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Author's Chapter Notes:
Be prepared for much angst in this chapter - it was hard to write. But there's light at the end of the tunnel, I promise! Enjoy and please review!!!
One month later…

“Damn B, what is up with you?”

Buffy turned to look at Faith who was standing behind her with her hands on her hips.

“What?”

“I’m getting married – you could at least pretend to be happy for me.”

“I am,” Buffy protested, her fingers playing with the silk fabric of the dress she was trying on for her role as maid of honour.

“Well, you have a funny way of showing it,” Faith complained. “I don’t think I’ve seen you smile in weeks. Ever since you got back from your trip with Spike.”

Faith was right. Ever since she’d returned from the Dominican Republic, she’d been miserable. She missed Spike more than she’d ever thought was possible. Trying to outrun her feelings had only intensified them.

“B, what happened out there?”

“Nothing.”

“Do I look stupid?” Faith asked with a raised eyebrow which was so reminiscent of Spike that it made Buffy’s heart ache. “I’m your best friend, B, you know you can’t fool me. Something happened between the two of you, didn’t it?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Buffy said, wishing she could change the subject.

Faith rolled her eyes. “Of course it matters. You’ve been moping around like you’ve lost your right arm. So what was it? Did you finally realise you’ve been fooling yourself all this time and admit that you love him?”

Buffy looked away. Faith had always had a knack for hitting the nail on the head.

“You told him you love him?” Faith was excited now. She’d known for months how Buffy really felt about Spike and if her best friend had finally been honest with herself then it would hopefully spell good things for her. Although considering the look on Buffy’s face, it hadn’t gone down very well.

“I didn’t actually say the words. But the last night that we were together, I just felt this amazing connection with Spike and I suddenly realised that my feelings for him…they aren’t just physical anymore.”

“That’s great, B.”

“No Faith, it’s not great,” Buffy disagreed. “It’s the worst thing that could have happened. The reason I proposed this arrangement with Spike in the first place was because I wasn’t planning on falling in love again.”

“Why the hell not?”

“You know why not. If I fall in love with Spike then I’m just exposing myself again to all the pain and the hurt that I went through when Angel died. And if I lose Spike…”

“Who says you’re going to lose Spike?” Faith countered.

“Angel’s death taught me that you can never know what’s around the corner. And I wouldn’t be able to survive losing the man I love a second time.”

“Look, B, I love you,” Faith said, determined to get through to her best friend. “But you’re being irrational. Angel’s death was an accident. You couldn’t have prevented it, anymore than you can ever prevent something happening to Spike. You think it’d kill you to lose Spike? If you can’t take a chance on love and risk the loss that might come with it, then you’re giving up on ever knowing true happiness. And living the rest of your life like that – that’s what’ll kill you.”


“I’ve already asked you once, so get it done already!” Spike barked down the phone. “Or don’t bother coming in tomorrow!”

He slammed the handset down and leaned back in his desk chair. Picking up the packet of smokes sitting on his desk, he pulled one out, lit it and inhaled.

Slowly he could feel the anger starting to ebb away. He should be pissed at himself – up until a month ago, he hadn’t had a cigarette in over two years – but the nicotine was pivotal in helping him calm down after the outbursts of rage that were occurring more and more often these days.

His door opened and Wesley walked in.

“Bloody hell, knock much?”

“Lindsey from Accounts is in tears,” his cousin told him. “Not that I imagine that will make any difference to you.”

“Well, the stupid bint should have done what I asked her to do when I asked her.”

Wesley sighed, exasperated. “Spike, what is wrong with you? What happened to the William Giles that everyone, including your employees, liked and respected? Because he sure as hell isn’t sitting here in this office. Now it’s clear to me that there’s something going on with you, but there’s no need for you to be such a git.”

“Ever heard of the phrase ‘mind your own bloody business’?” Spike muttered.

“Look, Spike, you’re family and I care about you. So if you want to talk about what’s bothering you then you know I’ll listen.”

Spike scoffed as he stubbed out his cigarette in the overflowing ashtray on his desk.

“I don’t need yours or anyone else’s help, so just sod off will you?”

Wesley held up his hands in defeat. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t try.”

“Bloody Percy,” Spike grumbled to himself, as he got up to pour himself a glass of bourbon from the mini bar in his office. “Thinks he can make this go away…”


The next time Wesley came to Spike’s office, he knocked. But when he didn’t get an answer, he opened the door and walked in.

He was only mildly surprised to see Spike passed out on the leather sofa in the corner of the room, his hand still clutching a glass tumbler and an empty bottle of Jack Daniels lying on the floor next to him.

