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Chapter 3

Buffy looked down at the man stretched out on her bed, picked up her spongebag and turned for the door.

"Look, I'm going for a bath, then we've got to figure out how to get you past matron. Don't move from there, you need to rest, okay?"

"Yes ma'am." Spike saluted her and lay back against the pillows. Her pillows. Which she should be relaxing on right now. But although she was fairly sure there was nothing at all wrong with him, she couldn't take a chance. Not if he might have a concussion. And now she felt all responsible for him.

"And don't even think of trying to climb back out that window, d'you hear me?"

"Loud and clear. Umm, I could help you wash your…"

"And don't you even think about that either," she ordered him, but she could see by the smirk on his face that he already was.

"Look, just stay put, and don't touch anything."

"I wouldn't dare."

She watched in irritation as Spike put his hands behind his head and assumed a look of extreme innocence, which didn't fool her for one moment. The leery grin was still on his face. He had her, and he knew it.

What the hell had possessed her to hit him? He would have delivered his package and gone back the way he'd come, and she'd never have had to see him again. Only now she was stuck with him in her room, and she already suspected that he was going to be possibly the worse patient that she would ever have the misfortune to nurse.

She spun on her heels, but he called her back, slipping his hand under his leather flight jacket and bringing out a neatly wrapped parcel.

"You forgot these."

"No, I didn't."

"Think you did love. Go on Buffy, take them. It's the least I could do after…"

"No, don't go there." She held up her hands as if by doing so she could make him magically disappear. "Have you any idea how difficult it is to walk home in a gale without underwear?"

Spike's eyes widened for a second and then he looked suspiciously like someone who was trying to stop himself from laughing, but not succeeding very well. His mouth twitched at the corners as he struggled to keep a straight face.

"Never done it myself, but I'm willing to give it a try. Go on, take 'em. Cost me an arm and a leg."

"Good." Buffy snatched the parcel, then tossed it down onto Anya's bed. "Right, now I'm getting that bath."

"Not going to try them on then?"

She looked back over her shoulder and raised her eyebrows. "In your dreams, Spike."

Did he really think she was going to put them on for him? He may be cute, but he wasn't that cute. Was he? She sneaked another look at him as she turned to go, then looked away. Damn but he was, pity about the being a complete idiot part.

"Chicken."

"What?"

"You're chicken."

"I am not."

"Put them on then."

"Look, buster, you'll be modelling these for me before I put 'em on for you."

"Alright you're on. Throw them over."

Buffy watched wide eyed as Spike sat up and shrugged out of his jacket. He was just starting the top button of his trousers when she flew across the room and stopped him, slapping her hand unceremoniously into his crotch.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Trying them on, be a love and get them for me." He looked down pointedly at her hand.

"Are you mad?" She followed his gaze, realising where her hand had landed and hastily removing it. "I do not want to see you in a pair of knickers."

"Well, I won't look as good as you in them, that's for sure, but come on, hand'em over, I never run from a challenge."

She stood back and folded her arms. "Neither do I."

"Thought as much, you want to go first then?"

"Has anyone ever told you how annoying you are? No don't answer that. Okay Spike Giles, you're on. You sure you can handle this?"

"No problem." He settled back down again, only now he wasn't wearing his jacket and his trousers were almost undone, and that smile was back. That smile that told her he thought he'd got one over on her. That he was in charge of the situation. Who the hell did he think he was dealing with here? She'd show him who was in charge.

Buffy picked up the parcel and pulled at the string, glancing at him once again as she turned round. He wasn't going to be looking quite so calm when she'd finished with him, she thought, taking out the underwear and holding it up.

Well, he had good taste anyway, and they did look wickedly expensive.

"Black market?"

"Where else?"

She looked around again, unable to resist half closing her eyes and giving her bottom just a very small wriggle as she pulled the French knickers on. He couldn't see what she was doing because her robe still covered her and she had her back to him, but she could see that he had leaned forward ever so slightly, and that his eyes had widened in anticipation. Yes, Spike Giles, you are going to regret ever asking me to do this, she thought with considerable satisfaction as she smoothed the silk over her hips. She still had on her original panties but the French knickers covered them well enough, so she pulled her robe closed and turned around to face him.

"You ready?"

