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AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is a long one. Hope you readers like it!
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The music was loud. Louder than usual. It sent ripples of tension and ease across Spike's back simultaneously. His hands were covered in grease, fingers twisting a wrench around and around to finish up. Within minutes, he slammed the trunk on the bright blue Jeep and huffed. It was an ugly color, he thought. Just looked damn wrong.

He wiped his hands on a rag absently, tossed it roughly at the shelving unit against the wall. Spike turned his back on the car and strode away, running stained fingers through his hair. Black streaks were left behind. He stared at his palms as an afterthought, and realized they were still coated. Of course.

He rolled his eyes. Making a quick bathroom trip, Spike cleaned his hands as best he could with the bar soap sitting on the dingy sink. His stomach rumbled as he shut off the water.

Dinner might not be the worst idea. He hadn't eaten in... Spike left the bathroom and looked at the clock hanging on the wall. Over three hours since he stole an apple from the cubicle sized kitchen here. Yeah, he should probably eat again.

Another piece of fruit would do. Wasn't like he was starving. He didn't feel very hungry too often lately. Before he could seek out another Granny Smith, though, voices distracted him. Arguing, inside Paul's office. The door was shut, but he saw a vibrant crown of red poking above the high frosting on the windows. Spike squinted when he caught the second, short yellow blonde hair, taller than the other, and standing very close.

Last he knew, Mr. Bandoni and Candace had been in there, but evidence suggested Paul was gone now. Being late on Wednesday evening, Spike had been called in last minute, along with Joe and one other pair of hands. They were asked to do some work on a couple cars belonging to one of the boss' family friends.

Other bloke, Bobby, he left about fifteen minutes ago. He'd been delegated to working on the second vehicle with Joe, while Spike handled the Jeep.

He hadn't given Gregory much attention tonight. No more than he ever did, for fear that he would lose his temper along with his job. However, now Spike thought of it, Bobby never clocked out until the work was completely finished; there had to be another reason Joe was still hanging around.

Spike looked over his shoulder at a lone black Chevy, bonnet down and brand new spinners on the wheels. The car was all closed up, its repairs finished.

A loud slam drew Spike's attention immediately back around. Bounding from the office in a fury was Candace. Behind her came Joe, muttering curses under his breath and glaring at the woman striding away from him.

Spike stayed in place, his eyes sharp. He noticed the other man rubbing his cheek. It looked red. Bright red, as a matter of fact, as if he'd encountered the less forgiving side of Candace's easygoing personality.

"You're out of here, Gregory. Don't plan on coming back."

"You stupid bitch," he spat. Candace rushed to the opposite side of a tool bench, safely distanced. "You're going to get me fired 'cause I called you out on your games?!"

"My 'games?'" she bit out. "My being polite isn't a call for sexual harassment, you pig! I never said you could touch me, and I sure as hell never showed any interest!"

"Like hell you didn't! You show interest in every fuckin' guy who works here! Isn't that right, Billy?" Spike didn't get even half a chance to speak, as Joe continued belligerently. His voice was determined and cruel, like a private goal had been set. "Walking around this place in your skimpy clothes sure as hell makes it clear you're asking for something."

"I never asked you to come near me!" Candace stomped one black booted foot, her eyes like green splinters of glass. "If a lady tells a man to back off and he takes that as invitation to push her against a wall, then he's a piece of crap!"

"Ain't no ladies here, honey," Joe returned snidely. "It's not my fault you can't take an opportunity when it comes."

"Shut your bleedin' trap, Gregory." Spike received the full attention of the snake on the floor, and Joe's antagonism shifted.

"Spike," Candace interjected, "this isn't your fight."

"It's my business now, pet." Spike watched Joe take a couple steps towards him. Clenched fists raised to a higher defensive position.

"Looky here, the outcast protecting the whore."

"Hey!" Candace protested.

"Sweet, but it's still not enough to get her to spread her legs for you, Billy, she thinks she's some hot commodity."

Spike's blood boiled. His heart rate picked up in anticipation. "She's got taste, dickhead. Leaves you severely lacking."

Joe smiled without humor. "Oh, so you're one of those blind idiots. Of course. Why am I fucking surprised?" He raised his hands, palms out and fingers waving mockingly. "Protect the women, defend them! They're so helpless! Never mind they lead men around by the dick and never do anything about it except for what they damn well please! She's going to get me fired now, all because I took what was being offered up!"

"The lady didn't offer you a soddin' thing, wanker. You might see that if you thought with anything resemblin' a brain."

Candace stepped in, not breeching the space between friend and foe, but trying to diffuse a possible brawl before it started. ""Why don't you just leave, Joe? Grab anything you've kept here, and get the hell out."

