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Ch. 7: Working Off Memories

Author's Note: I am not, in any way, a Spoyce fan (because that just sounds dirty). The brief indiscretion is merely part of the plot and is therefore necessary (notice I didn't go into details). Please trust my inherent belief in delicious Spuffy goodness.

"Mom, was that the doorbell—Spike! Mom, this is Spike," Buffy said excitedly, running up to Spike and squeezing his arm.

"Spike?" Joyce questioned with an arched eyebrow, her expression laden with significance. Spike blushed furiously and looked down. "I always knew him as William."

"Wait, you guys know each other?" Buffy said, confusion on her face.

"Yeah, Spike has been spending his summers at the house next door for years. You never met him because we stopped vacationing here during the summer after the divorce; your father tended to frequent the place then, so we ended up coming during the winter."

"Actually, I haven't visited as consistently as I used to, since I finished university." Spike felt himself becoming more at ease, thankful that Joyce wasn't trying to hide the fact that they knew each other. As Joyce and Buffy began chatting about that summer around the time of the divorce, Spike began reminiscing as well.

8 years earlier

He woke up in a daze, his first experience still a shock in his memory. His body felt sated, slightly sore, yet still tingling with energy. He turned onto his side to face an empty bed. Sitting up quickly, William looked around, only to see Joyce sitting at the vanity brushing her hair. Upon seeing him stir, she turned around to look at him.

"Hi," she said quietly. "Did you have a nice nap?"

"Uh, yes, I did. Did you sleep at all?" William said hesitantly, not sure what to expect of the conversation.

"Oh, yes. I had to after...But—" She hesitated, fiddling with the sash on her robe. "I don't want you to think that I do this sort of thing all the time—I definitely am not that type of a woman. I can barely comprehend this at all, but I also don't want you to think that I regret what happened."

"I hope that I was okay—I mean, I've never, I mean—I guess it would only make sense that I was not—"

"No, not at all. William, it was wonderful—you were wonderful. And it was very special to me, to be the one to experience it with you. Cecily is definitely missing out," she said with a small smile. "But let's leave our memory special."

"It always will be. Joyce, I will always remember what an remarkable woman you are." He reached out to hold her hand, and in their shared look, they felt the finality of that moment.

***

He had almost expected to be embarrassed about it, scared to find pleasure again, unsure of himself--but that hadn’t happened. Instead, the closure on his first experience gave him more confidence in himself, in talking with women and being sure of who he was. He had eventually shed the stuttering, shy demeanor and embraced the charming self that had always lived just underneath his surface. "Spike" had emerged shortly thereafter; though he had only seen Joyce in passing since their time together, he had always felt a sort of gratitude to the woman who had helped him come into himself.

"So that's cool, that you guys are already acquainted. Mom, are you still planning on leaving tonight?" Buffy asked, her voice breaking into Spike's thoughts.

"I still have that early meeting at the gallery tomorrow morning, so yes—I'm going to drive back to the house tonight. But are we still on for that picnic where you show me your portfolio of new photos next Saturday?" Joyce said, reaching for her keys and her purse.

"Definitely. And I promise you that I'll be done with the whole thing. Down to the mounting and everything. And then you'll be so proud," Buffy said with determination. "And hopefully, since you're my deadline, I'll actually do it in time for my meeting with my future boss."

"Sounds good to me. See you then, sweetie," Joyce said as she kissed her daughter goodbye. "Be good," she whispered into her daughter's ear. "It was nice seeing you again, William." Joyce gave them both a smile and left.

"Who knew you were so close to me for so long? I mean, we could've met years ago," Buffy said, wrapping her arms around his waist. "If you and my mom met, what, 8 years ago? Then you could've been my cool beach boyfriend. Of course, I don't know how much my mom would have let me date then, since I was just starting high school. But you never know. How old were you? Which, I guess is my way of asking how old you are now? I never got the chance to ask earlier."

"I was 17 then, and I'm 25 now. And you're 22?" Spike asked, his arms loosely resting around her waist.

"Yup. Fresh out of college with a job on the horizon," Buffy replied. "So what do you want to do now?" she asked, her fingers running down his arms.

"Actually, I was thinking we could take a walk. The beach is pretty beautiful and pretty empty at night. It's one of my favorite things to do," Spike said candidly. He was still a little shaken—obviously—by the sudden appearance of his first lover, and he wanted some time to walk and process all this new information. And he wasn't about to hop into bed with the daughter of his first lover. Well, not yet anyway.

