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AUTHOR'S NOTES: make sure to read chapter 29 before this one! I updated sooner than I planned!
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It was like thick oil, draping itself over his lungs to prevent breath. Every day Spike walked through his empty house and thought of her, every day he went to the school and passed her office. The two days a week he worked at the shop, she was there, in the shadows, behind benches and old cars; and these were the times he was farthest away from her.

Every day it happened, in some way, in some form, a reminder stood to test his strength. The various ways they broke him didn't matter just as much as he didn't know how to stop it. Spike could only work to accept the situation for what it was. He remained silent amongst laughing crowds, hoping time would unmake the hell he survived in.

He told himself it had to get worse before it got better, but Spike wasn't convinced he'd ever reach a state of peace. Perhaps, he could attempt to move on or forget, but if such was a possibility, the end of the tunnel wasn't yet in sight. It wouldn't be for a long time.

Spike rubbed his sweaty forehead with a somewhat clean rag. His hands and select angles of his face were covered in grease, his uniform of dark blue in much the same state.

Working at the body shop proved a tireless administration. It was rewarding, though. There was a diminishment in his lack of social skills, which hardly mattered, but he had to admit knocking out the second his head hit the pillow at night was damn pleasant. He was dreaming less because of it. He might awake every day in a nightmare, but the short solace provided by the work kept him coming back.

He wanted the job. At first, he'd been far from certain, but Candace had proven insistent enough that Spike wondered if maybe his drunk alter ego did have a good idea on occasion. Seeking a third form of employment had never occurred to him until the morning he re-met the lady, mainly because he hated dealing with people. It was why he kept the two jobs he did have, so he rarely had to face the outside world.

Somehow, at some point, that need had withered. Spike knew Buffy must have had a hand in it. The way she treated him, before learning of what he'd done, helped Spike to feel worthy of something. Left him with more than just memories of mockery and disdain from childhood. Then, Jack, who admittedly drove him bonkers on occasion, kept Spike younger, and simultaneously more aware of the fact he was a grownup. Even Clem made a difference, he supposed. Spike barely remembered the New Year's eve party, but he'd clearly survived it; and, according to Clem and Candace, he had a decent time.

Now, Spike had this new job, one that gave him enough shit to do that he wasn't just learning, he was working so hard he barely had time to think for long periods while on the clock. It didn't mend everything, or erase Buffy's face from his mind, but it helped. He would go home exhausted and pass out in a blink. Then he'd wake up the next facing the same heartache he always did, yearning for work because even if it hadn't fixed his heart, it certainly made life a bit less intolerable.

Spike was contemplating handing in his notice at the graveyard. A part of him still enjoyed going there, as much as he ever had, but he was hoping for more hours at the shop.

He wasn't going to quit just yet, though. He still had no idea whether Mr. Bandoni was thinking of keeping him on or not, and Spike didn't want to count on luck.

Besides, he had Joe Gregory to worry about.

Spike looked up from the brake pads he'd been scrutinizing, wiping his hands clean for the moment. Joe was across the shop, staring into the engine of an old Ford, smiling charmingly at its thirty-something female owner. He looked to be talking straight to the woman's chest.

Spike sighed. He couldn't say he didn't appreciate a woman's figure, but Joe had never been the kind to appreciate anything. The initial reason Spike hated the wanker had to do with his treatment of the opposite sex, and the way Buffy being near him always made Spike feel apprehensive.

Thinking about what happened after she was hired to sell the late Mrs. Gregory's personal belongings, Spike had to catch hold of his rising anger. Jaw clenched, he looked away, back to the brake pads lying in front of him. They were rusted and done for. He'd have to toss them.

He looked in Gregory's direction again, tempted like when you pass a car accident on the highway. The bloke said something to send the lady off in a huff, but she left the Ford, which presumably meant she would come back after whatever was wrong had been fixed.

Amazing. The bastard could still hold onto customers while acting like a shithead.

Spike absently wondered if Mr. Bandoni had picked up on the git's behavior yet. He thought Candace had; she met him once, and Spike hadn't seen her go near Joe since. It was something to ease his worries that Joe might be kept on in his place, when the time came for a choice to be made, but the fact remained that Gregory still had more experience.

