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~*~

If someone had told Buffy at the start of her junior year that when her senior year was over she’d be fast friends with Cordelia and delighted that they were attending the same school—Columbia—she probably would’ve upended a tub of dirty dishwater over that person’s head.

But Cordelia was surprisingly easy to like. She was easygoing, nice even, once you got her away from Sunnydale High School, and unlike Willow or Faith she was willing to talk shoes and makeup with Buffy. She even humored the strict Spike-less schedule Buffy adhered to out of habit.

It was June 24, and they were graduating. The Mayor and Snyder both gave speeches that had everyone yawning and Buffy and Willow making mocking faces, but then finally—finally—they were called up, one by one, to receive their diplomas.

It was one of the more triumphant moments in Buffy’s life. “We did it!” she squealed, throwing herself into Willow’s arms.

“I know!” Willow, too, was beaming.

“Oh my God, can you believe these stupid things? Maroon is definitely not my color,” Cordelia said.

“Mine either,” Oz remarked.

“I’m just glad we’re out,” Faith said. “We never have to listen to that fuckwit Snyder again.

“Faith!” Willow exclaimed, but everyone else just laughed.

Buffy never saw Spike in the darkness under the bleachers, blinded by flashbulbs and carefree laughter. She never saw him watching her, applauding softly when she took her diploma. She never knew that it was to her smile that he got drunk later that night and passed out in a hotel room in the nasty part of LA.

She never knew because she never asked, and Spike tried to tell himself that that was how it should be.

~*~

Buffy and Cordelia were to drive out to college the next night. It had been one year and three hundred thirty-two days since she’d broken up with Spike.

More or less.

It was Cordelia’s idea that she visit Spike. “You need, like, closure,” her friend had advised. Buffy had considered just telling her to stuff it, but…well. She had a point, much thought Buffy hated to admit it.

That was how she found herself outside Spike’s apartment in the third week of July, rocking nervously on the balls of her feet. When she pressed the doorbell she felt the almost two years fall away, and suddenly instead of being eighteen and an adult she was a shy and nervous sixteen, unsure of anything except the fact that she loved Spike and would for forever.

At least she hadn’t been wrong.

Spike answered the door wearing only a sheet, and Buffy tried to ignore how weird it was—she knew what he’d been doing, knew what it felt like. How it was.

For the first time she was standing at Spike’s doorway and she knew everything she should’ve known two years ago, before she started this whole mess.

“Are you…busy?” Real smooth, Buffy. At least she hadn’t burst into tears.

“No! No, not at all.” He spoke awkwardly, probably a consequence of answering the door half naked. Buffy just barely suppressed a smirk. “Uh…”

She took pity on him. “Why am I here?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“I’m leaving for college today.” She took a deep breath. “Columbia.”

“Columbia—New York, Columbia?”

Buffy couldn’t help but smile a little at that; obviously Spike had been avoiding even the gossip. “Yeah, Cordy—Cordelia—and I got into the same school.”

“I’d heard that you two were close…not that I was paying attention,” he added hastily.

Of course not. “No, I wouldn’t think—“

“Right.”

God, she could probably scoop up the awkwardness in the hallway and bottle it if she wanted to. Between Spike avoiding staring at her and Buffy avoiding staring at Spike’s—well, anything really, since the part covered by the sheet was just as appealing as the part currently exposed—she was ready to melt into the floor and disappear.

“So. I’d, uh. I’d better be going.”

“Right. Well.” He shifted uncomfortably in the doorway—and then his eyes met hers.

Blue and painful and God, she still wasn’t over this.

“Good luck, Buffy.”

Her name sounded like a dream, like a prayer spoken underwater. It hurt more than she wanted it to. “Th-thanks.” Smooth, Buffy. Real smooth.

He turned round and slammed the door in her face before she had a chance to say anything else.

~*~

Cordelia was waiting a block away. “You did it?”

“Yeah.” Buffy got into the car and rolled down her window. “Yeah, I did.”

Cordy glanced at her once, sharply, and even though she knew it wouldn’t do any good Buffy gave her a sunny smile.

“You are so full of crap,” Cordelia informed her, but she was half-laughing as she said it.

Buffy just stuck her tongue out at her and turned forwards. New York was about 3,000 miles away.

She was ready for every curve.

~*~

“So you really did it, huh.”

It wasn’t a question, and Spike didn’t treat it as one. “Yeah, Ayn, I did.”

“You let the girl you love, the one who’s prevented you from having orgasms with practically anyone for two years, go to a college across the country, where there will be plenty of attractive college aged boys for her to fall in love with.”

“Yes.”

“You’ve basically trashed your last hope at being happy. Ever.”

“Right.”

“Hmm.” Anya tilted her head for a second, studying him, before jumping on him with a rib-crushing hug.

“What the bloody hell is this for?” he asked, petting her on the back awkwardly.

She shoved him away as abruptly as she’d hugged him. “Oh, you know. For being you. Hang in there, okay?”

And she left.

Spike sat at his desk for longer than was strictly necessary. Hang in there.

Hope springs eternal and all that.

Okay.

He plopped his boots on his desk and grinned. Half-heartedly, but still.

“Happy trails, pet,” he said softly, staring up at the ceiling.

Don’t forget to come back.

~*~

Later

He knew she was coming. Sunnydale might’ve grown, but there were parts of it that were still small towns—and enough people knew about Spike’s somewhat pathetic, lasting obsession that he was waiting on his couch when the knock sounded on the door.

She was standing on his doorstep, awkward as that first time. Four years ago now, and they’d both changed so much.

“Hi.”

He smiled.

~*~

End

~*~

Notes: Damn, it's finally over.

In all honesty, I wasn't expecting this story to take me more than a few months to write. I'm still not sure how it stretched over more than a year. I learned a lot while writing it--and while I know the ending is different from how most of you would've preferred, if you've stuck with me this long then I owe you a huge thanks.

Particular thanks to anyone who reviewed and let me know your thoughts, and an enormous, I-can-never-pay-her-back thank you to Suzee, who listened to me whine about this thing for the better part of a year. She wrote an alternate ending to BtG, and she wasn't going to post it but I was so incredibly amazed and flattered that I forced her to. And hey, it's her birthday--so go give her some love, yeah? *g*

Thanks, ya'll. It's been fun.





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