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Author's Chapter Notes:
Wonderful reviews: thank you and please keep them company.

Again, my warn those that haven't realized this: a future chapter contains a depiction of rape between two of the main characters. This is very angsty.
Chapter 3


New Years came and went. Everyone’s back at work and the status quo continues. Spike picked up all the latest gossip from his secretary, Harmony, and found out that Hank was still indeed married, but continued to flaunt his infidelity around the company and community. His wife, Joyce, was considered a non-issue because she was put into a long-term care facility. A few years back, she developed a brain tumor that demanded surgery. After coming back from it, she never was the same again. Talk about her being crazy and irrational riddled the community, embarrassing Hank His “crazy” wife would not ruin his reputation and therefore was put into the facility. The mystery about Buffy was a little harder to understand. Harmony went to high school with the girl and described her as a freak without any friends, certainly not the beauty that met him on New Year’s Eve. Little details of Buffy being an ice skater and competing in local competitions didn’t escape Spike as Harmony gushed all she knew on the illusive firecracker. He learned about her love of art and of her mother’s small art shop she managed. Harmony’s account of what happened between father and daughter was sketchy. Sometime during high school when the lovely Miss Summers came back to Sunnydale from boarding school, her father and she’d had a huge fight. Details were not given because they were not known, but it was implied she caught him with a mistress. Ever since then, a blinding hatred had shown through the blonde’s eyes towards her father. Filing the information away, Spike continued his tracking of missing money, coming back to one prime suspect, Hank himself.



As Friday approached, Spike became more agitated. The lack of a warm body in his bed and heart haunted his mind. To add to everything else, Spike uncovered even more money missing. Frustrated and at the end of his tether, Spike picked up the phone and dialed information. Unfortunately, Buffy Summers had an unlisted number, probably trying to keep her father at bay. Procuring the art shop’s phone number, he dialed it and waited for an answer. A woman, not Buffy, answered the line and within a few moments, Spike had directions to the shop and confirmation that Buffy would be there.



He walked up the sidewalk, holding one red rose, and opened the door to the art shop, allowing the bell to clang announcing his entry. Expecting dull and lifeless knockoffs for sale, Spike was amazed to find a very vibrant and exciting gallery. Large oil paintings covered the two story open space. At eye level, paintings and sculptures adorned every open space. Lost in the haze of wonderment, Spike didn’t hear a young woman approach him. “Hi, can I help you?” Spike turned around and found a tall girl, not much older than eighteen staring back at him. Small freckles dotted her face, bridging her upturned nose. Her long brown hair, hung low on her shoulders. Her nametag identified her as Dawn Summers. Kind brown eyes looked back at him and realization hit, she looked like a taller and younger version of Buffy. Some how, this girl was related to Buffy. Angry that his research did not mention this girl, he flashed his most charming smile at the girl. “I called earlier. I am looking for Buffy Summers.”



Her cheeks tinted pink as she stared into his eyes, “Oh yes, of course. Let me go get her.” She stepped behind the desk and into a back room. Spike heard a few murmurs and the young girl came back. “Buffy is working. She said you could just go on back.” The girl ushered Spike through a storage area and into a workshop. Easels in various degrees of completion and style littered the outer edges of the room. Standing in the middle were two spotlights centered on a large canvas. A small woman stood with her back to him. Her hair was in a sloppy ponytail and she wore paint covered overall pants. Without looking up she questioned, “My sister said you were looking for me, can I help you?”



Knowing the voice, Spike didn’t hesitate with his answer, “Yes, I was looking for you, love.” He saw her hand still on the canvas and her back straightened when she recognized his voice.



Twisting around, Buffy almost dropped her paintbrush. Struggling to keep her composure, she set her work utensil down and looked at the man that invaded her nightly dreams since New Year’s Eve. “Mr. Winthrop, what brings you down here?” Buffy moved over to a workbench and grabbed a rag. She worked on wiping her hands as Spike moved closer to the painting. A green field dominated the canvas. In the background, rolling hills beckoned the eye to see their secrets. Swirls of browns, greens, and blues dominated the canvas almost dancing in their combinations. Spike was entranced as his eye followed a small country road through the field and over the hills, stopping at a tiny cottage. Smirking, he turned to face her, “It’s quite beautiful, love.” He suppressed a gasp at the vision before him. The spotlight engulfed her tiny form, highlighting her natural beauty. Eyes aglow from the passion she put into the painting, a little splotch of green paint swiped down her cheek, and little brow furrowed in an attempt to figure out why he was here made her the picture of perfection.



