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Author's Chapter Notes:
Here with a new update! Very busy as I keep saying, but I'm soldiering on and doing my best to write when I can! I promise serious Spuffy soon if you can't tell where I'm going ;)



His lips were strong and insistent on hers. The kiss wasn’t gentle, it was desperate. Buffy couldn’t remember how long they’d been kissing, or when she’d decided to kiss him back, but there they were, battling each other passionately. Her hands longed to run through his hair or maybe grab him and keep him still so she could control the kiss herself, but he’d beat her to it and was holding her arms in a vice like grip at her side.

Spike was on autopilot and had completely forgotten where he was, but not who he was holding. He didn’t want to forget when she whimpered into his open mouth, but it was his turn to moan when he slid his tongue in to play and she surprised him by reciprocating and caressing it with her own.

His hand slid possessively into her hair and he took a step forward, causing her to take a couple back. When the corner of the bed hit her legs it brought her to her senses. What was she doing?

Suddenly Buffy pushed at his chest, and unlike Angel as soon as he felt her resistance Spike pulled away. When he saw the raw shock on her face he snapped back to reality and gave her the room she needed.

Buffy didn’t understand what had possessed him to do that, or what had come over her when she’d responded. She stared at him with wild questioning eyes and her fingers came to touch her mouth, reminding them both what had happened. Their lips tingled with the memory.

Spike looked away also unable to comprehend what he’d done or why, and before either of them could speak he left the room in an awkward hurry.

* * * * *

The next morning Buffy woke up to find a cereal box and a carton of milk to the side of her door. Spike was going to play it that way, avoiding her she realised. When she took a shower later that afternoon and on coming out saw a plate full of pasta had replaced the cereal she was sure of it. He must have waited until he could hear the water running.

That night when he still hadn’t come up to the attic and actually faced her she knocked loudly on the door, shouted his name and waited. It was late, but she couldn’t sleep for thinking about him, and she hoped he’d come talk to her.

At first she heard nothing, so she knocked again, “Spike? Are you out there?” she asked.

Still nothing.

Spike had woken to her first knock, but he hesitated, not wanting to see her still. He found however that he couldn’t resist her in the long run.

“Spike?” she shouted once more, “Please?”

Spike sat up and hung his head. He took a deep breath, ran his hands through the loose curls on his head and sighed. Before he knew what he was doing he was at the top of the stairs unlocking her door.

She heard him come and waited patiently for him to enter, but instead he simply opened the door, and then walked back down to the landing.

Buffy was frozen, unsure of what to do, what he wanted her to. It was the first time she hadn’t had a gut reaction telling her to run; instead she kept standing at the attic door, waiting for the okay to leave. And it didn’t feel as sad as it sounded to finally be doing what he told her, but it was worrying.

When Spike realised she wasn’t following him he stopped and looked back up at her, “Come on, kitten. I trust you.”

Buffy came down, but internally she didn’t let go of his confession. Did he trust her because he knew she couldn’t escape? Or because if she did he knew he could stop her? Or did he mean he trusted she wouldn’t try and escape?

Surely that wasn’t true, although she had faulted at the top of the stairs she still wanted to leave didn’t she? Buffy didn’t know why she’d frozen there like that. Maybe he knew something she didn’t.

Before she realised it she was at the landing too. He took her hand and went around the corner, but before she had time to have a problem with the gesture he let her arm drop and took a seat on his camp bed.

Buffy followed him out into the hallway and stood in front of him. He eyed the stairs for a second and then looked back at her. That comforted her; at least he was still a little worried, that meant he didn’t think he’d totally subdued her.

Spike was making himself at home on his faux bed, whilst Buffy stood there far from comfortable.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” It was phrased more as an accusation than a question, but he answered it never the less.

“Yes.” he said simply.

“Because we…” she faded out uneasily and looked down at her feet.

Neither of them said anything for a while; Buffy had expected him to jump in, either to take the pressure off her, or because he would want to apologise for his behaviour, but for a long time he didn’t.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been to see you today, kitten.” he said finally.

Better late than never she thought. “Its okay, I understand.”

Again silence.

Buffy looked around, trying to get inspiration for a conversation topic when she realised neither of them was ready to talk about their kiss just yet. “So you sleep here then?” she asked suddenly, “Erm…is it comfy?”

