderness than before, made sure she was tucked carefully into the seat before circling and getting back in on his own side.

“So,” he said, a segue into the issue that had started the confrontation, and the sound was so normal, that Buffy couldn't help the small bit of laughter that bubbled out.

His mouth quirked in response, but he continued talking, fiercely wanting to get them settled somewhere for the night. “I know it seems a bit anticlimactic now, kitten, but where do you want to stay tonight?”

And just like that, the sadness was back, not nearly as thick as before, but still covering her like a scarf draped on a lamp, just muting the glow. “I'm not sure,” she answered. “Wherever you want is fine.”

Mind working, Spike drummed his hands on the steering wheel. It was clear she wanted to go back to his place, and truth be told, he really did too.

“Sweetheart,” he began consideringly. “What if we could get into my house tonight, without being hassled? Would you still want to go there knowing the rag pushers could show up again another time?”

She hesitated, “Can they get in?”

“No. Absolutely not,” he answered firmly.

“Then yes,” her answer was quick and sure. “But...”

He held up one hand. “Wait a sec, luv.” He pulled out his phone and pressed the speed dial for Anya. She answered immediately, sounding harried. But as he explained what he wanted, her could feel her usual enthusiasm for a challenge take root, and by the end of the call she was assuring him that it would be taken care of by the time he and Buffy arrived and remonstrating with herself for not coming up with it in the first place.

“Do you really think it'll work?” Buffy asked when he had hung up, her words tinged with hope.

“Don't see why not,” he smiled at her. “A little diversion, a fake tip that we're checking into the Plaza and they'll be camped out there all night and half of the morning before they realize it was a lie. Not sure why I didn't think of it earlier, except we were both so tired.” And confused, he added silently, but knowing she understood the unsaid words.

Buffy leaned over to snuggle briefly into his shoulder as he started the car. “But now everything's going to be okay?” she asked, easy tone masking a host of emotions she couldn't identify. They both knew she was asking about more than the house, but he answered her with what he sincerely prayed would finally be the truth.

“Yeah, luv, everything's going to be fine.”

Buffy slept for nearly fifteen hours. She was that exhausted, the trauma of recent events taking their toll on her body until it just shut down in protest and refused to move. Spike himself slept for twelve, much longer than he was used to, and then laid next to her in bed for another hour, just watching her chest rise and fall, watching the flutter of her eyelashes that indicated dreaming. Whatever her unconsciousness came up with, her face remained peaceful and he silently swore to himself for the millionth time that she was going to stay that way.

Despite the fact that he could easily watch her for hours, Spike started to feel slightly twitchy, the forced inactivity of the previous day of traveling catching up to him. There were things to take care of, things he could do while she slept so she wouldn't have to worry about them later. Moving as slowly and carefully as he could, he eased out of the bed, rubbing his back absentmindedly. One of the things on that to-do list would involve ordering a new mattress. They had been so tired the night before that it hadn't mattered, but since Buffy-in-his-bed was going to become a regular thing (this he thought to himself almost fiercely, daring fate to prove him wrong), something more comfortable was definitely in order.

Still moving quietly, he slouched bare chested down the stairs, not bothering to change out of the sweats he had modestly slept in. He brewed a pot of coffee and quickly downed a cup, shivering at the jolt of caffeine that fled through his nervous system. Tea was all well and good, but there was nothing like American coffee to get you moving. Sitting at the counter he flipped open his laptop and started searching for a mattress company that would deliver today. Considering the amount of money he was willing to throw at the problem, he found what he was looking for rather quickly and mentally checked that off the list. Next had to be a call to Anya. She would know how to go about getting some discrete security around the house.

She answered briskly, in full business mode. “Spike, what can I do?”

“Good morning to you too, Ahn,” he grinned.

“Have you checked your watch?” she demanded sarcastically. “I've been waiting for you to call for hours.”

“I know.” Trying for a penitent tone, he decided to play on her vanity. “We were so tired, and I knew I could count on you to take care of anything that came up.”

“Well,” she replied, somewhat mollified. “It's actually been pretty quiet. No disasters in the last few hours at least.”

“Thanks for last night,” Spike said with complete sincerity. “No one was here waiting for us, and it doesn't look like anyone's hanging about now, either. We need to see about getting some extra security though, now that they know where to find me.”

“I've already started checking into it,” she assured him. “We should have something in place by the end of the day. Are you sure though,” she hesitated. “Maybe it would be better to just move?”

Spike sighed, absentmindedly tapping his fingers against the countertop. “Logistically, it might be. But Buffy's been through so much upheaval, I don't want to make her move again. She feels safe here,” he admitted. “And I don't want to take that away from her unless I absolutely have to.”

Anya's tone softened. “How is Buffy?”

“She's still asleep – bloody exhausted from everything that's been going on. But I think we're going to be okay. She's going to leave him, Ahn.” He couldn't help the fierce joy that passed through him to be able to say that out loud. He stared out the kitchen window, not seeing what was really there but instead imagining snapshots of a possible future with her in it.

“Thank god,” his manager's voice was heartfelt and emphatic.

With a sudden frown, he realized that it wasn't as easy as just making the decision. “We're going to need some help,” he admitted. “Buffy needs a lawyer – a good one. And we have to do something about getting her stuff as soon as possible. She doesn't really have even any clothes with her.”