Spike considered that. Joe had to be a good mechanic to stay on so long with his father; and so far as he knew, Larry Gregory hadn't hired anybody new. Spike couldn't fathom why Joe would need to look for extra work. His father's shop was really the only reliable one in town.

Maybe business was slow, but Spike had a feeling Joe was just getting bullheaded and cranky. He and his old man were likely fighting about something, which wouldn't come as much of a shock. Mainly because every time Joe opened his mouth, Spike yearned to knock his teeth out.

He hated working with him. Bloody hated it. He kept remembering how shaken Buffy had been that day the bastard came by her shop...

Spike took a deep breath. There was no use worrying about it now. She was safe, he reminded himself. Joe hadn't hurt her, and the more he saw the git at work, the easier Spike would rest knowing Joe was just as far away from Buffy as he was.

"Something interest you, Billy?!"

The Brit ground his teeth and turned it into a smile. Gregory was leaning against the Ford with his arms crossed, a lug wrench in his right hand. He knew Spike didn't like him. Which was fine, because the attitude returned to his competitor was hardly friendly.

Spike's feelings didn't actually matter; Joe would have hated him out of a pure bitter need to prove himself superior.

A bully, through and through.

It didn't help he kept calling Spike 'Billy,' either. "Just wonderin' what you said to the lady there," Spike called back. "Sent her off in a bit of a bad mood it seemed."

Joe smiled snidely, one corner of his mouth rising effortlessly high. "It always 'seems' like a bad mood when a woman's involved. Don't ya know they're not good for anything when they're talking?"

Spike ground his teeth harder, but let the false grin wither.

Joe turned around, digging into the engine of the Ford with ease, his conscience clear. Spike had to take five deep breaths before he could get back to work.

If anyone else had been within earshot of their conversation, Joe wouldn't have said a word. The bloke was slimy, on his best behavior around everyone else, and reverting to his natural state if Spike was the only other person around.

It was probably because Joe didn't think Spike would be there for long. That was obvious. He also knew Spike wouldn't complain or make a fuss. It wasn't in his nature to rat, even on a man like Gregory.

No matter how badly he wanted to throttle the bastard.

***

Tuesday Morning

Buffy clicked off the radio. She turned her head, looking out the car window at her storefront. She had been letting a song finish, one moment extra to think before quieting her mind and starting the day.

Where first Buffy avoided thinking too much at every cost, January issued new rules and awareness. She knew she had to face painful things, upsetting things, realisms and conclusions and fears; in short, she needed to wallow in order to heal. Getting down on herself for her feelings wasn't at all helpful, and neither was going back and forth trying to determine just how horrible Spike was, or how not horrible.

The heartbreak she was working through was proving different than the ones she'd been dealt in the past, yet it still burned like a match. There were no losses one could see, only those she felt inside. Buffy hoped life would ease up, despite the tedium and hung gray skies that never seemed to clear.

She knew she wasn't doing better, even before speaking with Jack on Thursday. Her thoughts were catastrophically singular, her heart bruised, and growing bitter. Buffy had believed it would get easier because it always had before, with other men.

Her life began to settle, just barely, and then it stopped. Buffy found she could hardly stand the tireless weight in her chest. Then, she met with Jack, and matters were made so much worse.

On heavy snow boots Buffy stepped from her car onto salty pavement. She approached and unlocked the shop's front door, grasping the edges of her coat together against a morning wind. The chill withered like a dry flower when she was safely inside.

Buffy undid her scarf and threw it on the coat rack, her winter jacket soon following. She had forgotten gloves today, so she blew into her cupped palms and followed the routine of turning on the lights, starting the computer, and switching on the overhead radio.

Deafening rock music shot through the air, making her jump. Buffy quickly turned the volume dial to the left, furiously blowing out her anxious breath. *Damn it, Anya.*

The room was quickly swathed in silence. Buffy changed the station before readjusting the music to a non-deafening level. She went to the thermostat and turned up the heat, then decided to retrieve a can of pop from the mini fridge.

She stared at the lines of soft drinks. There was root beer, cola, lemon-lime, orange, grape, even strawberry and apple. She always kept a good selection on hand. Despite the cold weather, her students never turned down the offer of a sugar boost.