Spike smiled, amused by her desperate endeavour to end the silence, but didn’t answer.

“It looks okay.” she continued, unfortunately staring at him rather than the bed when she spoke, so her meaning became open to his wandering mind.

Spike smile became a grin. Buffy’s cheeks turned red when she saw the look on his face.

“So…why the hallway again?” she asked trying to move on.

Spike decided to give her a break and let her first awkward conversation attempt go; “I told you, you’re in my room.” he said lightly.

“Yeah, I remember,” she replied bemused, “but how is that possible?”

Spike simply raised a questioning eyebrow.

Buffy answered him in her own way, “I mean, have you seen the size of this place?”

He laughed, it made her stomach flip and she had to smile.

“I just don’t get how such a big house can only have one bedroom, what’s wrong with all the other rooms?”

Spike paused for a long time, and it looked as if he was thinking something over. Buffy couldn’t imagine what it was, but she got lost in his expression.

“Come with me, pet.” he said abruptly.

“Why?” she asked suddenly nervous.

He smiled, “You want to know why I’m here in the hall, right?” he asked.

“Yeah, but…”

“Then follow me.” he said getting up and walking down the hall past the bathroom and to the next door on the right, she followed him.

He opened it slowly and coughed, “Er…I guess this is a storeroom.” he said almost embarrassed. He didn’t enter; instead he stepped back and held a hand out motioning for her to go first. Tentatively she did. He went in too eventually, but hung back in the doorway to give her space to walk around.

Storeroom? She mused. More like music room. It was packed full of instruments, so many that she had to be careful how she walked so that she didn’t knock anything over.

There were guitars to the right, 2 acoustic and 3 electric, all propped up carefully on stands, but their straps hung haphazardly like they had just been dumped there. In the near corner was a drum kit, she imagined it was relatively unused and would have shone like new if it hadn’t been so dusty.

Almost the mirror opposite, the left hand side was littered with classical instruments, placed much the same as the guitars, and in the corner a beautiful black grand piano stood proudly. Unlike the drum kit it was almost painful to see it covered in dust. It sent a chill down her spine because of its enormous presence.

She turned around; her eyes scrunched painfully tight as she looked at Spike and tried to meet his gaze. “What is this?” she asked, now understanding why he was embarrassed introducing her to this place; it was a crime to store these things and not use them.

Spike stood away from the wall he had been leaning against, “Time for questions later, pet.”

“But…”

“Trust me,” he said chuckling, “You’ll have plenty more to ask in a minute, so might as well save ‘em up.” With that he walked out.

She followed him out of the music room and across to another room opposite it.

“This is my office.” he said quietly, flicking on the light.

Much like the music room Buffy saw that it was packed full of things. The theme in here wasn’t music however, it was art. There was an easel in the corner by the window, a canvas stood against it, but it was covered with a dirty cloth. More canvases were propped up on the floor in front of it. There were beautiful pictures on the wall, all of them abstract and amateur, but still wonderful. There were shelves full of handmade sculptures and pots, some painted and glossed and some still in rough dull clay, but all very handsome pieces.

Buffy’s eyes were drawn to the edge of the desk where something familiar now sat. “Is that the vase I…”

“Clonked over my head?” Spike finished, “Yeah, that’s the one.”

It was glued in so many places Buffy wondered why he’d bothered putting it back together, it must have took him a long time, and the pattern of lilies was no longer anywhere near as beautiful, even though it was still pleasing to the eye it had lost its flawlessness.

“Its special.” he said as if answering her silent question.

“Did you…?”

Spike nodded. He knew she was going to ask him if he’d made it and the answer was yes, he’d made them all, but he didn’t want to talk about it, so he just nodded and backed out of the room, waiting for her to follow him again.

The next room he took her to was back the way they had come, at the other end of the house. It would have been pitch black if there hadn’t been moonlight coming in from the window. He hadn’t turned on the light switch so she was tentative when she entered. As she looked around she started to understand why, it was a dark room, or a makeshift one anyway. She was sure there’d be a light somewhere, but it didn’t need one for her to see it properly, it was meant to be viewed in the dark.

In the centre of the room were two long tables set end to end, above them hung a wire with empty pegs on it, and below that on the table side by side were plastic trays which she figured were used for the chemical baths. But everything was empty and long since used.