Walking over to his cousin, Wesley attempted to rouse him but to no avail. Although this wasn’t an everyday occurrence, it had happened more than once in the past few weeks and it was steadily becoming a big problem.

It was time to take action. Moving over to the desk, he lifted the telephone receiver and pressed number one on the speed dial.

“Anne, it’s Wesley,” he said when the person on the other end answered. “I need your help.”


Spike sat in an armchair in the living room of his parent’s Oxfordshire home. His head was throbbing with the pain brought on from the consumption of almost an entire bottle of bourbon. He thought he would’ve gotten used to the drinking by now, but he was still getting hangovers from hell.

A cup of coffee sat untouched on the table in front of him. He knew it would probably help, but the prospect of moving was not an appealing one.

The door opened and a woman walked in. She was in her late fifties and her brunette hair was streaked with grey. Her eyes were the same vivid blue as Spike’s.

“Oh, William, what have you been doing to yourself?”

She sighed as she sat down on the sofa opposite him.

“Wes shouldn’t have brought me here,” Spike sulked. “He had no right to call you.”

“He had every right,” Anne Giles told her son. “He’s your cousin and in this family, we look out for each other. Especially when some of us clearly can’t take care of ourselves.”

“I can take care of myself just fine.”

His mother raised a sceptical brow. “Oh, is that why Wesley found you passed out in your office and why you’ve been spending more time with your face in a glass of bourbon than you have actually running the company that your father worked so hard to build? I wonder what he’d have to say about that.”

“Oh, yeah, bring Dad into it, why don’t you?” he accused. “Make me feel even guiltier.”

“What do you have to feel guilty about?”

Spike didn’t answer.

“Is this about Ethan’s death again?” Anne asked. “Because I thought you’d gotten past that. I thought you were happy. Wesley even said you were seeing someone; Betty or something like that.”

“It’s Buffy and we were sleeping together, Mother. It was hardly the romance of the century.”

Anne didn’t buy his cynical attitude for a second. “Did you want it to be?”

“Does it matter?”

“If it matters to you then it matters.”

“Well it doesn’t so drop it!” Spike snapped, irritated as his mother’s uncanny ability to read him.

She rolled her eyes. “William you were a terrible liar when you were a child – what makes you think you’ve gotten any better with age? You know what I think? I think you’re in love with this girl.”

“How insightful of you…”

“And I think you’re too scared to admit it.”

He scoffed. “I’m not scared.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Spike knew his mother wouldn’t let it rest until he told her the truth. She was a determined lady and it was trait he’d inherited from her.

“I don’t deserve any of this.”

“So it is about Ethan then?” Anne confirmed with a sigh. “William, how many times do you have to hear this before you believe it? You were not to blame for what happened. The only person who should be feeling guilty is that bitch Drusilla, although I doubt that woman has a remorseful bone in her body.”

Spike half smiled at his mother’s use of what she always referred to as ‘foul language’. Behind her mild exterior, she was a spitfire, just like her son.

“She took advantage of your vulnerability. Had the circumstances been different, you wouldn’t have given in to her advances.”

“How do you know?”

Anne sighed again. “Because I know you. You’re my son, William. I carried you for nine months, I gave birth to you and I brought you up. I know you better than you know yourself. You’re a good man – you wouldn’t have done what you did if Drusilla hadn’t manipulated you.”

He hung his head. “But that doesn’t change what happened and that Ethan died thinking I’d betrayed him.”

“But you didn’t. Do you honestly think that Ethan would want you to be living your life like this – hiding in your work or drinking yourself into a stupor and running away from love because you think you don’t deserve it? That’s a waste of two lives. Three if you count Buffy.”

Bloody hell, he thought. She’s right. He’d walked away from the first woman he’d ever truly loved.

Not that it mattered so much when Buffy didn’t feel the same way about him.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, dejected. “Buffy doesn’t love me.”

“How do you know?”

He then filled his mother in on how Buffy had lost her husband five years earlier and how she’d consequently sworn off love and when he’d finished, Anne gave a knowing smile.

“No wonder you fell for her. The two of you are so alike and you’re both as foolish as each other. You can’t just give up on love because you’ve lost someone you care about. If everyone did that, what a lonely place the world would be. You have to help her understand that, William, and give her the love she so desperately needs.”

What a wise woman his mother was – he only hoped he had an ounce of her wisdom when he was her age. Standing up, he pulled her into his arms for a hug.

“Thanks, Mum,” he said. Picking up the by now tepid coffee, he downed it and then headed towards the door, not missing his mother’s parting words.

“Go get your girl.”





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