“Uh, it’s not finished. Anyways, Mr. Winthrop. The reason?” His eyebrows rose as she became flustered at his compliment. “To why you are here?” Spike stayed silent and went back to looking at the painting.



His fingers itched to trace the road and follow it to its home, but he knew better. “It’s like I’m there on one of the rolling hills, looking down at the field.”



“Uh huh. Can I help you?” Buffy wanted no part with this man. He was a tie to her father she did not want. She spied a rose he put down on a table near the door and pursed her lips, she was afraid he would have designs on her.



Snapping out of his hypnotic stare and watched her move around the studio. She put brushes and scrappers in cleaning solution to soak. Her hands continued to pick up objects and move them some place else. Spike considered her constant movement as being a nervous habit. “Pet, please stand still for a moment. You are giving me a bloody headache with all your movement.” She stopped where she was. Turning, she put her hands on her hips and he saw her eyes light up.



“Why are you here, Mr. Winthrop?”



“Call me Spike, please.”



“Spike?” He saw her anger turn to gaiety as she tried to suppress laughter.



“What? It’s my nickname?”



“Is there another name I can call you, because I don’t think I can cal you,” Her fingers came up to her mouth, hiding a smile, “Spike and have a straight face.”



“And Buffy is any better?” He saw her mood change instantly. Gone was the small smile and glittering flecks of joy in her eyes and back was the hard steel.



“My mother gave me that name, thank you very much.” She turned away from him and started her movement again. Paint supplies put away, she moved onto rearranging the canvases in the room.



He sighed, “Look, pet. I didn’t mean anything about it. Call me William instead, yeah?”



“Ok, William. What can I do for you? Interested in some art? We have a couple very good pieces out front from some talented local artists.” She moved towards the front room.



“Not exactly, love. I was hoping…” Spike felt like a teenage boy asking his first date out. He quickly moved to where he put the rose and picked it up. He twisted around and presented her with it. “This is for you. I was a git to ask you about your father. I deeply apologize.” Spike thought to himself, ‘could I get any more poncier?’



“What’s a git?” She eyed the rose with appreciation. Her fingers itched to touch the graceful lines of the budding flower, but she resisted.



“A git? Oh, bloody hell, woman…” Spike looked up in heaven, praying for divine intervention. “A jerk. I was a jerk to you. I stepped over the line. I’m sorry, here.” He held out the flower and she tentatively took it. She brushed the soft petals against her cheek and brought it up to her nose. “I meant what I said. I want to get to know you better.” She looked up at him with wide green eyes. She looked so innocent, yet so much more. “Have dinner with me, tonight.” Her eyes widened as her lips trembled. God, the woman could launch a thousand words filled with her beauty.



“Tonight?” Her voice was low, almost a whisper.



“Yes, tonight.” Spike nodded.



Buffy looked down at her outfit and looked back up at him, “I can’t. I’m sorry.” Spike’s hopeful look fell as she declined his invitation. “I… I’ve just been working all day and must be a mess.” Her fingers unconsciously rose up to her hair, running her hand through the ponytail.



“No, you’re beautiful, effulgent, even.” Spike stepped forward and grazed her hand on her arm. “Please. I just want to get to know you. We don’t have to go anyplace fancy. Anywhere you want.” How could she say no to his baby blue eyes pleading with her? “Just to talk, promise.” He held his hands up and she nodded in consent. He grabbed her elbow and started to move them out to the front room, “Good, where to, love?”



Buffy stopped dead in her tracks. “First off, please stop calling me that?”



Spike looked over at her, “What, love?”



“That… love. I’m not your love so please stop using it.” She looked at anything but him as she spoke.



Smiling, Spike took her arm again, this time bringing her hand to his elbow, “Sure thing, pet. I’ll try not to use it.”

~*~*~

Forty-five minutes later over the remains of a pepperoni pizza, Buffy and Spike were talking. He told her tales of his boarding school in Oxford and his absentee parents who spent more time on vacation than at home. Adolescent pranks and problems riddled his teenage years as he became the man he is today. Bringing the topic back to her, Spike inquired about the gallery. “So what made you say, I want to run a gallery in this Podunk town?”