"Stop trying to tell me what to do, Candy," he sneered. "We both know that mouth is only good for one thing."

Her gasp preceded tension charging up Spike's spine, vaulting him closer to possible disaster.

Joe didn't care about repercussions anymore. The bastard knew he was history as soon as the boss got wind of this incident, so he used every viable opening to fling insults. An effort to gain back some of that imaginary pride.

Spike paused suddenly, and wondered where Paul had disappeared to; then he saw the keys for the garage next door were missing. They usually hung on one of the small hooks beside Bandoni's office door, and every single metal arm was empty.

"Candace, get your dad."

She looked at Spike apprehensively. "He's next door-"

"I know. Go get him."

She stared at the door leading out. Joe stood in front of it. She could get around with a wide berth, but... Shaking her head, she met Spike's eyes again.

"He won't touch you. Go."

"Yeah," Joe chuckled, smiling like a clown, "I'm harmless, sweetie."

Candace glared hotly and didn't cower. Lifting her head high instead, she strolled around the tool bench, avoiding Joe with a tedious path, and made it safely to the exit. She ran off in search of her father as soon as the doorway was clear.

"You know she'll never fuck you, right?"

Spike bit down, fighting every instinct that told him to turn the prick into usable garden mulch. "Get your shit, and leave."

Joe clenched his fists, quietly seething. The picture of disgusted resentment, he stomped towards the lockers in the back. From the one on the far right he grabbed his coat, making use of the door by slamming it shut. One harsh metal clang preceded the even more grating sound of his voice. "You're a sorry fuck."

"Know it's funny," Spike mused caustically, "we haven't gotten that far in our relationship but I was goin' to say the same about you."

Joe scoffed. He shrugged his coat on in a rush, checking the still wide open exit door before he decided he had time enough to add, "Letting women walk all over you will get you nowhere in life, Billy. They think they can just take whatever they want, and they'll make a profit every time. You've got to take back once in a while."

A chord was struck. Spike closed his eyes as his jaw turned to iron. He imagined Buffy alone in her store. His girl left quiet, shaken, a kind of state he never wanted to see her in ever again.

"Big words, comin' from some poncy git who throws tantrums when daddy sells dead mommy's furniture."

The room turned icy and still.

"What the fuck did you say?"

Spike regretted the words the very next moment; but it was too late. Joe had heard each one, every syllable.

"Are you talking about the Summers bitch?"

Spike's let out a venomous growl.

"If you know her then you know my dad had no fucking right to do business with her! He still doesn't!" Joe was storming closer, his anger unleashed, loose and unpredictable. "That little cunt keeps trying to take what isn't hers! I told my father and my brother and now I'll tell you: She's no better than-"

Spike hauled back and decked him. His fist slammed against Gregory's cheekbone when the man drew five feet away. Spike caught himself on the lunge as Joe fell to the concrete. A deep, uninhibited groan broke with impact, shaky hands running over split skin. Shock curling his limbs alongside pain made a beautiful picture indeed.

Spike's mouth turned up in a silent snarl, and he raised his fist again.

Paul's voice broke through. "Spike! Enough!"

He froze, chest heaving as his hand came slowly down to his hip. Joe was rising off the floor, unsteady, looking like a caged bear. All Spike wanted was to plow him over.

Panicked eyes shot back and forth between Mr. Bandoni and the unhinged fighter glaring holes into him. Somewhere behind, Spike heard Candace's voice, bitter and firm. "Get out."

Gregory ran without so much as a yelp of protest, his pride left splattered on the floor.

Spike didn't turn around. Tension simmered down, thorough, draining. He felt another's presence move in, and then Mr. Bandoni was standing in front of him. Inspecting him. The older man let out a sigh. "You better control your breathing, pal. You'll pass out in a moment if you don't."

Candace arrived with a chair, and Spike sat down gratefully. "I'll get him some water," he heard her say.

The woman left, but Paul waited a second or two before bringing up the only thing one gruff, hardworking boss speaking to a fresh employee could think of. "You were my first choice anyway. Gregory wasn't going to stay on."

Somehow, that managed to jolt Spike's awareness into something manageable. He nodded mutely; after a minute said, "Thanks."

"Don't mention it. You're a good worker." He looked up as his daughter came back. A cold bottle of water offered to the man absently flexing his left hand. "Candace seems to approve of you, too."

"I sure do," she said softly. "Spike, if you want, I'll drive you home."

He shook his head resolutely but kept quiet. Thoughts of Joe were bombarding him; not so much what the other man had done or said, but what Spike had said to him.

He finally took the water bottle, downing several large mouthfuls. Cold, sharp liquid rushing through his chest; he hit the halfway point before he broke for air.