"Yes." It came out slightly squeakier than his normal voice and she could see that he was having trouble with the smirk. Try as he might, he didn't seem to be able to get it back on his face.

"Okay, here goes."

"Wait." His hand came to stop her as she pulled open the ties of her robe.

"What now?" She stopped in mid pull as he pushed his cuff away from his wristwatch and made a big show of looking at it.

"How long do I get?"

"What do you mean how long do you get?"

He was mad. She had a truly certifiable lunatic in her bed. And she was about to flash him her underwear because he'd said she was too chicken not to do it. That must make her mad too. Oh god, she'd known this man all of two days and already she was acting like him.

Think of Liam, she told herself sternly. Good old, reliable Liam, pillar of the community, with his Rolls Royce and his sensible hair, and his season ticket to the opera. Liam, who would never in his wildest dreams climb in through her bedroom window to give her underwear. And who would never expect her to parade in front of him in them, like some harlot.

"One minute."

"One minute. Are you crazy? Yes, I know. We've already established that. I am not standing in front of you in my underwear for a whole minute.

"Fifty seconds then. Those things were bloody expensive."

"Twenty."

"Forty."

"Thirty, and that's my final offer."

"Alright, done." Spike looked at his watch again and counted off the seconds. "Three, two, one, go for it."

So she did, pulling the robe apart, only now realising that he was seeing a lot more than the kickers. She almost wavered then, her trembling hands wanting to do nothing more than close the robe and run from the room. A room that was getting hotter and hotter as the seconds ticked away.

She hadn't been going to blush because she was in charge here, right? And there was no way that Spike Giles was going to keep his composure, because he was obviously a complete idiot who never took anything seriously. But as she stood there in front of him, she felt the atmosphere in the room changing, and there wasn't a thing she could do about it.

Spike sat right up, blinked and cocked his head to one side, his lips slightly parted and a look of mild confusion on his face. She saw his eyes scan her body briefly and come back to rest on her face, and if she hadn't known better, then she would have said that the look on his face was one of shock.

She had a snarky comment on the tip of her tongue as she stood there, not doing any of the things she'd planned to, but somehow it didn't come out. She'd been going to give him a bit of a show, get him all worked up and then swan imperiously away to her bath and leave him to stew. But all she could do was stand there with an expression probably much the same as he was sporting. The game had suddenly turned deadly serious. Someone had changed the rules, flipped a coin and now she didn't know what to do. His thirty seconds were up, but she made no move to close the robe as he searched her eyes for something, only she didn't know what, and she couldn't move because she was trapped. Pinned to the spot by his gaze.

And she probably would have stood there all night, robe open, if he hadn't shaken himself out of the haze that had descended on them both, and slipped quietly from the bed and closed it for her.

"You play dirty, love." He leaned in and whispered it close to her ear, his voice low and barely there. "It's really not fair."

He was still looking at her as he reached for the ties, his warm fingers just grazing her sides as he closed the gown. And she moved slightly into his touch, disappointed that it didn't last longer and that he was turning back towards the bed and picking up his jacket. He slipped it on, adjusted the collar, shook his head and muttered something, almost to himself, as if he'd forgotten she was in the room.

Then he lifted his head and studied her thoughtfully for a moment, and that's when she saw it. Saw him. The person he really was behind all the bravado and the brashness. The person who hid behind that self-satisfied grin and wise-cracking talk.

She saw the fear and the uncertainty, the hopelessness and despair of a life lived on the edge, and she saw something else.

Regret.

For a split second as their eyes locked she saw it all, and that was the moment she fell in love with him. Only she didn't know it at the time, either.


------------------------------------------


Langdon Airbase 2003

"He sent me a poem, you know. Underneath all that noise and bleached hair, he was a sensitive soul. Just didn't like anyone knowing it."

William inspected his fingernails, then stuck his hands in his pockets. "Mother, this is all very personal, you don't have to tell me everything."

"And I won't, don't worry. If I go quiet for a while, well, it's just like you say, too personal." Buffy gave a small laugh. "I remember it all though, everything he said, everything he did. He wanted to be remembered you see. Made me promise I'd never forget him. How could I ever forget him, William?"

He nodded in agreement. "Sounds like he was a real character."

"He was that. Look, I have it here." She opened her purse and fished inside, bringing out a folded sheet and handing it to him. "I'd like you to have it."

