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Buffy was funny. The girl had a wicked wit and it left Spike laughing out loud. Her smile warmed him, made him feel like spreading the wings he’d had to check on his way down to Earth and waving them around out of sheer joy. Her laughter sounded like a chorus of Angels—and he’d heard them first hand.

He’d given her a hard time today, so he was glad to see her unwind. Even if most of her giggles had more to do with the wine and less with the company. It felt good nonetheless to see her smiling and laughing. He’d steered clear of all topics pertaining to business or
anything that could be construed as prying. He kept to safe topics—movies, Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes, and then those segued into embarrassing moments stories, which Spike had to edit a great deal to hide where he came from and his identity.

She’d helped him make dinner, and he was amazed by how much of a perfectionist Buffy Summers was. She wanted to do everything right and saw any setback as a failure on her part. No wonder she seemed so down. It couldn’t be conducive to have a business that was starting to sink when you were a perfectionist. That had to be at least part of the problem.

Spike took these windows into her psyche and filed them away, just as his aunt had told him to do when it came to reading people. He also utilized the patience Angel had taught him to have when it came to her for it wasn’t like Buffy was handing out information on herself. He’d had to do some legwork to get it out of her.

When he’d complimented her on how great everything turned out, she’d modestly told him it was all because of him. He’d done most of the cooking, she’d said.

“You helped though,” he told her. You put the marinade together for the steaks.”

“You told me what the ingredients were. I just followed direction. I never could have done it without you.”

“Buffy, stop.”

She took a sip of her wine. “What?”

“I pay you a compliment and you take it back. You don’t accept it. I say you did more than just helping. Anyone can follow a cookbook, but it doesn’t mean they get it right and that it makes them a good cook. If that were the case then there would be chefs all over the place. I was your cookbook and you did the work. Accept the compliment.”

“All right, if it means that much to you, I accept the compliment.”

“It does mean a lot to me and it should to you too Buffy.”

“Can we let the compliment thing go now?” she asked, almost meekly, which surprised him. Buffy meek? He’d known her less than 24 hours and he knew that wasn’t a facet of Buffy Summers. It intrigued him.

“You’re like an onion,” he blurted out, studying her.

She blinked. “A what?”

“An onion. You’ve got all these layers to you. I unpeel one, but there’s another one just underneath. And sometimes they contradict the piece I just pulled back. So I just keep peeling and peeling until I get to the core of you.”

“And sometimes, like an onion, I make you cry,” she joked and then laughed at her own joke. Spike couldn’t help but laugh along with her. “But, really,” she said, after taking a sip of her wine and setting it down. “Everyone is like an onion. It’s what makes us unique,” she snorted, “just like everyone else.”

Standing suddenly, he came over to her and took her hand, “Come with me.”

“What?” she asked, confused as he led her to the middle of his living room.

“Want to dance with you,” he told her softly and studied his stereo system before attempting to turn it on. He didn’t want Buffy to think he’d never used it before. That might look a little fishy. He dove in and hoped for the best. Clicking it on, a soft slow tune wafted out of it. Not clichéd at all, he chuckled to himself. Leave it to Eros to have the channels preset to love rock.

He turned to find Buffy standing awkwardly in the middle of his floor where he’d left her, staring at him uncertainly.

He kept his eyes trained on her, despite the fact that she looked away from him and fidgeted with her hands. He took him in his gently and brought them up to his shoulders so they rested there.

“Look at me, Buffy,” he softly demanded her.

Slowly, her eyes met his and he smiled. He wrapped his arms about her waist and pulled her closer to him so that her body was flush against his. Having her body against his was doing things to him that he hadn’t expected. The surge of desire he felt within him, the urge to protect her, and at the same time possess her, was almost overwhelming. Bending his head, he moistened his lips, wanting to claim her lips with his own, but the fear in her eyes stopped him.

It was too soon.

So, instead he dropped his head so that his cheek was next to hers and he could feel her breath on his neck. His heart was thudding rapidly in his chest and he wondered if she could feel it. What he was feeling being this close to her was not supposed to happen, and it’d been happening to him all day too. He should have prepared himself for the possibility of feeling this tingling through his body and this hum coursing through him where her body met his. As soon as he’d laid eyes on her he knew he’d found his own Helen of Troy.

“Spike?”

“Hmmm?” he hummed, closing his eyes and taking in her scent.

“What are you doing?”

“Dancing with you luv,” he murmured, unable to resist the allure of running his fingers through her silky strands.

“Why?”

He smiled, “Because I wanted to.”

“Oh.”

Silence fell and as time passed, the more she relaxed. He held her closer when he felt the tension leave her. He inhaled deeply her scent and closed his eyes, feeling light-headed.

“When was the last time someone held you like this?” he murmured, running his fingers down her back. “Hmmm? Or just touched you--”

She froze instantly and pushed away from him. “What is this? Are you looking for a piece? Am I convenient or is this your way of ‘helping me’? Or, do you think if you seduce me, I’ll just let you run the place?” she shook her head. “You’re unbelievable,” she muttered and walked away, in search of her purse.

He was horrified that she could even think those things. “No, Buffy, wait!” he ran to her and stopped her, holding onto her hands in a death grip. “I brought you here so we could get to know each other better. I meant what I said; I wanted to take care of you tonight. I saw you sitting there and I just wanted to . . . “

She cocked her head to the side. “Wanted to what?”

“Nothing.”

“Tell me.”

He shook his head, “No.”

“You’ve told me everything else under the sun and now you can’t answer a simple question?”

“I wanted to hold you!” he blurted out, frustrated.

She looked at him, bewildered, “Oh.”

“I’m sorry I pushed…again. Look, I just want to be honest with you, but I’m getting the feeling that there are some things I should keep to myself.”

“No, you shouldn’t--” She stopped and then nodded. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea to keep some of those things locked up. I should go now Spike.”

He nodded, not wanting her to go, but knowing if she stayed, he’d be unable to control his urges around her. “I had a good time tonight Buffy. And you know what? It was because of you.”

“This where I take the compliment?” she teased.

“Yes.”

“Taken.”

“Finally.”





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