Her needs were similar today. Buffy's mouth caught somewhere between a smile and yawn, as thoughts of the kids lead her mind to Jack. She grabbed a cola and kicked the small white door shut.

Sipping tentatively, Buffy stared at the displays littering her shop, at the morning trickling in through the shaded window. Dawn's blue rays found the four inches of glass left exposed, and painted the floor in streams of ocean light.

Buffy walked to the window and tugged quickly on the blind. She let it fly to the top as shadows sprouted on her face from muddled sunlight and bare tree branches outside. She could hear birds chirping, and her eyes were drawn to a red cardinal flitting to a lamppost across the street.

They sat directly in front of the library, both bird and post. The streetlight flickered off as morning stood in to fill its roll. Buffy watched the black lettering on the front of the building shine beneath winter sun.

She remembered seeing Spike there, in front of that same library months past. She hadn't known him then. She had been coming to the end of a personal epiphany, opening the shades to a storm burdened sky, only to lock eyes with an incoming storm on two legs.

He had ducked away so suddenly, and Buffy was left to think time and again about the stranger who dressed like a punk rocker from the eighties. Who was he? Not from around here, surely? What was his name? What was he like?

Then, Spike was stranded out front of her house, and from that moment on, Buffy couldn't let herself forget. She knew what he'd been doing now. Watching her from the road, and from the library on that first day. The very first time she'd ever seen him.

He threw her for a loop without even trying. The conversations that followed, the nights they spent sharing laughter and stories, sorrows, secrets, intimacies, became more important to Buffy's happiness than she was willing to admit.

Those nights had been taken from her, and the days. The dinners, the jokes, the kisses, the touches, the trust; she'd been forced to retract all of it. Give it up, and toss Spike away like a hated ex boyfriend.

It hurt to think about because she missed it. Buffy missed him, and she was beginning to realize it was okay to do so. It was understandable. It was human.

Spike was human, too. Evidence suggested he knew he'd done wrong, he knew he'd hurt her, and therefore made efforts to avoid her. Jack helped Buffy see that. The boy also gave her a hundred more reasons for her heart to clench when she thought about Spike.

She'd had no idea he was helping Jack. None at all. She never would have guessed. If Jack hadn't told her, she never would have known. Buffy wasn't certain she was happy the light had been shed, and a small part of her still didn't believe it.

What kind of person devotes their time to a teenager, teaching them how to fight off bullies? What kind of man bothers? Most onlookers rolled their eyes at such things, said that boys would be boys. It was part of the reason why Buffy felt so useful when she was helping the kids, trying to be there for them when others weren't. Too many people, the adults who were supposed to watch out for them and guide them, parents, even older siblings, didn't care. They shirked the unwritten responsibility, didn't listen enough, told boys to toughen up and girls not to be so dramatic.

It angered Buffy. She had seen one teenage boy living a crummy life, with no friends, and wearing bruises bestowed upon him by his peers. She tried to help. She tried discussing the fights but he refused to talk about them. She tried getting him to speak up, but he didn't want to look the coward or the rat. She tried comforting him, but Jack never seemed to want that from her. What he wanted, what he needed, came from Spike.

Spike gave him things he could use; skills, self confidence, and a method of defense against things and people who would hurt him. It was more than Buffy had ever seen someone do for a teenager.

She rubbed her tired eyes, a pent up sigh rolling from her lips as Buffy turned her back on the window.

The same, reoccurring knowledge hit her every hour. It was something she had known once, but had admittedly forgotten after finding the pictures. She only remembered because of Jack, and what he'd told her; Spike was a good man.

Perhaps a man with problems, with many demons in his past, a man who made mistakes. A man who had violated her personally, and broken the trust she handed over. Buffy was still hurt beyond explanation, mad, and embarrassed to boot. She knew what Spike had done was so many kinds of wrong, that she couldn't count them if she tried.

Yet what Jack had told her kept sticking. It kept reminding her with merciless frequency that Spike was not evil, and he wasn't sick. Or if he was, it wasn't the ordinary kind of sick, if such a thing existed. He was harmless. This made the second time Buffy was reminded she need not, and therefore did not, fear him. To top the situation off, she was forced to acknowledge what he'd done for Jack. Time and devotion spent on a boy to provide a selfless gift, something that would have very likely made her fall in love with Spike had she known earlier.