Buffy walked around hoping to find some trace that this strange enchanting room was still cared for, but there was nothing. Spike sat down on the desk in the corner and watched her as she explored.

After a while she stopped. “So,” she started turning to him slowly, “now for the questions.”

Spike smirked and prepared himself.

“Actually just one, a big one…” she sighed, “Why do you have a dark room, an office full of art work, and a store room full of instruments?”

Spike smiled and laughed quietly. “That’s the billion dollar question you’ve been dying to ask me?”

“Pretty much.” Buffy smiled back, then her face fell, “I mean, it’s actually more: if you can do all these things…if you have all this talent, then why do you…”

“Do what I do?” he offered, so she wouldn’t have to label him.

“Yeah.” she said sadly.

Spike’s face fell too while he tried to think of a more serious answer to give her than the one he’d planned on. “It’s…” He paused, he didn’t know why but he decided to bravely take a leap into the unknown, “I don’t know why I do all these things…or why I keep them after. I’m trying to live up to something I guess…” he said quietly readying himself, “Buffy, my mum died when I was 16…and I won’t lie and say my life was perfect until then, far from it, but I loved my mum, and she always believed I would do great things. I guess all mums do, right?”

Buffy looked guiltily back at him; mad at herself for bringing it up now she knew where it was rooted. She of all people knew what something like that can do to a person, how far it can taint every single insignificant part of your life.

“But for a long time after she died I didn’t feel that I could do anything; I felt useless…And then a couple of years ago I tried to prove myself wrong. When I decided to be a musician I spent all the money my mum left me on instruments; first it was classical, and then it was guitars and drums and sound proofing the basement.” He smiled to her, but she didn’t smile back this time, it wasn’t funny to remember the first time he’d told her that information.

He continued, “Then I decided I wanted to be an artist, so I bought paint and canvases and clay and…and I was fooling myself with that too…” He chuckled, but Buffy could sense the bitter edge to it as he recalled what was not the simple carefree story it seemed.

“I tried all these other things too, but I felt lost without her. Truth was I had no idea what to do. I was burning through her money trying to find something I could be good at, trying to be better, trying to find myself again. I finally realised it was impossible.”

“So you gave up?” Buffy asked carefully.

Spike breezed past her comment, “So I decided I should just accept where I was and work my damned hardest to get some more money together so I could get away from it…All this prattle wasn’t the answer to that, you can’t get out, you can’t escape unless you really escape…” He stared down at the floor shaking his head, “but now I don’t know, maybe I can’t get out…I mean my one shot at a new life’s gone to hell…that was my last…” he stopped abruptly with no sign that he would continue this time.

She saw he was closing up on her. He’d opened up a little, but it was too hard for him to go any further. Buffy took a moment, she knew what she had to do and she hoped it would work. She hoped that if she told him about her mother then he wouldn’t feel so vulnerable about what he’d shared, or be too scared to share more. “My mom died too.” she said.

His head snapped up suddenly and he looked across at her to see if she’d really said what he thought she had. “Really?” he asked.

Buffy nodded, “She died just over 2 years ago.”

Spike got up from where he was and stood, “You don’t have to tell me about it, kitten…if you don’t want.”

“Its okay,” she said looking at the floor suddenly, “I don’t know why, but I want to.”

Spike stepped forward and waited for her to start in her own time.

“It was a shock when she died, but it shouldn’t have been. She was in and out of hospital my whole life.” She looked up at him, a little embarrassed that he was staring so intently at her, but carried on, “When I was younger it was depression. My dad left us when I was 9 and she never got over it…Sometimes she’d go for walks and not come back, she’d forget to pick me up from school or cook dinner, or clean the house…so I had to. I had to make sure she ate everyday, because otherwise she wouldn’t…and at night I had to put her to bed on the couch when she drank…But I didn’t mind, because we managed, and at least she’d stayed with me, my dad didn’t.”

Spike took another step closer, not wanting to interrupt by saying it, but wanting to show her he was there for her.

Buffy looked away again, but she appreciated his closeness.

“When she was finally pulling herself together, I think I was 14. That’s when she got diagnosed with cancer…”

Spike froze for a second, but then took another step.

“She fought it pretty well, chemoed the hell out of it and we thought it was gone, but on my 17th birthday she collapsed. It was back, and there was nothing they could do this time.”

