Anxiously, Spike paced back and forth down the length of the hallway in his rental house, willing the clock to move faster so he could finally make the drive to Buffy’s home. And Angel’s home, he forcefully reminded himself. Almost two weeks had passed since the concert and the scene in the bar, and he had not seen Buffy again. They had exchanged a few emails, hers apologetic for leaving early, his tactfully trying to make sure she was okay, but he hadn’t even gotten to hear her voice until the day before yesterday, when she had phoned and left a message, inviting him to dinner tonight.
He had accepted, of course. Even though it meant he would have to sit across the table from Angel. But maybe in the long run that would be a good thing. Anya had given him another lecture on the importance of respecting Buffy’s marriage and once again encouraged him, as Buffy’s friend, to help her with that marriage. While Spike wasn’t at all sure that he could manage either, he had promised to try, and so, with some trepidation, he agreed to have dinner tonight with Angel and Buffy at their house.
He checked the clock again, and with a sigh, gave up and pocketed his keys. He had chosen to rent outside the city for the duration of Blue Flame’s time in the recording studio, telling himself it was for the peace and quiet, and had nothing to do with being closer to Buffy. Spike supposed he might as well go ahead and leave. He would feel better being out, even if it meant driving in circles until he could finally see her.
While Spike was pacing, Buffy was frantically turning her closet into chaos. She had decided what to wear way in advance, but five minutes ago, while stirring the vodka sauce, the liquid had spit on her sweater, and now she had to start all over again. She told herself that of course she was dressing for Angel, because he liked to see her neat, and because he was just starting to behave normally again after their fight. Although it hadn’t been much of a fight on Buffy’s part. She knew she had behaved inappropriately, and so had mostly just let Angel yell at her. After that it had been the silent treatment for several days, and now, gradually, he was beginning to come around.
Buffy fervently hoped this dinner would help; she thought that if he got to know Spike, and maybe they became friends, or at least, friendly, then Angel wouldn’t be so bothered by her spending time with the rocker. Because she really, really, missed him. She couldn’t let herself concentrate on quite how much, but smiling had become difficult lately, without knowing when she could see him and talk to him. That tiny, insistent voice in her head started up again, saying things that Buffy would rather not think about, and so she firmly shoved it aside and, making a decision, grabbed her favorite green shirt. It only had 3/4” sleeves, but she didn’t plan on being outside, and it would go as well with her khaki skirt as the other shirt she had been wearing.
Buffy heard the front door open and close, and knew that Angel had arrived home. Part of her had been wondering if he would make the effort to come, since he had missed so much lately. But here he was, and with a quick swipe of her lip gloss, she leapt down the stairs to greet him.
“Angel!” He was in the kitchen, checking out her dinner preparations.
“It smells good,” he said somewhat awkwardly. Angel was not altogether comfortable with this little dinner party, but it seemed a good idea to be able to size up the man that his wife seemed so fond of. After all, Buffy could be awfully naïve, and it wouldn’t do for her to be led into a compromising position.
“Thanks,” she replied, smiling and offering him a cheek to kiss. He hesitated, but then leaned down and let his lips swiftly brush her skin.
“I’ll just run down and pick out a bottle of wine.”
“Sounds good,” Buffy said agreeably. “He should be here in a few minutes.”
Swiftly, she surveyed her arrangements, checking to make sure that everything was done. The table was set with her favorite china, a set that had belonged to her mother with blue and gold swirls around the edges. The sauce was bubbling merrily on the stove, content to simmer until right before they sat down and the pasta was waiting nearby. Grabbing a dishcloth, Buffy opened the oven door to take out the toasted bread, but right then the doorbell rang, and in her haste to answer it, she dropped the towel and laid the side of her thumb against the hot pan.
Unable to suppress a moan of pain, she was surprised when the door burst open and Spike rushed into the room.
“Kitten, are you okay?” he asked urgently. “I heard you from outside the door…”
“I’m fine,” she grinned sheepishly. “I just burned my finger a little.”
“Let me see,” he took her hand to examine the injured digit, partly from concern and partly from a pressing need to touch her after having spent so long away. Swiftly, he brought the burn up to his mouth and blew on it briefly before daring to place a small kiss on her finger.
“All better?” he asked, his voice a strange mix of teasing and breathlessness.
“All better,” she agreed, smiling up at him, her green eyes enigmatic.
“I missed you,” he said simply.
“I missed you, too.”They stood for a moment, a hairbreadth apart, waiting, when a voice from below called out, startling them and breaking the moment.
“Buffy, did I hear the doorbell?” Angel asked.
Buffy jumped a little, shook her head, and gave Spike an abashed smile. “You did,” she called back. “Spike’s here.”
“I’ll be up in a minute,” he answered.
Busying herself at the counter, Buffy took up the bread pan more carefully this time and sliced the bread into a basket. Then she turned off the stove and ladled the sauce onto the pasta, adding a few sprigs of parsley and rosemary. Spike watched her move around the kitchen, entranced. This was a side of Buffy that he hadn’t seen, this domestic goddess that moved confidently around the kitchen, evoking an air of coziness and tranquility. Briefly, he closed his eyes and pictured Buffy in his home, his kitchen, his bedroom….No. Not going there, he said to himself, Anya’s lecture echoing in his head.