"Oh, that sounds wonderful. Let's go out through the back."

Leaving their shoes, they walked through the house and into the night air. The cool sand squished beneath their feet, and the ocean breeze feathered its touch over them.

"There's something about walking by the beach that lends itself to contemplation," Spike said after they had walked in silence for a few moments.

"It's just so beautiful, the stars and the air and the ocean. It's pretty. It makes me happy," Buffy said simply. "And the silence is kinda nice, though I'm curious as to what you're thinking about."

"Oh, I'm not thinking of much at all. Just sort of feeling, being." He watched his toes push into the sand. Truthfully, he was thinking so much he was surprised his brain wasn't smoking. This morning he had been frustrated by his poofter of a cousin and his deranged girlfriend. Then he had met Buffy and spent the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon getting to know this amazing woman who practically glowed in her beauty and confidence. Then, after spending their time apart thinking about her, he had finally come over to see her, only to be confronted by an old memory—not a memory that haunted him or controlled him, but a strong memory nonetheless. Joyce had been his first and would therefore always be special to him. Buffy was the kind of woman he'd been dreaming about meeting for so long. How terrible would it be to allow himself some happiness with Buffy? They obviously had a connection, one that he hadn't felt in a long time, if ever. But how would Buffy react when she found out he had slept with her mom? The question sounded so ludicrous, straight out of a soap opera. He had had his fair share of problems with women, but nothing like this. In fact, Joyce had been the only older woman he had ever slept with. He wanted to tell Buffy what it had meant to him, how it had only been once, how it had been sort of like salvation for both of them at that particular moment, but how it had never developed into any kind of affair. But then he began to wonder if he needed to tell her at all. What were the chances that she would be okay with it? He closed his eyes and sighed, the thoughts becoming too much to handle.

Buffy reached out and held his hand. She had felt such a connection to him, one she couldn't quite explain. She was torn between jumping him right there on the beach and letting the relationship develop before jumping him on the beach. She knew what her rule was—for possible serious relationships, no sex till the fifth date. If she were looking for sex, the rule was different, but she felt that this had potential. So she reined in her hormones and tried to focus on getting to know him better.

"You want to sit? There's a little spot here by the pier. I don't want to go too far down," Buffy said, pulling him towards the bench.

"Sure, sounds good." Spike sat down next to her and ran his fingers through his hair. "So tell me a little more about this job that you have. I already know you're a photographer."

"Well, I interned at this magazine last summer, and they hired me as an assistant photo editor with some possible side work. So, I'll be leaving for New York City this fall. I'm pretty excited about it, though leaving for New York will be a huge change—not unwelcome, but huge." Buffy's face lit up as she began talking about her plans.

"Really? I'm going to be in the city this fall as well," Spike said in surprise.

"No way! Doing what?" Buffy asked, her excitement animating her even more.

"I'm going to be working as a columnist at a small independent magazine. It's not much, but I get to write, which is my main goal. Looks like we have more in common than we thought," he said, smiling at her. "And we still have the summer in front of us."

"I know! It's amazing, how these things work out. Fate, or coincidence, or whatever they're calling it these days. Do you know where you're living and everything?"

"Yeah, I've got a flat lined up already. A friend of mine is leaving for London around the same time I'm coming to New York, so we're basically switching places. It's pretty nice—it's got a loft and nice little kitchen. So I'm set. You?"

"I'm moving in with my friend Cordelia. She's trying to make it on Broadway, so she's been there for a while already. Her roommate is moving out, so I'm taking her place." Buffy smiled widely. "I can't get over how much our lives are crossing. And to think, we've only just met."

Spike reached out to smooth back a lock of hair blown by the gentle night wind. He knew that he should probably think things through more, felt that he should consider waiting till he had sorted things out—but he couldn't resist. he leaned in and kissed her gently.

Buffy leaned into the kiss, having missed his skin and taste in the moments they had been away. She felt his hands weave through her hair, and it sent shivers through her skin. She reached up to caress his cheeks and his neck. Too quickly she felt him pull away. She felt him rest his forehead against hers.

"God, you're so beautiful," he breathed. He kissed her on the forehead and on her cheeks. "So beautiful," he murmured again.

She felt her heart flutter with his words and with his soft kisses. She sank into his chest and lost herself in his warmth.

He held her for while, inhaling her scent and enjoying the softness of her hair on his cheeks. In the warmth of her comfort of her embrace, the rightness of their intimacy, he dismissed all insecurities about whether they should be together; he would make it work.





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