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Author's Chapter Notes:
I'm ba-ack...MIss me? :)
Chapter 27

One could claim that Andrew was weird. However, he was smart. At least Spike was beginning to think so. The guy had gotten Spike out of the house and treated him to a greasy breakfast and then took him shopping---yes,shopping. Andrew told him that if he insisted in being in mourning over the loss of Buffy, then he should dress the part and insisted on buying him a few black t shirts and jeans. Spike had laughed, whilst trying to decipher if Andrew was gay or not. He decided in the end, he didn't much care.

"A wise man once said ‘What a silly thing love is! It is not half as useful as logic, for it does not prove anything and it is always telling one things that are not going to happen, and making one believe things that are not true,'" Andrew quoted.

"Who said it?"

"Oscar Wilde."

"Ah, I've read him. Funny man."

"And he had a knack for being brutally honest and saying things as they are. He also
said once that ‘When one is in love one begins by deceiving oneself. And one ends by deceiving
others. That is what the world calls romance.'"

"You believe that too?"

Andrew shrugged. "I'm not sure. The first one though . . . Should I believe it?"

"I think I'm the wrong one to ask," Spike said frankly.

"I think Buffy loves you very much."

Spike's eyes widened at that and he stopped in the middle of the department store aisle.
"You did hear my story this morning right? How she left me?"

"She didn't leave you. She set you free. There's a difference. To leave someone is to take
off without a backward glance and without a care. To set you free implies that she could have
held the cage closed out of selfishness to keep you behind those bars. Setting you free implies
that she loved you enough to want you to be free."

"I don't WANT to be free, Andrew. She wasn't holding me back from anything
aside from being free to love her!"

Andrew tsked him. "Ever think that maybe she was afraid that she'd hinder you in
some way? Hold you back? Maybe she had the foresight to see it happen and you couldn't."

That stumped him. Stumped him enough to seek Buffy out after having dropped his bags and Andrew off at the apartment.

He stood outside Willow's apartment with his fist poised to knock and yet could not
bring himself to do it. He knew the heartache and anger he'd feel at seeing her beautiful face
again and wasn't sure he could endure another match where he begged her to come back and
she told him no.

He was about to walk away when the door opened. He turned to see a stunned Buffy.

"Will?"

"Hi," he greeted her quietly. The scent of vanilla and lavender wafted to him and he
stuck his hands in his pockets. He wouldn't go to her. He'd stand right there in the hall and
fight the urge to go to her.

"Want to come in?"

"Sure." Stupid git—what happened to staying in the hall?

He breezed past her and entered Willow's. He turned to Buffy, unsure what to do with
himself.

"Is everything okay with the apartment? Do you need anything?"

"Buffy, did you think that you would have hurt me or that I would have hurt you? Is
that why you ‘set me free'?"

She stood there in the doorway after having just shut the door. The expression on her
face told him she wasn't prepared for that question. She appeared to be mulling it over in her
mind.

"Yes," she finally answered.

"Which part?"

"Both."

"Care to elaborate?" he asked, raking a hand through his hair.

"Would you like to sit first?"

"No, I just. . . I want to know."

"Okay. Can I use a metaphor?"

"Could I really stop you?"

"Not really, I've been working on it for some time now."

"Well, then don't let me stop you from bouncing your metaphor off on me. English was
my specialty, lets see if this is any good," and he tossed her a lopsided grin.

"You'll probably hate it."

"Tell me and take the chance."

"That's a loaded statement if I ever heard one," she muttered.

"If only you'd taken the chance huh?"

Buffy sighed. "I did take a chance. Just not on the same thing you're talking about. . . I'll
start with the metaphor. It has to do with cookie dough."

Now Spike sighed, "This oughta be good."

She gave him a wan smile. "Keep an open mind Will, please?"

"I think I will sit after all," he said and he placed himself on Willow's couch. Buffy sat
across the room from him on Willow's love seat.