Now it was too late.

It was that realization which left Buffy feeling utterly hollow.

She should be grateful, a part of her brain whispered, that she'd avoided such devastation. What she felt now would not have compared to a love lost after her heart was fully given. She'd never gotten that far, though, with Spike. She'd been close, but she never fell from the edge. If she mourned such a near miss, well, that was her problem to sort out.

Suddenly, the front door opened with a bang, startling Buffy out of her own mind. She experienced a moment of pure frustration when she put a name to the face.

Larry Gregory, covered from head to toe in winter attire; a jumpsuit, coat, gloves and gray hat. He ambled in shivering. "Hiya, dear. I've got the truck outside with the first load. Be bringin' the last of it over tomorrow, if that's fine?"

Buffy smiled wearily, walking around the counter and reaching for her own coat. She'd completely forgotten about Larry's visit.

They had made new arrangement to sell his wife's belongings. Before Buffy agreed to it, she was sure to set some ground rules, finally explaining the majority of what had happened with Joe, much to his father's shock. She made it clear she wouldn't stand for such an incident happening again.

It didn't take long for Mr. Gregory to get back to her. He had spoken to Joe directly, and promised Buffy she wouldn't be hearing from the man again. After some price bargaining and the like, she finally agreed to display and sell Larry's merchandise.

Now, as she squinted at morning's sun, she savored the warmth on her face behind the wind. Buffy soon noted the pickup waiting to be unloaded only carried three items. The first two were a matching set of end tables, the third a large chest of drawers. "Isn't there more?"

Larry rubbed his head. His gray hair was down to his chin and stuck out at odd angles from beneath his cap, framing deep set brown eyes. "Don't have much, really. Joe's been stingy. Just a couple jewelry boxes and a table left back at the house. Like I said, I'll bring 'em by tomorrow, if that's all right."

"That's fine."

"I couldn't get my son to give up anything more," Larry grumbled, making eye contact with the snowy sidewalk as he yanked on the tailgate of his truck.

"I'm sorry you two fought about it," Buffy said honestly. She followed his lead and plucked one of the end tables off the bed.

"Don't be," he mumbled shamefully, and opened the door for her. "Joe's got a rough few decades ahead of him if he keeps kickin' up such a fuss about things as silly as old furniture. He's got tons of pictures of his mother, and I can't afford to keep this stuff in storage anymore."

Buffy nodded, but said nothing.

"I don't like arguing with the boy. Never did." Larry set his end table beside Buffy's, groaning as he stood up straight. "He's got a temper, he does. His mother did, too. I just don't want this stuff around any longer. What I do keep in the house reminds me of her... and Joe doesn't understand how painful that can be. His mom could do no wrong to him, but she and I... well, we stopped gettin' along sometime after Shaun was born. It's hard, you know? Wonderin' about where things went wrong all the time."

Buffy nodded again, her eyes filled with sympathy. "I'm sure."

Larry sighed then, glancing at the door. "I can manage gettin' that chest in by myself," he said gruffly, "if we take the drawers out first."

"I'll help," she assured him. "Just let me get a dolly from the back, it'll make things easier."

"Good idea, good idea," Larry nodded, and Buffy headed off.

***

It was nearing half past three. Buffy looked up at the clock for the twelfth time in under an hour, and decided once again that the minute hand wasn't moving.

She was busy polishing tables, but it didn't make time go by any quicker. She couldn't pinpoint why she was anxious, but her mind kept wandering, as it did so often these days.

Better than sitting at home, she knew. Buffy wasn't sure how it would feel to return to the school on Thursday. She knew Spike wouldn't be there now, not even if she stayed hours past the time she was due to leave, and she couldn't decide if it relieved or frustrated her.

The front door clanged open as suddenly as it'd done earlier that day. Buffy immediately looked up from her task and spotted a familiar head of brown hair.

"Penny?"

The girl rushed forward, red cheeked and panting. She was wearing thin leggings and an open winter jacket, no scarf, no hat. Her matching braids were frizzy and hastily tied, her teeth chattering.

"What are you doing?! It's freezing outside!" Buffy left the tables and took Penny into her arms. She steered them closer to the heating vents. "You are so not dressed for a jog!"