As Buffy was transporting the food to the table, Spike lagging behind her having been refused the chance to help, Angel appeared around the bend in the stairs with a bottle of wine and corkscrew in hand.
“Angel, here, let me take that,” said Buffy, rushing to empty his hands. Angel gave them up to her, and stood unmoving, appraising Spike, who didn’t blink, but engaged in his own blunt assessment. Suddenly, the room was thick with tension. Buffy flittered nervously between the two unmoving men.
“I don’t think you two have ever been properly introduced. Isn’t that funny!” she smiled uneasily. “Angel, this is Spike. Spike, this is my husband, Angel.”
His heart bristling at her easy use of the phrase “my husband”, Spike took Angel’s outreached hand in a crushing grip. Angel tightened his hold until both men’s hands were in danger of bruising. With a sigh, Spike let go and attempted a smile. He needed to get control of this impromptu pissing contest before it got out of hand. “
Nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said, trying for a polite tone.
“Same here,” Angel replied tightly.
There was a silence as the three found places at the table and the food was served. Spike looked up from his plate to catch Buffy’s eye teasingly.
“Pasta?” he smiled.
“With French bread,” she answered, grinning back at him.
Angel watched the small interaction with dark, brooding eyes. For Buffy’s sake, Spike attempted to steer the conversation back onto common ground.
“So, Angel, Buffy tells me you’re working on a very challenging case right now?”
Angel’s stare lightened; talking about work always let him remind himself and others just how important he was. “That’s right. I can’t discuss particulars, but…”
******************************************************************
Finally, dinner was over and Spike got to be alone with Buffy again. The rest of the meal had been carried out with stilted conversation, mostly about Angel’s work. Spike’s hopes about changing his initial impression of Buffy’s husband had unfortunately been dashed. He found the man arrogant and abrasive, and detested his supercilious treatment of Buffy. He corrected her every opinion, and she just accepted it gracefully. Spike knew that this was going to cause him much grief later, when he had time to reflect on it, but just now he was enjoying the quiet, peaceful feeling that currently pervaded in the warm, homey kitchen.
Angel had excused himself to his home office to work, and Buffy had waved off Spike’s offer to help clear the table, so once again, he was standing back, leaning against the counter and watching as she flitted around from table to sink, talking brightly about inconsequential things. Closing his eyes, he let her chatter wash over him, basking in the sweet hum of her voice and the serene atmosphere.
“Hey,” Buffy tapped his arm gently. “Are you sleeping?” she smiled.
“No,” he answered, smiling softly back. “Just enjoying.”
“I’m done here. Wanna go sit outside for awhile?” she inclined her head to the French doors leading to the patio.
“Sure,” Spike agreed.
Happily, she snagged their wine glasses and the rest of the bottle and slung her coat over her arm. Spike took it from her and helped her into it, zipping it up and tucking in the collar.
“Don’t want you getting cold, pet,” he explained softly. She just smiled and shook her head slightly.
Once he had his own coat on, the two ventured out the doors and into the night air. It was somewhat balmy for March, and neither was uncomfortable. The sky was clear, and thousands of stars twinkled overhead as Buffy and Spike settled comfortably into a pair of Adirondack chairs. Spike poured half of the remaining wine in each glass and handed one to her.
“Cheers.” He raised his glass slightly, smiling.
“What are we drinking to?” Buffy asked, one eyebrow quirked in amusement.
“Ummm, to good food and good conversation?”
Buffy burst out laughing. “Well, maybe the food was good, but I think the conversation could be improved on. Sorry about that, by the way. Angel just gets a bit…caught up in his job some times.”
“No problem, pet. I’m just happy to see you,” Spike said, somewhat uncomfortably.
“We could drink to Blue Flame’s new album,” she suggested.
He made a face. “Better not, luv. Don’t want to jinx anything,” he hesitated. “How about just…to us?”
Her eyes were unreadable in the starlight, but she was smiling that soft, gentle smile she sometimes revealed when she was quietly happy. “Okay,” she agreed. “To us.”T
hey clinked glasses lightly and for a few moments relaxed in a comfortable silence. Buffy leaned her head back against the chair to look into the sky. A slight breeze ruffled her hair and Spike’s heart constricted. He wanted nothing more than to reach over and brush it off her cheek. To caress her dimples, kiss those sweet, pursed lips….Okay, again with the bad thoughts. Get it together, he told himself firmly. He should be using this time to tease out her true feelings about her marriage so that he could at least try to keep his promise to Anya.
“So, pet,” he broke the silence. “Tell me more about Angel.”
She looked at him quizzically. “There’s not much more to tell.”
“How did you meet?”
“In college,” she smiled ruefully. “It’s really your typical boy-meets-girl story. He was the TA in my freshman lit class, and I fell head over heels. My mom had just died, and it was really hard being alone. He helped,” she said simply.
“And when did you get married?” Spike probed further.
