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At 7:00 pm on Valentine’s Day, Buffy was putting the finishing touches on dinner. She had decided to spurge a little and make Angel’s favorite, Lobster Thermidor, straight from Julia Child. At 7:30 she was frantically trying to call Angel with one hand and reheat dinner with the other. By At 8:00 she opened the bottle of champagne. By 9:00, the champagne was gone and Buffy was significantly less than sober. Angel wasn’t answering his office phone or his cell, and by this time she didn’t much care where he was. Her heart was aching with disappointment, and in her uninhibited state she knew exactly who to go to for solace.

She took the cordless phone upstairs and started to curl up on a chair in the master bedroom, but was unable to bear the sight of the big empty bed. Instead, she walked through the bedroom and into the bathroom and closed the door. Still clutching the phone like a life line, she sank down onto the cold tile floor, leaned against the door and began to dial the number she had long since memorized but until now had never used.

Meanwhile, in Germany, there was a party going on in Spike’s suite. Music was blaring from a CD sound system, drinks were being poured, and a very hot blonde was shoving her tongue down Spike’s throat. He ran his hands down her back, tracing the outlines of her figure, letting his hands rest on the very top of her thigh, trying to tell himself he was enjoying this. He was just starting to get into it when his pocket vibrated, making him jump. He backed away from his companion and held up his finger in the universal gesture of one minute so he could check the caller id. US country code…Buffy? A finger of worry crept down his back. As much as he hated the thought, Spike knew she had been looking forward to a romantic evening with her husband. Why was she calling him?

“Hello?” he answered. “Hello?”

On the other end of the phone, he heard a distinctive sniff. Oh, god. She was crying. What had that wanker done now, and how was Spike going to keep from jumping on a plane to go kill him for making her cry?“Buffy, baby, hold on a minute…It’s okay, I’m just gonna go somewhere quieter…” he cooed into the phone. Without a second glance at his former make-out partner, he went into the bathroom and locked the door, unknowingly mirroring her position.

When she first heard his voice, it had been impossible to hold back the tears. He sounded so…sweet, and comforting, and Spike-like. But she had also heard the background noises and knew that he hadn’t been alone.

“I’m sorry if I’m interrupting something,” she choked out. “You can call me back later, if you want.”

“Of course I don’t want to call you later, sweetheart. I’m happy to talk to you any minute of the day or night. Tell me what’s wrong, Buffy?”

She ignored his question. “God, I’m so sorry,” she sniffled. “You were probably with someone, too. You should go back to her.”

Spike couldn’t help but smile a little. Was that jealousy he detected in her voice? “No one is more important right now than you. Now please tell me what’s wrong?”

Buffy took a deep breath before exploding in another sob. “He didn’t show up for dinner. He said he would be home and he never came, and everything’s ruined and I don’t know where he is and so I drank all the champagne and now I feel awful.”

Bloody hell. What could he possibly say to make her feel better when all he wanted to do was choke some sense into that idiotic husband of hers? “Aw, Buffy, luv, I’m so sorry. I’m sure he didn’t mean to do it….”

“How do you unintentionally not show up for dinner? And on Valentine’s Day? No phone calls, no flowers, no card, nothing. What am I going to do?”

Leave him! His head throbbed with wanting to tell her exactly what she should do, but he managed to bite the words off before they came out. If friendship was all she could give him, then he wasn’t going to endanger that by telling her things she would most likely resent him for in the morning.

“I know he’s busy, and I know he has to work hard.” She continued without waiting for his answer. “But don’t I deserve a little of his time? I know I’m nothing special, but I am his wife…”

Okay, that did it. The bloody wanker had her thinking she was nothing special? Buffy, who was the very picture of his ideal woman. “Listen to me, luv. You are something special. Very special. I’ve been all over the bloody world and haven’t seen anyone as special as you. You’re smart, and charming and funny and gorgeous as hell. You are the most special woman I’ve ever known.”

There was silence on the other end of the line now. Had he messed it all up by speaking what to him was nothing but the truth? Then she spoke again, in a small voice that nearly broke his heart.

“Do you really think all that?”

“Yes, kitten, I do. You are perfection. And I’m sure-“ He swallowed hard to get the rest of the sentence out. “I’m sure Angel thinks so, too. He just gets a little forgetful sometimes.”

“Really?”

“It’s all going to be all right, luv. He’ll come home and apologize, and you’ll make up and everything will be fine again.” For a while, at least. He added silently. Until he manages to hurt you again.

She was quiet for a long time. He wondered if she had fallen asleep with the phone under her ear, when again she spoke up, just as quietly, but with less of that awful brokenness in her voice.

“My head hurts,” she said.

“I’m sure it does, pet. I’ll bet you’re not used to drinking whole bottles of champagne are you?” he teased gently.

“No,” she admitted. “I hardly ever drink anything at all.”

“Well, go take some aspirin, drink some water, and go to sleep, luv. Your head will probably still hurt in the morning, but you’ll survive.”

“Are you sure?” she asked doubtfully, leaning her head into her arms. It really, really, hurt.

“Hey, who’s the rock star here?” he laughed. “I know all about hangovers.”

“Okay. Good night, Spike. And thanks.”

“Anytime. Good night, luv.”

After hanging up the phone, Spike silently banged his head against the back of the door. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Angel made her cry and left Spike to pick up the pieces, but Spike had no doubt that when Buffy’s husband finally crept home, she would welcome him with open arms. He did not even want to think about what their making up might consist of. That really made his stomach hurt. With a sigh, he picked himself up and went back to the party, hoping his blond companion was still waiting.





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