Her mother joined them about an hour later, rushing about as she got ready for work, both slayer and vampire doing their best to help and not to get in the way.
“I’ve got another new piece coming into today and a press launch to plan, so I might be late,” she explained, putting on her earrings as she quickly ate some toast.
“It’s okay, we’ll wait,” Buffy replied, “What do you want for dinner?”
Her mother frowned slightly and she smiled.
“I’m not cooking, Spike is.”
She saw her mother’s face flood with relief and she turned to the vampire with a smile, pinning her hair back.
“Since when?” he asked with a smirk.
“Since you showed that you can cook better than either of us,” she retorted and her mother nodded in agreement.
“Well, if I’m not too busy,” he teased.
“Do try and fit it into your busy schedule,” Joyce commented and finally grabbed her bag, smoothing her hair back. “Right, have a good day, honey.”
She pressed a kiss to Buffy’s cheek and quickly moved to Spike, pressing one to his cheek as well.
“You too, Spike.”
And then she was gone in a flurry.
“Don’t forget to bring the mail in, Buffy,” she called out and then the door slammed behind her.
She looked at Spike and they both burst out laughing.
“I think my mom’s losing it.”
He smiled affectionately, dipping his bread into his blood and making her vaguely nauseous.
“Right, mail.”
She skipped out to the front lawn, enjoying the early morning sunshine on her face, and retrieved the pile of mail from the box, dawdling back to the house, flicking through the letters.
“Anything interesting?” Spike asked, making her jump almost as soon as she entered the house as he appeared from the kitchen, sipping from his mug.
“Bills, mostly.”
She flicked through them and suddenly paused, her attention drawn to a small postcard. She picked it out of the pile and laid the others down on the side table, studying the picture of Los Angeles. She turned it over and frowned when she found no message, only the address.
“Someone on holiday?” Spike asked idly, ducking his head to look at the back of the postcard as he passed her, moving into the living room.
“I don’t know,” she said, frowning, “There’s no message or anything.”
She wandered into the living room and he looked up from his mug, arching an eyebrow.
“Let’s have a look,” he suggested, holding out a hand.
She moved and sat down beside him, handing him the mysterious postcard. He took one look at the scrawled address and froze, eyes flicking to hers.
“You don’t recognise the handwriting?” he asked in surprise, sitting up and placing his mug on the coffee table.
“Should I?”
He paused for just a moment and then passed the card back to her, eyes meeting hers.
“It’s from Angel, love.”
Her heart stopped, she was sure of it, as she just sat and stared at the empty postcard in her hand. So Angel was in Los Angeles. She never figured him for the big city kinda guy, but she guessed you could disappear in a place that big. She sighed and bowed her head, taking a few deep breaths.
“Buffy?” Spike called softly, reaching out to rest a hand on her shoulder.
She took another deep breath and raised her gaze to his.
“I’d really like it to stop hurting now,” she whispered sadly, forcing a weak smile.
He gave her a sympathetic smile, his hand moving to her cheek, fingers stroking her skin.
“It will stop,” he murmured, thumb brushing over her temple, eyes fixed on hers, “In time…”
She smiled weakly, tears in her eyes.
“Promise?” she whispered.
“Promise,” he answered sincerely, eyes still locked on hers, hand cupping her face.
They both stopped, gazes holding one another, and this time there was no hesitation: a moment later, his lips were touching hers hesitantly, his hand still against her cheek. She kissed him back just as hesitantly and he leant towards her a tiny bit more, lips pressed against hers more firmly. She brought one hand to his shoulder, holding him lightly as she succumbed to this wonderful, tender kiss. His mouth was as cool as she had dreamed and she gave a little sigh against him, fingers tightening their grip on him ever so slightly.
And just as quickly as it had started, it was suddenly over. Spike pulled back, wide eyes meeting hers, his hand faltering and quickly moving away from her face.
“I-I’m sorry,” he whispered, seemingly shocked, “I… Buffy, I can’t.”
Before she could say anything, before her brain could even process the fact that he had stopped kissing her, he was gone, disappearing out of the room and up the stairs. She sat there in silence, raising a shaking hand to her lips, still cool from the touch of his. Her eyes dropped to the postcard still clutched in her hand and she shook her head.
“What are you thinking?” she whispered to herself.
She sat there for a long time, her head spinning, pounding. Finally, her mind made up, she pushed herself to her feet, laying the postcard down on the table. She climbed the stairs and made her way along the corridor to Spike’s room, pausing outside. She lingered for a moment longer before she finally got the courage to knock on the door.
“Spike?” she called.
After what seemed an interminable pause, she heard his voice.
“Come in.”
She pushed the door open and stepped into the darkened room – curtains drawn against the dangerous sun. She paused just inside the doorway, her courage failing as she saw him turn worried eyes on her.
“I… erm… I had to…”
She took a deep breath, dropping her eyes to the floor before raising them to his once more.
“I’m sorry.”
He looked visibly taken aback by her words and she continued quickly.
“I just… it was my fault… I-“
“Buffy, no. It was… my fault.”
He raised uncertain eyes to hers and then quickly looked away again.
“I shouldn’t have-“
“No, I-“
They both looked up and when she saw his hesitant smile, she smiled herself.
“Guess we’re getting nowhere, huh?” she murmured awkwardly.
A silence fell between them, stretching on for a painfully long time, until Spike suddenly moved, sitting on the edge of the bed, fixing his bright gaze on her.
“I care about you, Buffy,” he started uncertainly, “And I… I’d give anything for you not to be hurting… but I… I can’t be your rebound guy.”
She made no reply, staring at him, wondering if that was really what he thought had happened. She suddenly realised he was watching her intently, waiting for a reply and she stammered out one.
“I… It was all my fault. You know I’m… my head’s all over the place and… well, that… that postcard from Angel…”
“I know, love,” he murmured softly, his whole demeanour softening as he relaxed. She smiled awkwardly and bit her lip.
“Can we just… you know, forget about…”
“Of course,” he answered quickly and she nodded, turning towards the door, needing to get away.
“I’m going to go out. Do you want anything?”
“No. Thanks.”
She moved but paused at the door, turning back to him.
“We’re… we’re okay, yeah?” she asked uncertainly, worried eyes meeting his gaze.
“Always,” he replied with a slight smile and she let out a sigh of relief, smiling softly.
“I’ll see you later?”
“Yeah.”
She nodded again and then quickly turned on her heel and left his room.
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