William took the sheet and unfolded it. "Andrew Marvell"

Buffy laughed again, then stared into the distance. "Took me a while to work out what it all meant. Wasn't very well up on poetry."

He scanned the handwritten verse and smiled to himself. "Had we but world enough and time..." Then he read silently for a few moments and the smile faded. "But you didn't, did you?"

"No, we didn't. That's what he was trying to tell me. I thought it was just a crummy chat up line, but he was right. He had this knack of being right about the important things. Used to annoy the hell out of me."

"So, when did he give you this?"

"Oh, he appeared at the worse possible time, as usual. Liam had two tickets to the opera…"


-------------------------------------------------


Royal Air Force Military Hospital, Langdon. June 1940


"La Boheem. What's a Boheem?"

"Bo'em, it's pronounced Bo'em, and it's an opera. Say you'll come with me, Buffy."

"Oops," Buffy giggled and put her hand over her mouth. "I've never been to the opera before. Will I like it?"

"I've no idea, but say you'll come anyway. If you don't like it, we can sneak out during the interval. How about it?"

Buffy looked up at Consultant Surgeon Liam O' Connor. Tall, dark and handsome Liam O' Connor. Strong, silent and very tall Liam O' Connor. He stood before her quietly waiting for her to make up her mind, never pushing her to a decision, never harassing her for anything she wasn't prepared to give willingly. He'd told her that much. Had said he wanted her, but he knew the score. Knew she was going back to the States after the war, so he didn't want to start anything they couldn't finish.

And she'd decided that he was right, they'd talked about it sensibly and rationally, as he probably did everything, and decided that they'd just be friends. Casual dates, theatre, that sort of thing, but he wasn't about to stick to the agreement. She could see it in his eyes, in the way they followed her everywhere she went, the silent longing, the simple look of adoration. And she was falling for it, falling for his gentlemanly charm and quiet persistence, starting to think that maybe she wouldn't be going back to the States after all. Starting to think that maybe she had a future here with him.

"Okay. I'll come, but can we stick to what we said for now, you know about taking it slow?"

"Of course we can, Buffy." He looked at his watch and flashed her a smile. "Look, I'm due in the operating theatre in a few minutes. I'll pick you up on Saturday at say, six o'clock. Perhaps we can catch a meal after the show? I know this little place where they can still get hold of a mean steak."

"God, real food. I'll love you for life Liam, just get me that steak."

"Would you Buffy?"

"What?" She knew what he meant as he stood there, shyly, but she didn't have the answer he wanted. Not yet anyway

"Nothing, see you on Saturday."

He spun on his heels and strode purposefully through the double doors at the end of the corridor, almost bumping into Anya as she appeared through them pushing a trolley.

"So, did he ask you?" She ran expectantly up to Buffy and stood in front of her, arms folded. "Come on, tell me everything."

Buffy took a step back, almost knocked over by Anya's enthusiasm for her love life.

"Yes he asked, and yes I said I'll go."

"So, where's he taking you?"

"Opera."

Anya burst into a round of noisy laughter. "Opera? How boring is that. Anyway, I thought most of the theatres were closed, for the duration."

Buffy shrugged her shoulders, "Apparently not. Then he's taking me to some posh place for a meal."

Anya sighed. "You lucky cow, oh, by the way, your brother asked me to give you this." She fumbled in her pocket and brought out an envelope.

Buffy took it, frowning. "I don't have a brother."

Anya gave her a knowing look. "Okay, I'll rephrase. A secret admirer asked me to give you this."

Buffy's heart skipped several beats as she turned the envelope over in her hand. "Airman, strange hair, stupid grin?"

"That's him, he's waiting downstairs."

"What for? And why should I care?"

"Well, I don't know." Anya collected her trolley and sauntered past her with it. "Enema on ward five, I don't suppose you'd like to…"

"No way, I'm off in five minutes. He's not really waiting, is he?

"Said he was. He's in A and E."

"A and E, is he hurt?"

"Thought you said you didn't care?" Anya pushed open the doors and negotiated the trolley through it. "Read the bloody letter, and remember…"

"Yeah, I know, if I don't want him, you'll have him."

"Sure will, you lucky cow. You can't have them both, you know. That's just greedy."