“Right after I graduated. After an extra year of student teaching, Angel decided that what he really wanted to do was go to law school. He got accepted to this fancy school in New York, and so it was either marry him or stay behind,” she trailed off, remembering, then resumed softly. “I didn’t want to be alone again. And I couldn’t imagine not being with him. He was my first real boyfriend, my first, well, everything,” she blushed.
He smiled at her flushed cheeks, amused that such things could still make her blush after several years of marriage, but his head was spinning with the other implications of her story. It sounded very much like Angel had taken advantage of a vulnerable young girl who was alone in the world with no one to look out for her best interests. His fists clenched, and he tried hard to disperse his anger. Another small silence descended.
Buffy took a large sip of her wine. Although she hadn’t had much, the alcohol was beginning to catch up with her and loosen her tongue. Summoning up her courage, she resolved to bring up a question that had been bothering her lately. Spike was her friend and a guy, so maybe he would be able to help her.
“Spike, can I ask you something?”
“Anything, kitten.” He smiled at her. She looked so lovely bathed in moonlight, her alabaster skin turned to fine porcelain and her eyes winking brightly out of the darkness.
“Do you think I’m pretty?” she asked boldly, downcast eyes broadcasting her nervousness.
Spike was taken aback. “What?”
“It’s okay if you don’t,” she said hurriedly.“No, luv, that’s not it. I think you’re gorgeous! I’m just wondering how you can go around not knowing that,”
“It’s no big deal…” she said miserably, eyes still on the ground, shoulders hunching inside her jacket.
“Buffy.” He took her chin in his hand and forced her to look at him, the uncertainty in her eyes, making him ache. “You are beautiful. So bloody gorgeous I can’t keep my eyes off you,” he said helplessly, inadvertently revealing more than he intended in his need to reassure her.
She nodded slightly, the insistent little voice in her head whispering the truth of his statement.
“Why would you wonder about something as obvious as that?” Spike asked insistently.
“It’s Angel,” she mumbled, pulling away from him.
“Angel?” Spike said incredulously. Was the man a bigger idiot that Spike already thought?
“Did he say something like that to you? ‘Cause if he did…”
“No,” she cut him off. “No, he’s never said I’m not or anything, it’s just…” she hesitated again.
“What, Buffy?” Spike asked unrelentingly. He had to know where this was going.
“He never wants to, you know.” She gestured euphemistically, embarrassment holding her tongue from the proper words.
Oh. OH. Half of Spike was absolutely dumbfounded. How could Angel, who had the right to go to bed every night with the most delectable, alluring woman Spike had ever seen, voluntarily give that up? Why was he not shagging her senseless every single bloody night? The other half, however, was flooded with joy and relief so sweet he felt dizzy with it.
“So, I thought maybe, that, you know, I wasn’t pretty enough,” Buffy continued, and Spike abruptly snapped back to himself. Even if she wasn’t currently sleeping with Angel, they were still married. Nevertheless, he had to know…
“Buffy,” he asked cautiously. “How long has it been?”
She shrugged. “A year, maybe?”
Now he was absolutely flabbergasted. A year? She and Angel hadn’t had sex in a year?
“Is that normal?” she asked quietly. “I know people say that after you’re married, it doesn’t happen as often, and to be honest, it’s never been that frequent for us….”
At this point, Spike really had no idea what to say, but she was looking at him expectantly. “Well, pet,” he hesitated. “I’ve heard that too, but really I think it just depends on the man and the woman,” he struggled with himself, Anya’s voice echoing in his head and the words that he knew she would want him to say stuck hard in his throat. “Maybe,” he forced out, “Maybe if you...” God, this was hard. He was about to tell the girl he adored, dreamed about, suspected he was in love with, to go shag her husband. “Maybe if you slept together more often you would feel more connected,” he said in a rush.
“Maybe you’re right,” she said shrugging and smiling at him. Now she was ready to change the subject. For some reason, even though she was sure it was good advice, hearing Spike say that had stung. She leaned back in her chair again, suppressing a yawn. Spike noticed, though, and began to get to his feet.
“It’s late,” he said. “I should go.”
“No, you don’t have to,” Buffy protested.
He smiled ruefully. “I’ve got an early morning recording session, pet. Can’t be falling asleep at the mike.”
“Okay,” she acquiesced. “I wouldn’t want Oz and Xander mad at me because I kept you up!”
They gathered up the wine glasses and went back into the house. Buffy walked Spike to the door, wanting to enjoy every precious minute of togetherness. He opened it to leave, then paused and turned back to her.
“You really are beautiful,” he said quietly. They were so close. Buffy didn’t know if her heart was going to accelerate into warp speed or stop altogether. Very slowly, he leaned in and gently kissed the corner of her mouth.
“Bye, luv.” He closed the door and was gone.“Bye,” Buffy whispered into the sudden silence, fingers ghosting over the outline of his kiss. She stood like that for what felt like a lifetime, that little voice in her mind busy all the while. Then shaking her head sharply, she turned around and went to check on her husband.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Thanks for all the reviews! I love reading them and seeing how much people are enjoying my story. As a first time author, I am so, so appreciative of all the support I am getting!
I think I've fixed the formatting problem!
I think I've fixed the formatting problem!