“Buffy, god that’s…” He reached a hand under her chin and brought her head up so her eyes could meet his. “I can’t believe you went through all that.”

“I told you you didn’t know me, Spike.” she said softly, “I may only think of myself, but I never used to have that chance. And when my mum died I felt like I had no one, I felt lost, like no one could possibly understand me. People tried, but I pushed them away; I pushed and I pushed, and then eventually I really didn’t have anyone. Just me.”

Man, did he regret judging her. When she shouted and threw tantrums it wasn’t because she was spoiled; she was just a wounded little girl. She was independent. She was a fighter and he’d pushed her to fight back so she had.

“I’m so sorry, kitten.” he said brushing his hand against her cheek for a second, both of them surprised how natural it felt.

“Anyway,” Buffy said, trying to get through the rest of the story so she could finish it, “she died my last year of high school. She hadn’t been fit to work for a long time and we had nothing, but I had my college fund from my dad, the only thing he ever gave me all my life, so as soon as I graduated I skipped town, started college, and got a job to pay off our debts…Well, that was the plan…” she paused for a second, “Anyway…I wanted a new life after she died, and so I went out and got one. I understand being lost; I understand the need to start over.”

Spike didn’t know what else to say, his story wasn’t as straight forward as hers, and as much as he wanted to tell her about it, to share his pain and make her feel like she wasn’t alone in her loss, he couldn’t. She wouldn’t understand if he told her everything, she shouldn’t understand.

“What was your mother’s name?” Buffy asked as she watched the emotions playing across Spike’s face.

“Lily.” he said sadly.

Buffy felt tears prick her eyes as she remembered the vase, but she didn’t want to cry over breaking it, or apologise to him for how much it must have hurt him. She didn’t want to make this about her regret.

“What happened to her?” she asked carefully, and as her question registered she saw him physically tense, felt the atmosphere change around them and she wanted to take it back.

His jaw twitched, “Can we talk about something else?” he asked.

Buffy didn’t push. It took a lot for her to talk about her mother, and she didn’t know why she had been able to with him. She didn’t expect him to share just because she had; it wasn’t something you could force. His secrets made him such a puzzle for her, but she’d have to unravel them one at a time, when he was ready.

She looked up into his big blue eyes and held his gaze as she gathered her strength to ask what she knew she wanted to ask. The words came out tender, “Why did you kiss me yesterday?”

His face softened, and he found that he couldn’t look away from her, and when he realised that he knew he had to answer, “I wanted to shut you up.”

Buffy searched his eyes, “There’s another reason.” she said confidently.

“I…” he tripped all over his words, something he did an awful lot around her; he took a deep breath, “You said you didn’t know me.”

Her brow creased in confusion, but still her voice was careful, “I don’t understand.”

“When you said that…I felt something.” He suddenly realised they couldn’t get much closer than they were, yet his body felt a pull to her, a need to be nearer.

“What?”

“I felt regret, I guess.” he choked out. “I wished that things were different. That we’d met differently.”

Buffy was still confused, but she was feeling a similar pull to him, and when his hand came to rest on her arm she felt warmth spread through her body and didn’t pull away.

“If we’d met differently you could have known me.” he explained, “I realised I wanted you to know me.”

“Spike.”

He leaned down, and she knew that he was going to kiss her. She wanted him to, she really did. She wanted to feel the heat of his mouth again, to feel the strength of his kiss in the way his lips moved on hers, but she couldn’t bring herself to let him, so she moved away at the last minute.

Spike pulled back a second later, trying to save some dignity after her rebuff. He wasn’t going to try again; he was choosing to be a gentleman. Yesterday, tonight, he’d forget they ever happened if that’s what she wanted. He didn’t want to forget, but he would.

He sighed sadly, “Maybe we should just go to bed.”

Unable to look at him and knowing that she’d probably made him feel utterly stupid Buffy couldn’t answer him so she just nodded. She felt an ache in her gut from hurting his feelings, but she knew this wasn’t right. She had to keep reminding herself of that.


* * * * *



Chapter End Notes:
A bit nervous about this Chapter because it's the first glimpse of the more complicated story of Spike, so let me know if you liked it. I don't know whether it's a little rushed because a lot happens, so reviews will be greatly appreciated...the rest of his story will come out soon enough!



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