The girl took shaky breaths as fast as she could, finally attempting to speak after one hard shudder. "I had to hurry. I need y-your help."

"Why? What happened?" Buffy didn't bother trying to wipe the concern off her face; it was there to stay.

"The school is closed."

She looked at the clock again. Yes, the school was definitely closed by now. "And?"

"And I need to get inside," Penny stressed. Her big eyes grew so round, they appeared as large as golf balls. "There's a note on a desk and if Nick sees it tomorrow or someone else does, I'm finished!"

Buffy's frown became less worried and more suspicious. Her heartbeat began to slow. "This is about a note?"

"Yes!" Penny took a few more deep breaths, her lungs thankful for the warm air. "You remember Nick? The guy on the swim team?"

Buffy thought for a minute. "I sent him to you for tutoring in English, right?"

"Right! Well, I kind of developed this totally huge crush on him, and to make a long story short, Cressida Pincher found out, and she hates me."

The frown deepened again. "Why does she hate you?"

"We hate each other," Penny sighed. "She's a spoiled brat and I tell her it's stupid to wear Prada to school. We just don't mesh."

"Got it."

"So when she found out I liked Nick- I never should've said anything to Amy about that -Cressida acted like the terrible person she is and just told me she left him a love note! From me!" Penny's voice ascended into a shriek. "I didn't even write it! She forged it, and I know she isn't bluffing! Cressida's a huge bitch-"

"Hey!" the counselor scolded. "If I'm going to help you, you watch your mouth."

"I'm sorry, Buffy, but she's just so- Ugh! She's evil! And if Nick finds that note I'll die."

"Careful, you're starting to sound like a girl in a fifties sitcom."

"Buffy!"

"Sorry, couldn't help it."

"You have to help," Penny begged. "I need to find that note before school tomorrow, which means I need to get in now."

"'Find?'" Buffy rose an eyebrow. "I thought you said it was on a desk?"

"It has to be." Penny bit her lip briefly. "His first class is History, with Cressida. Nick always sits at the same desk. It's this habit he has. I just know she left the note there."

"Wouldn't the teacher just grab it in the morning? Before students arrived?"

"Ms. Wright is always late! There's no way she'll find it first. Besides, knowing Cressida she probably put it somewhere sneaky."

Buffy held in a groan and shut her eyes. She opened them again after counting to five. "How do you know she left it there? Did she say she did?"

"Of course not, but the only other place he'd find it would be in the swim team's locker room, and Cressida wouldn't touch that place with a ten foot pole. She hates chlorine, and locker rooms. It's got to be the desk..." Penny bit her lip again. "Unless she slipped it in his book locker."

Buffy let out the groan. "Can't you get to school early tomorrow?"

Penny's eyes bulged again. "And risk getting caught? I can't! If Cressida spotted me, or someone found me with the note and blabbed it all over school, my life would be so completely over."

Ironically, the guidance counselor asked any helpful deity who might be listening at the moment, for some guidance.

"Please Buffy?" Penny beseeched again. "I came to you because I know you must have keys. Or if you don't, you could at least get one of the janitors to let you in-"

"I don't think this is a good idea," Buffy quickly interrupted. She'd gotten the funniest chill just then, and her mind was made up as fast as a music box quiets upon being slammed shut. "You'll have to look for it tomorrow."

"But this is important!" the girl wailed. "You asked Nick to talk to me! And now that I like him everything has been made harder. I can't focus in class if he's there. I think about him all the time, and since Cressida left that note he'll know how I feel and he'll think I was too chicken to tell him myself!"

"You are."

"That's not the point!" Penny's intense gaze welled with tears. "Haven't you ever been afraid of what a boy will think if he knows you like him? That he'll reject you? Maybe even avoid you after?"

Buffy ground her teeth together. She couldn't seem to get the blaring mantra of "Hypocrite" out of her ears. "Couldn't you just... tell him Cressida wrote it?"

"Then I'm a rat! And who's to say Nick would believe me? Besides, once he knows, I don't think he'll be so oblivious anymore. Every time we have a tutoring session, I'm scared he'll catch me drooling."

"Didn't he pass English already?" Buffy bemoaned.

"Yeah, but now he needs help with Calculus. Who do you think he ran to? Me! Because you suggested it the first time."

"You're terrible at calculus."