A small noise from the hall startled him and he swung around to see Buffy there, still engulfed in his tee shirt, hair messy from sleep, watching him with an inscrutable expression on her face. “Got to go, Anya,” he said, hanging up abruptly.

The house was quiet and peaceful, and each breath seemed very loud in his ears as he looked at her. For a moment, none of the craziness mattered and he was struck by the normalcy of having her wake up in his house. Because it did feel normal, and right and like a bloody miracle at the same time, and if he wasn't careful his song lyrics were going to start sounding more like poetry, because he wanted to write sonnets and odes and epics about the beauty of seeing her wandering down the stairs with sleep mussed hair after spending the night in his bed.

“Hi,” the girl in question offered in a small voice.

“Hi,” he returned, grinning foolishly at her.

“Coffee?” she asked hesitantly.

“Of course, luv.” He beamed at her, nearly stumbling in his happy haze as he hurried to get her a cup.

But as she met his eyes over the rim of the mug, he realized that she wasn't feeling the same loopy joy. Her eyes were uncertain, and while she wasn't frowning, she wasn't smiling back at him either.

“What's wrong?” Spike asked anxiously, heart rate jumping in fear.

“Nothing,” Buffy answered, but the edges of the word trailed off in a way that made it impossible for him to believe her.

Taking her hand, he guided her into the living room and tugged her down on the sofa, his pulse slowing somewhat when she didn't shy from his touch. He knew decisions had been made last night, and he knew she wasn't going to change her mind, but something was obviously going on in her pretty little head.

Buffy took a deep breath, hiding for a moment behind the steam rising from the coffee cup she held in front of her face. It had been disconcerting coming down the stairs to hear him talking to Anya like that, like he was...

“Planning my life?” the corner of her mouth lifted in a slight smile, and the tone was light, but a small smudge of something dark hid behind it. Although she had made the decision, knew her marriage was over, it was somehow harder to think about the logistical side of ending her relationship with Angel than it was to concentrate on the hearts and flowers feelings she had for Spike.

“A little bit,” Spike acknowledged, still smiling at her but taking a bit more serious tone. “There are things that need to be done, decisions to be made.”

“Can't it wait?” she asked petulantly, biting her bottom lip. She pulled her feet up onto the sofa at the same time as she slid down the back, nearly folding in on herself.

Spike rubbed a hand over his face. He should have known she would feel like this. No matter what she had been through with Angel, ending a marriage couldn't be easy and Buffy did like to hide from the not-easy. Willing himself to be patient, he pulled her up and into his arms. “It could,” he answered reasonably. “It could wait for as long as you want.”

“I'm sensing a “but” in there somewhere,” she grumbled, and he chuckled despite his frustration, rubbing his cheek against her hair before shifting her so that he could see her eyes.

“Have you changed your mind?” he asked quietly. “Since last night have you changed your mind about wanting to be with me?”

“Spike, no!” Buffy cried, bringing her hand up to cup his face. “I've made my decision.”

He briefly nuzzled her palm, not really having doubted her to begin with, just wanting to make a point. Whatever had happened between them on the side of the highway last night had cemented things for him. He knew what was over and what was beginning, and was just eager to get to the good stuff. “So we could wait,” he said reasonably. “We could put off all the pesky little details like getting you an actual divorce, but Buffy, I don't want to wait. I don't want to spend one minute more than necessary without having you free and clear. I don't want you connected to him any longer, I want you here with me in every single way.”

His passion was beginning to overcome her timidity. These were hard things he was talking about, lawyers and movers and people she would have to let into her private affairs who might not understand. But Spike was right. It had to be done, so might as well jump in and get it over with. Taking a deep breath, she looked up and nodded at him. “Okay.”
“Okay?” he raised his eyebrows.

“Okay,” she reaffirmed. “I'll get a lawyer, and we'll make all those arrangements.” Her head drifted down to his chest, her agreement seeming to take some of the strength out of her. They just sat for a moment, resting against each other, Spike's fingers gentle in her hair, absentmindedly combing out tangles.

“Spike?” her voice was small.

“Hmmm?” he hummed softly.

“Is it wrong to be scared?”

He hugged her to him fiercely. “No, sweetheart. Nothing you feel is wrong. But what are you afraid of, luv? Angel? I swear, he'll never touch you again, I wouldn't let that happen.” Solemnity and vehemence made a strange mix, but his words held both an oath and a threat.

But Buffy ducked her head. “I'm not afraid of him. Not really. It's more like...” she fluttered her hand briefly, searching for words before returning it to a tight grip on his forearm. “It's just, so much has happened. I just...what if we can't do normal?”

Relaxing, he smiled down at her tenderly. “There is no such thing as normal,” he scoffed. “We'll be us, and it'll be good, Buffy. I promise you, it'll be good. Okay?” he asked a second time.

“Okay.” This time, she smiled in answer. Maybe it would all work out somehow, after all. Spike seemed so sure of it, so maybe she could try to believe it too.

“All right,” he said brightly, swinging his legs off the sofa, a burst of energy coursing through him that had absolutely nothing at all to do with caffeine. “Let's get you a divorce.”