"You sure you don't want a ride?" Paul asked, something like concern on his face. "You can consider it an employee benefit, if it suits you."

Spike closed his eyes and shook his head again. "No, thank you."

"No thanks are needed," Candace said. "How's your hand?"

He hid his bruising knuckles behind the bottle. "It's fine." And it was. Spike felt the nerves singing out in pain, but knew that would pass. He wasn't too sure about the anxious beat of his heart, though, and the trembling breaths slipping into his lungs, making his body shake.

He recalled the words. The moment Spike himself had snapped. What he said to get a rise out of the enemy, to hurt Joe acutely, and see if the man remembered what he'd done to Buffy.

Joe truly believed there was no good in any woman, excluding his mother; so considered Buffy's feelings to be trivial. When he stormed into her shop that day, her worth as a human being was almost nonexistent. He intimidated without regret, scared her, and probably enjoyed it.

It made Spike ill. He might have endangered his girl now. To get answers, to hear the truth from Joe's own mouth, he let it slip he knew Buffy. Likely cared about her, reinforced that notion with his fist. He'd sent a bastard like Gregory off, who seemed to be good at holding a grudge, bleeding and very bitter.

"I can't come in tomorrow."

Paul frowned, as did Candace after Spike's declaration. The former eventually shrugged and said, "All right. That's fair. I'll see you Friday, though. Evening again. Got it?"

"Okay." It was his day off then anyway. Tomorrow, though, he needed to be home. He needed to be near Buffy, near the school, at least in town.

Hell, he should be leaving now. He couldn't guess at whether or not Joe would do anything tonight, or even put the pieces together, but Spike wasn't willing to risk it. Buffy was too goddamned important.

"I've got to go." He rose from the chair quickly, finding his cell phone, coat, and keys before rushing to the exit.

"Call us if you need another day to recover, Spike!" Candace shouted.

"He won't need another day, Candy, he's fine-"

"See you Friday." Spike bolted, shrugging on his short leather coat as he ran for his car. Cold wind bashed his face until he fiddled long enough with the keys and managed to unlock the driver's side door. Sliding in, Spike cranked the engine, pulling out of the lot between the body shop and Mr. Bandoni's personal garage.

The dicey drive back was so maniacal, it would have made several dozen townsfolk at home think a certain blonde woman was behind the wheel.

***

Spike broke the rules when he drove past Buffy's place. Lights were on and he saw her walking through her living room, talking on the phone. Everything around the house was quiet. Moonlight shone across two sets of tire marks of the exact same width and size, proving her Jeep had been the only vehicle to drive through since the last snowfall.

Spike sped off quietly, convinced for now that she was safe. He headed to Larry's shop next. A block down from the business, four Gregory vehicles sat in the driveway of a two story house, including Joe's Ford.

Relief slackening the tension in his back, Spike went home. His heart still remained chaotic for having glimpsed Buffy from a distance, like he so often used to do. A mixture of pleasure and pain, that was, but breaking the promise he'd made was what left him feeling sick.

Spike swallowed the guilt and drove home. Determination reasserted itself, like a magnetic weight being pulled into place. He knew he might have to break his promise a second time.

Tomorrow. He would check on Joe first, then he'd speak to Jack about keeping an eye on Buffy. Explain why he was concerned, try to avoid spying... Rather, he'd try to avoid confronting her himself. Spike would not follow her without her knowing. Not again.

He wrestled with the notion of having Jack report the entire story, eventually landing on the decision that it couldn't hurt. No harm in making sure she knew about what had happened tonight. No harm at all getting her guard up, so long as she stayed safe, and Spike stayed away.

***

"What did we agree on, again? Sorry, dear, my memory's not what it used to be."

Buffy cleared her throat, absentmindedly patting Tabitha's head. "I'll take twenty percent off the purchase but the rest is yours. The buyer is picking everything up tomorrow."

"That's fantastic." Larry let out a grateful sigh. Buffy could tell he was relieved that the majority of his wife's things had sold so quickly, and for the top asking price.

"My coworker Anya will be in the store tomorrow and she'll make sure things go smoothly. I'll have a check for you by Friday if-" A loud bang suddenly ran across the line and cut her off. "Larry?"

"Joe, knock it off!" he bellowed, frustration as clear as the words themselves. An echo of genuine anger emanating from somewhere in the distance proved greatly more powerful. "Would you mind holdin' on for a sec, Buffy?"

"I can call you back-"

"I'll only be a moment... Joe, quit yelling! I'm trying to have a conversation in here..."

Buffy waited tensely for two full minutes before the device was picked up again. "Sorry, dear. Joe's just got home and he's in a bear of a mood."

"I can tell. I mean- I'm sorry to hear that."