Buffy pocketed the letter, telling herself she wasn't going down, but already knowing that she was. She couldn't leave him sitting there, right? It just wouldn't be polite, would it? It had absolutely nothing to do with wanting to see if his eyes were still as blue as she remembered them, or as open and vulnerable. Or if he was in A and E because he was hurt.

She walked back to the office and scribbled up her notes, his letter burning a hole in her pocket. Checked on the coma patient, delivered a bedpan and then she was off.

Back to her room. Definitely not to A and E.

Then why the hell was she headed there? And why the hell had she nipped into a deserted stock room to read his letter? A letter in whose contents she had no interest whatsoever. She sat down on a stack of boxes, took it out of her pocket and ripped it open.

It looked like a poem. Oh God, he'd written her a poem. Her insides suddenly felt like they'd melted. No one had ever written her a poem before, and it was long. As she scanned down the verse which had been carefully written out in copperplate script, she read a name at the bottom that wasn't his, and she actually managed to feel both relieved and disappointed at the same time. So he hadn't written it. Hadn't gone home and spent hours working on a poem especially for her. Good, now she wouldn't have to be beholden to him.

She read the first few lines, realising it was quite old and rather Shakespearean in style. Andrew Marvell, who the hell was he?

Had we but world enough and time, this coyness lady were no crime

Coyness? When had she been coy with him?

We would sit down and think which way to walk, and pass our long love's day

Oh heck, was he asking her on a date? She couldn't go on a date with Spike, she was going out with Liam.

It took her two attempts to get the letter back into its envelope, her hand was shaking so much. It hadn't shaken like this when Liam had asked her to the opera. Neither had her heart done the tango, as it was now. And she hadn't been the slightest bit worried whether her hair was in place or whether she looked awful without make-up.

Right now her feet were taking her to A and E of their own accord and she was raking her fingers through her hair as she removed her hat, and pinching her cheeks to get some colour into them.

She found him just outside the door, leaning against the wall and smoking a cigarette. He threw it down as she approached and she was completely taken aback by the lurch of excitement that jolted through her as he turned to her. No, not excitement, nervousness, or something. She couldn't even tell what it was that she was feeling. All she knew was that her heart was jumping around in her chest, her breath had caught in her throat and all she could see was him, striding towards her now, his face deadly serious and intent on her alone.

She thought he was going to walk right through her because he didn't stop, even when he'd got so close that they were touching. Body to body, he caught her by the elbows and she staggered back a few steps as he steadied her and then his lips came down on hers and it was so sudden and unexpected that she had no time to resist, or think of anything beyond what he was doing.

She'd been kissed before, of course she had, but not like this. This kiss didn't ask what she wanted, it told her. It didn't try to persuade or coax. It didn't say I might, or maybe. It said you will, and I do, and we don't have time to discuss this. Don't have time for pretty speeches and flowers. Maybe we don't have any time at all.

Maybe this is all we have.

And as she listened to his kiss, her body which had been as hard as his against him began to soften, and her hands were creeping into his hair and her lips were moving at last against his, giving him her own message.

Telling him it was okay and that she knew what he wanted, and she knew why he wanted it so urgently, and that he should take it because she wanted to give it to him, because he needed it so badly.

And she felt him calming down at last, his lips still moving against her, but now they were no longer crushing hers, or demanding anything of her. The tempo slowed to an easy rhythm, her body melting into his, and swaying gently as he held her.

And even though she was vaguely aware of people walking past them, looking at them, some staring curiously, someone whistling, a mother hiding her child's eyes, she didn't care. Spike needed her, and she realised then that she needed him too. Needed his strength and his warmth, his intensity and his sadness. Needed it like she'd never needed anything before. And all thoughts of Liam and the opera vanished from her mind as if he'd never existed.

All she could see was Spike. Spike warm and solid in her arms, his lips on hers, his hands on her shoulders, holding her to him as if he was never going to let her go. And she didn't want him to. Not now and not ever.

Don't do this, a small voice whispered. Don't fall in love with him, because how could you bear it if anything happened? How would you go on?

But it was already too late. Too late for the both of them. He broke the kiss and took a few ragged breaths, burying his face into her shoulder and speaking to her at last. And his voice was thick and unsteady as he struggled to breathe and get the words out.

And she didn't have an answer to his question.

"What the hell have you done to me, Summers? What the bloody hell have you done?"


tbc.





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