"Again, not the point! I'm better than he is."

Buffy closed her eyes again. With a big swallow of bitter courage, she forced out the words: "You're sure it's on the desk?"

"Yes!"

"Fine." Buffy reached for her coat and scarf, handing the latter off to the girl. "Put this on and button up."

"Thanks." She tied the knit fabric around her thin throat before closing her jacket. "It's got to be the desk, or the locker."

"Penny-"

"But I can't think about that. Besides, he never really uses his locker anyway."

Buffy shut off the lights and pulled the shades, directing Penny to lead the way out.

*You love your job,* the woman told herself stubbornly, *Just remember that, Buffy. You love your job.*

***

She hated her job.

As Buffy waited by the school's backdoors with one wide eyed teenage girl, it was her whose nerves tossed around like bouncy balls in her stomach. She was shivering uncontrollably. Buffy didn't have keys to the school itself, just her office, so she and Penny waited impatiently for someone to hear the insistent knocking of bare hands against cold glass.

It was four o'clock now. Someone should be inside, but the most probable of persons to answer the door wouldn't be a teacher or even the Principal; chances of getting a janitor were by far the best.

Buffy was beginning to feel sick.

She let her hand fall while Penny continued to rap furiously, her young face pressed to the glass like a child standing before a toy store window at Christmas. "I don't think we're getting anywhere."

"We have to!" Penny huffed in distress, banging on the door with the side of her small fist. Buffy saw the girl's knuckles were stark white.

"Penny, why don't I just come in tomorrow super early, and have Principal Wood let me in the classroom? I don't have to tell him why, but I can look for the note before anyone-"

"Look!" Penny gasped, eyes locking on an approaching figure inside the building. "Here comes someone!"

As Buffy turned her head, it was a mere second that felt like an hour. The anxiety, and following steamroll of relief she felt in that instant, was enough to exhaust her.

The door opened with a slight squeal as Clement Leighton poked his head out into the cold. "Gee, girls, what are you doing here?"

Buffy's chattering teeth somehow allowed her to answer. She hugged herself and said, "Hi Clem. Sorry to bug you, but we need to get inside."

"Well, I figured that," he replied, opening the door wide enough for them. "Hurry, hurry, it's as cold as a witch's tit out there."

Ignoring the odd phrasing, Buffy smiled at him the moment he shut the door. Her nerves were still firing like canons, but damn if she wasn't freezing, and there was no reason she couldn't be grateful for Clem's rescue.

He was a man she'd only met once or twice, but who always seemed very friendly. He smiled easily. His blue eyes were warm and as guileless as a child's. "You've saved us a lot of headache," Buffy said.

"Glad to help!" Clem glanced briefly at Penny, who was starting to tap dance with impatience, and ended up frowning. "Uh... Can I ask what you guys are doing here after hours?"

Buffy smiled again, shaking her head. "Sorry, but no." She ushered Penny ahead of her as they strolled off. "Thanks again!"

Buffy followed the girl obediently, keeping her head down as they marched through familiar hallways and around sharp corners. The air was stale with the smell of Windex and some ever present school-ish aroma she could never name but would recognize anywhere. Their footfalls made little sound as they raced to their destination. Buffy avoided looking at doors or even to where Penny lead her, she simply moved fast.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, they reached Ms. Wright's history class.

Penny opened the door to the empty classroom with a large sigh of relief. "It's unlocked," she whispered.

"Thank God," Buffy muttered. She followed Penny once again and saw the girl make a beeline for a desk in the back. "How do you know where he sits if you're not in this class with him?"

"I've spied. He's in here when I have a free period."

"Ah." She wasn't sure why she didn't guess. Everyone knew, girls could be damn clever when it came to their crushes. "And he never switches seats?"

"Never."

"Least he made it easy for us," Buffy muttered.

"Got it!" Penny held up a small slip of paper triumphantly. She waved it as she rushed over, swiftly scanning what was written. "Oh, she is a bitch-"

"Penny!"

"Sorry. But she is!" Penny shook her braids. "Ugh, I would never say this! What a load of-"

"All right, that's enough note hunting." Buffy tried to urge her from the classroom, and managed to shut the door soundly behind them before Penny stopped dead.

"Wait."

Buffy's sigh was heavy with defeat.

