Yeah, he highly doubted anyone would sympathize or care at the firm. Dammit.
Padding out into the living room to put his shoes on, he made sure not to wake Buffy up—only to find her asleep on the couch.
Coming over to her like a moth to a flame, he knelt by her and slid the blanket that had apparently fallen on the floor over her lithe form curled up in fetus position. Reaching out, he pushed some hair from her face and smiled down at her.
Her eyes popped open and he stilled, hoping she didn’t think he was watching her like a stalker or something.
“I fell asleep,” she told him groggily.
“What are you doing out here, hmm? I watched you go in your room last night; I didn’t think you mistook the living room as your room.”
Rolling onto her back, Buffy stretched like a cat and Spike drank in her graceful movements, her slender, toned and tanned limbs. His hands itched to touch her. “I started this new thing recently,” she told him.
“And what’s that?” he asked, smiling tenderly when she rolled back to her side and reached out to tuck a stubborn lock back into place.
“I get up at four and I’m up for at least a couple hours before I can get back to sleep. Sometimes I forego sleep altogether and try to paint, and other times, I watch TV until I can fall asleep again.”
“What started that, luv?” he asked, concerned. He’d always remembered Buffy being a hard sleeper.
“Just life,” she said dead-pan.
“Buffy, can you tell me what happened in Sunnydale to make you want to leave? I get the sense there’s something you’re not telling me.”
“I’d really rather not right now, Will. I just want to forget about it.”
“That’s the thing though,” he said, rising to his feet and gazing down at her. “You can’t escape your past. It just follows you.”
“When did you become so wise?” she asked, peering up at him, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth that belied the sadness he found in her eyes. Something was troubling her and because of that, he was troubled.
He shrugged and looked around his apartment. “I’m not really. I’m just really good at doling out bullshit. I am an attorney after all.”
Buffy giggled and rose from the couch, stretching once more, exposing the flatness of her belly when she lifted her arms above her head. “Are you leaving me now?” she asked, pouting slightly.
He zeroed in right on her protruding lower lip and had to fight the urge to sweep her up in his arms and tug that lip into his mouth and taste her. “Yeah, I am,” he said with great reluctance.
“Can I meet you for lunch at your office? I’ll even pack a picnic basket if you like.”
Digging his hands in his pockets to stop himself from tugging her into his arms, Spike nodded, “I’d like that.”
“Good. Okay, shower now and then job hunt,” she said and leaned up on her tiptoes to give him another peck. “Have a good day.”
“Thanks, you too.” He said tightly, once again, watching her go.
When Buffy met him for lunch, she carried said picnic basket as promised that she’d had to go out and purchase and while she was at it, filled it with all sorts of goodies, including a PBJ – his favorite.
She made him sit in the middle of his office, claiming he had more than enough room to spare and could afford to utilize it.
“It might give you a new perspective,” she told him.
“A new perspective?”
“Yeah, you might see things differently if you’re looking at something differently.”
“Kind of like when you move away from home?”
She gave him a look as she handed him a Coke. “You starting that again?”
He held up his hands. “Fine. I’ll wait.”
“Thank you.”
“So, did you find anything?” he asked as he tore into his sandwich voraciously.
“Yes and no.”
“What did you find?”
“I went by some campus and found signs for a nude model—“ she stopped when Spike started to choke. “Are you all right?”
“You’re not doing that,” he told her, red-faced. Grabbing his drink, he took a long sip of it and set it down, finding her giving him a look that meant she was not happy about being told what to do.
“Oh, really?” she challenged.
“Yes, really. You’re not going to go nude in front of a bunch of hormone-driven college kids! No. I put my foot down as your brother.”
“You’re not really my brother.”
He glared at her. “I don’t care. I’m playing that card.”
“You don’t get to when you’re not really my brother.”
“I’ll tell Mom and Dad.”
“Mom knows I’ve done it before.”
That did it. Spike bounded to his feet and yelled at her. “You’ve done it before? How come I never knew about this? When?”
“When I was in college,” she shrugged, indifferent to his shouting. “Why should I have told you? There was no need to broadcast it.”
“Jesus Christ, Buffy! You went nude in front of a classroom of kids and you didn’t feel the need to broadcast it?”
“What would you have done if I told you?” she asked him.
“I would have went with you--”
Her eyes widened.
“—To protect you!” he exclaimed. “No,” he shook his head. “No. Not while you’re living under my roof are you doing that.”
Buffy jumped up, face-flushed eyes flashing. “What are you? My father? I have one already, remember? Yours.”
“I don’t care!”
“God, what is the big deal, William? It’s art!”
“No, it’s you naked in front of—“
“It’s for art.”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass if it’s to stop the war in Iraq. You’re. Not. Doing. It.”
Buffy narrowed her eyes at him and got right in his face, so close he could feel her body heat. “When did you get so narrow-minded?”
“This morning I was wise,” he countered through clenched teeth.
“It pays quite well.”
“I don’t care if it pays 10K.”
“It is my body.”
The phone ringing jarred them out of their verbal war and Spike stalked to the phone snatching it up and barking “Hello?”
“Everything all right in there? Need a ref or something?” Lorne asked.
Spike took a deep breath. “We’re fine, thanks Lorne.” When he looked over at Buffy, she was already packing up. “Buffy, don’t go, please.”
“Why should I stay, huh? You just made me feel like…trash.”
Coming over to her, he grabbed her wrists, stopping her from packing up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel like that—“
“I never thought of it as something bad, William. I just thought of it as …art.”
“Buffy,” he turned her, making her look at him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel like trash, I just…you’re…”
“I know Will,” she said softly.
He stared at her, imploringly. “Do you?”
”Yeah, I do.” She threw her arms around him, hugging him tight and he held onto her.
“I’m sorry, I really am. Just…please…” he begged.
“I won’t do it,” she told him. “Will?”
”Yeah, pet?”
She held him tighter. “I think I’m ready to tell you why I left Sunnydale.”