“Then what was she?”
“She’s. . . it’s complicated.”
“How? It seems pretty simple to me.”
“She’s someone I see now and then.”
Understanding dawned on Buffy and her mouth formed into an ‘O’. “She’s your…you sleep with her?”
Spike winced at how horrible it sounded coming from Buffy’s mouth. He could tell Buffy wasn’t that sort of girl. She was probably a one-man woman that demanded commitment and not just the occasional hook up. He felt like scum and found he couldn’t look at her. “Yes,” he answered simply.
“Then. . . does she have others? Do you have others?”
“No,” he shook his head. He could barely take Anya, he couldn’t even fathom another girl coming along and mucking things up like that. “And she doesn’t have others, either. She wants to be with me, exclusively, but I don’t….I don’t want to be.”
“Ahh…”Buffy murmured, nodding. “No strings.”
“Right, no strings.”
“It’s really none of my business. But, I have a question: Who is your stepfather?”
“Sergeant Rayne.”
Buffy’s eyes widened. “He’s your stepfather?”
“He is. Not a fact I like to share too often.”
“Why? Do you – do you get special treatment?”
Spike laughed derisively. “No, I don’t. He rides my ass.”
“To make up for the fact that he’s your stepfather?”
“No, just to prove to me that he’s in charge and that I can do nothing about it. I can do nothing about the fact that he’s Sergeant, and I can do nothing about the fact that he’s married to my mother.”
“You dislike him,” Buffy observed.
“Dislike is too weak. I pretty much loathe him.”
“Oh. Because he is your mother’s husband?”
“Yeah, exactly. Look, can we drop this?”
Buffy nodded. “Sorry, didn’t mean to pry.”
“Don’t worry about it – you hit her?”
Buffy averted her eyes, the expression on her face reading guilt. “Yes. I didn’t hear her coming in and I guess she’d started yelling as soon as she saw me. She was in my face suddenly and it startled me, so I hit her. Then she backed me into the wall.”
“Jesus, Buffy, I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. Well, actually, it kind of is. You should have told her even if you are just. . . sleeping together.”
“I don’t have to answer to her,” he snapped, “I don’t have to answer to anyone.”
Buffy pursed her lips together and nodded. “Spike, if you don’t want to stay with me, I understand. I could have someone else, like Riley—“
“No!” Spike blurted out forcefully, even surprising himself. “I will do it.” I want to do it.
“All right then. Do you mind if we go to my home?”
“So, you’ve decided not to stay here then?”
“I want to try it.”
He sighed, “All right. Let me just shave and pack.”
“Thank you,” and she walked away.
Was it wrong that he was more concerned about Buffy than Anya? Shouldn’t he at least care that Anya was upset with him? Instead though, he cared what innocent Buffy Summers thought of him.
Pulling up to her house on the ritzy side of Sunnydale, Spike let out a low whistle. Yeah, he might have to amend the theory that the intruders had been after her because of the murder and not just for a burglary.
Her house was vast.
It was marble with two sharp roofs in the front, a garage he could just pull into by the press of a button, and a stone pathway that led up to her house on the hill.
No wonder she didn’t want to stay at his place. Compared to her home, his flat was a shoebox. Climbing out of his car, he let out another low whistle when he spotted the Mercedes next to him. He looked at her, “That yours?”
She shook her head, “Angel’s.”
“What does he do exactly?”
“Mergers and acquisitions.”
“Tough job.”
“So is yours.”
“Touché.”
She led him through the garage and up some stairs to her home. They entered into a large kitchen that he was sure was the size of his flat. She had gray marble counters that seemed to stretch on and on, a wide sink he thought maybe he could take a bath in, and a fridge that could probably hold food for the army. He looked over at Buffy who he found was trembling.
Immediately he snapped into action, placing a hand on her back in a comforting manner. “Buffy? You all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. This is harder than I thought it would be.”
“Do you want to go?”
“No. I haven’t come this far in life by giving up.”
He had to smile. His girl was a fighter. Wait. Hold the phone. His girl? She was not his girl. She was Buffy and she was her own person, just as he was his own person.
“Buffy, do your parents know what happened to you?”
“No, I didn’t call them…I will.”
“Uh, how do you call them?”
She smiled. “You’ll see. I have state of the art technology courtesy of my parents. It’s very cool, if not a bit much.”
“How do you not get lost in this place?” he asked her.
“I’m used to it.”
“You’re a rich girl, huh? What do you do?”
“No, I’m not. My parents are,” she seemed offended by that question. “I’m a website editor for a small business company. Nothing fancy.”
“Being a cop isn’t fancy either. You work from home?”
“Yes.”
He was starting to gather an impression that Buffy Summers was alone a lot of the time. For all her bravery, he was gaining the distinct impression she still closed herself off from the world.
“I’m sorry,” he said apologetically. “I didn’t mean to insinuate or make it sound like you were an uptight rich girl or something.”
“Most gather that impression of me, living in this house. But it’s not the case. How can I be a snob and be the way I am? It doesn’t fit or make sense. My parents do all this for me, and at one time, I didn’t want any of it, but now it’s home to me. I feel safe here. Or, at least I did. This was my sanctuary at one time and I want so much to feel that it is again.”
He took her hand in his and squeezed it. “You will feel that way again, I promise.”
She smiled warily, “Thank you. Come on, let me show you around.”