"I have to check his locker."

"You're joking."

"No, I just- I just want to make sure there's nothing, like, sticking out of the side of it, ya know? She might've tried to cover all her bases, and-"

"This is ridiculous!" Buffy argued. "You found the note. Unless Cressida is a total whack-job with no life I'm sure there isn't a second one." She wrapped an arm around the girl. "Now c'mon, let's get out of here before-"

"I just have to check."

Buffy looked into that pleading face again, and for what felt like the tenth time today, she caved to the teenager's pathetic, genuine distress. "Be. Quick."

"Thank you!" Penny soared off like a shot, and Buffy had enough gall to yell after her, "I hope you know I'm losing hours at the store because of this!"

She sighed as the girl's braids whipped around a corner.

Crossing her arms, the silence she had believed to offer shelter suddenly felt very fragile. She swallowed. *Maybe I should've gone with her,* Buffy thought. She looked over her left shoulder, then the other, and down the hall on both sides.

What were the odds Spike had gone home by now? Or skipped work? Perhaps he was at that new job Jack mentioned?

Buffy couldn't help but wonder what the new job was like. She thought about what he'd told her once, how Spike liked the solitude his current forms of employment offered. It seemed something must have changed between that time and now to make him branch off.

Buffy realized with an inner forehead slap, that yes, something had changed. She'd told him to leave her alone. They had split. Spike made a promise not to come near her, and therefore pushed himself into a new environment; Buffy was as far from him now as she'd ever been. They didn't even have the school as a way to run into each other.

Unless a teenager begged Buffy to break in on a day she wasn't working, just to steal a note forged by someone quite petty so that a reputation might be saved.

There was no accounting for her bad luck, it seemed. The Powers That Be just liked to dish out an endless supply to Buffy Summers.

She looked over both shoulders again, and then straight ahead for the first time. She was staring at the doors to the gym.

They were big and bright orange, clashing with everything that could ever pass by. Three brass letters hung directly above them. Buffy was drawn forward a few steps. The doors had small glass windows with a diamond pattern over them, allowing her to see through straight, simple lines if she chose.

She took another step closer. What was that Jack said about his training? He'd gone to Spike's house during Christmas break... "When you guys stopped talking, I was going over there more and more, just because I thought Spike might want a friend..."

The woman blinked rapidly, shaking her head. That was a temporary fix, though, Jack claimed. Normally, he and Spike worked in the gym after hours.

Buffy forced a hasty breath, turning those last few steps into inches. She reached out bravely, touching the offensive bright orange paint with gentle fingertips. Standing on her tiptoes, she peeked, staring through clean glass to the space on the other side.

She gasped quietly. There they were. A wiry boy with jet black hair and sweat dripping down his youthful face, and Spike. A taller, stronger picture, with messy white blonde curls, slanting dark brows and sinewy arms leashed with muscle.

He held two large kickboxing pads as Jack threw his leg out, hitting Spike's hands each and every time. The boy kept nothing leashed, his eyes searing with determination and lit with focus. Buffy couldn't fully see Spike's face from this angle, only the way he held himself sure and solid against Jack's onslaught.

They were master and pupil. A man teaching a youth how to become one. They broke when Spike shouted something unintelligible to her, and Jack lowered his risen knee. He placed his hands on his thighs and caught his breath, back hunching forward.

Spike patted him on the arm and said something to make the boy smile. They shared a laugh, and Buffy's throat grew tight.

Jack raised his head, glancing at the doors by chance. Buffy gasped again. He'd already caught her. She bit her lip, hoping against hope that he wouldn't react, praying for silence.

He didn't utter a word. A strange look crossed his face, like some kind of understanding, that made Buffy feel like the sneak she was. She jerked back. Her pulse was beating a mile a minute, but her heart felt heavy. Palms lay cold and sweaty against the orange doors. It was getting harder to breathe.

"No note."

She spun around at the chipper voice. Penny. "N-Nothing?"

"Not that I could see," she said, smiling. "I think I'm home free. We can leave now."

Buffy swallowed. She walked ahead with just that intention. "Good. I can drive you to your house."

Penny struggled to keep up with her long, anxious strides. "I'd really appreciate that, thanks."

"Don't mention it."

*And please, please never mention this day to me again.*





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