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Chapter 29

Spike bounded up the stairs to the apartment, whistling, feeling a slight spring to his step. He was still on a high from the night before at the poetry reading. He'd been writing for years, but had never shared aside from his mother. She had always told him how talented he was, but he just figured she was saying that because she was him mom. Moms were supposed to inflate their offspring's egos. And, if he was honest with himself, he thought he had a knack for writing too. Last night, he'd felt validated in that thought. He'd gotten praise from more than one person and they wished him back for the next week. It was exhilarating standing up there, having all eyes on him and being able to give voice to the words that had only been shared with his notebook thus far. It was as if he was setting them free and letting it go. It was like magick.

He stopped whistling as soon as the door shut behind him. Buffy. She was there. He could feel her. Strange, that. Well, maybe not so much. His heart swelled and his feet carried him to her bedroom. The one she'd pretty much vacated. She sat on her bed, staring out the window.

"Hi," she said without turning around.

"Hi," he said slowly.

"You were whistling."

"I was."

"I didn't even know you could whistle."

"It's easy. You just put your lips together and blow," he grinned.

She chuckled.

He sat down next to her. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here."

"Could have fooled me."

"Yeah, know. I guess I was trying for some lighthearted glib. . ness."

He smiled and dared himself to reach out and push some hair away from her face.
When he did, she turned finally to look at him.

"Hi," he said again.

She smiled, "We just did that."

"Yeah, but now I can see your face. How are you?"

"How are you?"

"I asked you first."

"I asked you second," she said lightly.

He took a deep breath, "Not going to tell me then, that it?"

"I'm curious about you. You were the one whistling. Whistling means good things
doesn't it?"

"Or just that I have a song stuck in my head."

"So? Which is it?"

"I thought you gave up rights to wondering about me."

She shot him a look that was part hurt and part glare. "You know that's not true."

And the thing was, he did know that wasn't true. He shook his head. "Sorry. Just
sometimes I get bitter when it comes to you."

"I know. And believe it or not, I understand."

"I went to a bookstore last night. They were having a poetry reading and I read some of
my work," he told her. He relayed to her how he'd gotten a new notebook and had been
writing like crazy. He told her how he felt the need to share and how it felt to share—the
exhilaration and feeling of accomplishment that he'd done it.

"That's excellent Will, I'm—"

"Spike. I – I just want to go by Spike now."

"We're back to that?"

He nodded, "I feel different. I'm not completely . . . how did you put it? Done baking?"

She smiled wryly and stared back out the window.

"But," he continued, "I don't feel the same either. I kind of feel in the middle. Like I'm
in the midst of something and I just don't feel like William anymore. I want to be Spike."

She nodded. "Spike it is then."

"Thank you."

She grabbed his hand and squeezed it. "You're welcome."

They sat there in silence, staring out the window together and just being. Finally, Spike
broke the spell.

"Can I tell you that I miss you?" he asked softly.

She nodded, "I miss you too."

"Is that why you came by when you thought you might actually catch me?"

She nodded. "That and something else."

Spike let go of her hand and stood. "I don't know if I want to know," he groaned.

"Spike, I'm thinking its pointless for me to keep paying rent when for all intents and
purposes, I don't really live here."

He stared at her. "You're going to move out?"

"Well, I haven't really even BEEN here."

"Good point." He stopped, and rubbed the back of his head, causing his curls to go
awry. "I don't know if I want you to leave though Buffy. I mean . . . yeah, you haven't been
here, but it's your home. I like the idea that you'll come back."

"Spike—"

"Because you will come back," he stated firmly.

She met his eyes. "I haven't really left Will—Spike."

He looked at his feet. "I haven't seen you in two weeks," he pointed out softly.

"I didn't want to hurt you anymore. I thought if I stayed away it'd hurt less. For both of
us."

"For both of us ay? So you're sporting a broken heart too?"

"Of the worst kind," she admitted.

"Second only to me."

"And probably victims of violent crimes."

He started to laugh at that and sat down beside her once again. "I don't want you to leave, but I understand if you do. You need it too, right Buffy? The change?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I do. I never realized how much until. . . Yeah, I could benefit from
it too. I kind of feel loopy right now. So much has happened over the past month and a half and
I feel as if I've been on auto pilot . . . especially lately. I don't know that I've given myself time
to really process everything. I think that's bad. It has given me a chance to really take a look at
myself and the things going on inside my head."

"You've never really been the one to think things through. That was always my forte."

"Well then. We've learned something already, haven't we?"

"We have, but I don't like not seeing you for this long."

"I don't like it either," she admitted.

"Where are you going to go Buffy?"

"Well, a rather large studio opened up in Willow's building. It's a hundred more than
this, but I can do it. The landlady is really nice and waived last months rent and is allowing me
to give her a little at a time for security. Will you be able to handle this place alone? If not, I'll
pay until—"

"I'll find a way Buffy. Xander has been complaining more and more every day about
cellar living at his parents. I can ask him to move in with me."

She nodded, "I'm glad I came over today."

"So am I, Buffy, so am I."





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