Buffy giggled as she sipped her coke. “I didn’t. The shop is my mother’s, but she is too sick to run it. I stepped in when she got sick.” Her eyes misted up in unshed emotion. “So anyway, I don’t own it, just run it.”



“Where’s your mom now, pet?” Spike reached out and patted her hand in a comforting way.



“At the Sunnydale Long Term Care Facility. After her operation when they found out she had brain damage from the rumor, my father put her in there instead of hiring someone to take care of her at home.” He not only could hear the bitterness in her voice, but also feel it down to his bones.



“How long has she been there?” Buffy allowed his fingers to intertwine with hers on the table. He rested her hand in his making it so comfortable for her that she would never want to let go.



“Three years. I go visit her every week, telling her how the shop is going. She has good days and bad days.” Buffy withdrew her hand and put it in her lap. Spike knew she was withdrawing from the conversation and from him, he knew he had to do something quick to get her back. “During her bad days, I just sit by her side holding her hand.”



“So you want to be a painter versus a manager of a gallery?” Spike wanted to change the topic to something less melancholy maybe to talk about her passionate work would draw her out more.



“I didn’t. Actually, I’m an ice skater. I’ve been competing pretty heavily lately and I am going to regional in a few weeks. The shop and my painting just pays for the bills, you know?” Spike nodded as she continued. “I always love the cool grace of the ice. You could put your foot down and never lift it off of the ice. One continuous line twisting and twirling around the blank white canvas of the ice.” He saw the wistfulness in her eyes.



“I’ve never thought about the ice like that, but you are right, love.” Spike saw a spark in her eye and realized what he had unconsciously done. He bowed his head and peeked at her through his eyelashes. “So how about your sister? Is she an artist?”



Smiling again, she shook her head, “No, she just runs the main shop floor. She just started college so she’s there less and less. I miss her sometimes.”



“I bet. So does she go visit your mom with you?”



“Actually, my mother is not hers.” Buffy looked away as if ashamed.



“What do you mean pet?” Spike sat forward, hoping she would extend her hand again, but she stood stock-still.



“My fath… Hank. He brought her home one night. We didn’t know… not until she was older that… well, Dawn and I look alike… you know?” Buffy looked out the window. “She was… is… solid evidence of his… and when she figured out that Joyce wasn’t… well.” Buffy looked down at her fidgeting hands in her lap. “Dawn… she’s a sweet girl. But, she feels the guilt he should…” He heard her take a deep breath and let it out.



“I understand, pet.” Spike sat back, giving her the space he felt she needed. Not wanting to pressure her, he picked up the check and went to pay their bill. Coming back, Buffy finished her drink and her gloomy mood was gone. They walked in silence to his car and he helped her get in the classic black Desoto. Content to just sit with her beside him, he didn’t feel the need to talk. She gave him short directions to her place but that was the only sound coming from inside the vehicle. Parking his car in her apartment building lot, Spike helped Buffy out of the car and walked her up to her apartment door.



As she unlocked the door, she looked back at Spike. He was leaning against the wall, looking straight at her with lust in his eyes. Carefully choosing her words she said, “I had a very nice time… William.” He gently smiled at her hesitation to use his Christian name.



“I did too, pet.” Spike moved forward a bit, waiting for an invitation into her home.



She opened the door a little and looked at him again. “I have an early morning tomorrow, I’d ask you in, but…” Buffy wasn’t entirely lying, she did have an early morning. The fact that she knew he wanted an invite inside and probably wouldn’t want to leave when he got it, she didn’t want him to think that something would happen between them.



Straightening up at her rebuff, Spike grazed his fingers over her upper arm, “All right, pet. We’ll do this again, yeah?” Buffy numbly nodded, all to aware of the goose bumps his fingers were creating. She didn’t even notice his head coming closer until she felt a warm, moist kiss on her cheek, overlapping her lips a bit. Smirking, Spike moved away and headed down the stairs. Buffy shut her door quietly and rested her weight against it. William Winthrop was an enigma. Part of her wanted him to insist that he come in to see her place and part of her was thrilled that he didn’t.





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