"Will, lets say that when you met Drusilla you had taken some ingredients out for
cookies, except you didn't know how to put them together. You had an idea, but you didn't
know it well enough to do it on your own. So Dru came along and handed you the recipe and
off you went. She encouraged you and I . . . well, I was the one you were making cookies for.
Let's say she told you to add nuts. . . and you chopped them up to add. You thought they'd
make the cookies better. . . edgier. Then I came in and told you I hated nuts, and I didn't even
like the cookies you were making as a matter of fact."

"You love chocolate chip."

"I do. With nuts on occasion too. So, I tell you I hate nuts and I tell you that I hate the
chocolate chip cookies because really, I'm insulted that you didn't ask me for the recipe. After
all, I know how to make cookies better than anyone, and I feel that I can help you make the
cookies the best because I know how I like those cookies. You tell me that I can help do it with
you. Except, now I can't. The recipe is not mine, it's yours. It was yours all along really. It's still
yours. I had no right to tell you how to bake your cookies. They're YOUR cookies."

"But I made them for you. I should make them how you like them."

She bit her lip. "Or, I should accept that you have different way of making cookies and
not criticize or tell you how to do it."

Silence fell and Spike mulled over her scenario. "So, I'm the cookie dough in this
scenario is what you're saying?"

"Right."

"Okay, but right now the dough is just still dough. They haven't been baked yet."

"Right, exactly. So, I'm leaving the room Will and telling you to add the nuts and when
they're done making them the way you want them and they're all done baking, I know I'll
want to eat them. However long it takes for them to be done. Only you can know that."

He regarded her silently. "I'm not done baking."

"Right. And I don't want to be the one to tell you how to . . . bake yourself. I want to be
the one that lets you . . . bake . . . all on your own. I don't want to hold you back Will, what kind
of friend or girlfriend would I be if I did that?"

"And what about the other girls you want me to experience? You still want me to find
someone else to love? Because I can't see it happening Buffy. I love someone else and that just
means there's less love there for you and I can't . . . "

"I won't lie to you Will. I started out wanting to protect myself because I was convinced
you'd eventually grow bored of me and want to try things with other women."

"Even though I had the chance to do it and still came back to you? I know I could have
with Dru or any of those other women that wanted me—"

"But you feel comfortable with me. You're a creature of comfort Will. You always have
been. You do what's in your safety net to do and you're not exactly adventurous."

"So, you think one day that my adventurous spirit could burst forth," he stated.

"Right. You know the saying of ‘sowing your wild oats'…"

"I don't WANT to sow my oats!"

"And what if I'm an oat Will?"

He shook his head furiously. "No, you're not an oat. You're my girl. My Buffy. You
always have been and you always will be. I don't want anyone else because you're it Buffy,
why can't you just trust me on this?"

"Will. Just let me do this for you, please? I know you're angry with me right now and
you don't understand, but one day you will. I pray it's sooner than later."

Spike sighed and raked a hand through his hair. "It seems you're not the only one that
holds the same thoughts."

"Oh? So not everyone hates me?"

He shook his head. "No, not everyone. Does everyone seem to hate you?"


"My mom and Dawn. Willow's been a good devils advocate."

"My mom is upset with you."

Buffy nodded sadly. "Didn't imagine I'd have a lot of fans, but Will. . . I don't care what
they think of me. I only care what you think."

"Do you?" he asked quietly, looking down at the floor.

"I love you."

His head shot up at that. "Don't tell me that when I can't even . . . don't tell me that," he
whispered fiercely.

"I'm sorry, but what I did—"

"And don't tell me you did it because you love me."

Buffy clamped her mouth shut. Then, "Does a small part of you understand at least?"
she asked softly.

Spike stood from his place on the couch and went for the door. He stopped in front of
her as she looked up at him with wide watery green eyes. He itched to kiss her, touch her, hold
her and not let her go, but he knew he couldn't.

"Yes," he said softly and walked out the door. He stood in the hallway, listening to her
cry and wanting to go to her, but knowing it wasn't what she wanted him to do. She wanted
him to go . . . so he went.





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