"Get's more like his mother every day..." Larry sighed, and Buffy didn't comment; she didn't think he really intended her to hear him. "Boy just got fired at the new body shop he was workin' for. S'pose he had a fight with his boss. He heard me talkin' about the sale and that just added another burr to his saddle."

Buffy grew tense. "He isn't going to come by my store again, is he?"

"No, no, don't you worry. I'll make sure he doesn't. He's talkin' to his brother now anyhow; that always manages to calm him down a bit. Joe'll be over it in the mornin'. He was only tryin' the other job out 'cuz we haven't been gettin' along so well lately. That'll blow over, too."

"Oh..." Buffy wondered if a majority of Joe and Shawn's antagonistic behaviors were attributed to Larry's inclination to wait for things to 'blow over.' As long as Joe didn't try to drop in on her, Buffy didn't care, but she would make sure to call Anya and check in. Just to be on the safe side. "I assume he'll be with you at the garage tomorrow?"

"Yes, ma'am." Larry sounded confident. He yawned before returning to their original topic of conversation. "You said somethin' about Friday?"

"I'll have the check for you by then."

"Oh, right, right. Thanks, Buffy. I appreciate it."

She smiled tightly, holding in a heavy sigh. "No problem." Which it wasn't, just so long as Larry's oldest didn't come into her store and throw another tantrum. That day, now weeks and weeks in the past, still made her edgy when she thought about it. Buffy wasn't accustomed to being shaken up. She didn't scare easy, but after Joe stormed in and stormed out, taking from her what he believed to be rightfully his despite his father's opinions, she'd sincerely hoped she wouldn't have to deal with the man ever again.

Right now, Buffy could still hear muffled cursing in the background. The idiot was a foghorn. Last she encountered him, though, he'd been both loud and quiet. Whispers of threats crawling across her skin the way worms wriggle. And where Joe supplied unease, Spike's arrival following his exit had provided comfort and safety.

He'd wrapped his arms around her, had grown angry on her behalf, and proved to Buffy then and there she would never face anything alone. Not if she didn't wish to. She could have him by her side through everything.

Buffy swallowed, forcing herself to finish the conversation with Larry Gregory. She pushed thoughts of a once valued and welcome protector from her mind. What happened with Spike was in the past, as was the whole incident. Joe could shout and complain at home as much as he wanted to; he was not welcome near her, her employees, or her shop, and that was final.

***

The next day, early morning, Buffy was on the phone again. It was an ungodly hour Larry's buyers had chosen. Anya was at the store babysitting their things, taking a quiet moment to chew her boss' ear off.

"I don't see why I'm here at six thirty in the freakin' morning. Why couldn't these people have picked up their stuff another day if they couldn't manage a better time?"

"Anya, I told you, it's because they're leaving town today and they needed their son's truck. Besides, they want to beat the bad weather."

"Well, why couldn't their son just pick it up for them while they were out of town?"

"Because he's going on the trip. They won't be back for a month and a half."

"Ugh! People!" she exclaimed, sounding very much like a cranky toddler who hadn't gotten enough sleep. "Where are they even going?"

"Texas."

"What's in Texas?"

"A warmer climate?"

Buffy listened to Anya groan, long and unmeasured. Both women stared through different windows at the brewing storm. Snowflakes so fat they looked like marshmallows fell faster and faster under a dark, gray tinted sky. A blizzard was on its way.

Buffy had chosen to head to school early. She'd woken up a dozen times the night before anyway, courtesy of endless dreaming. It was happening more and more frequently over the past week, restlessness causing headaches and dark circles. Buffy didn't usually have trouble sleeping, but life wasn't too usual as of late. She'd had to up her caffeine dosage.

Now the snow and wind were promising a cold, bitter day ahead. It was always cold here in January, of course, but the storm would grow stronger, and the roads would become riotous. She had wanted to beat that and the salt trucks this morning, knowing all too well that a 'snow day' for schools in Wisconsin was about as likely to happen as a temperature rise over forty.

None of that, however, affected Anya's griping one bit. "They could have picked the tables up when they got back."

"I don't want already sold pieces of furniture taking up space in the shop that long."

"Ugh, fine! You're right, all right? I'm just tired and- Oh, here they are. You said a truck, right?"

"Thank God!" Buffy breathed. "And yes, a big one from what I was told."

"It is."

"Great. Make sure you give them the dolly, and stay near the phone. I'll call you later just to check in."

"You worry too much."

"I just want-"

"To make sure Joe doesn't poke his annoying head in? Don't worry, I told Xander everything last night after you called. He's going to drop in a few times and probably run up your phone bill calling here every ten minutes."

"I didn't mean to freak you guys out..."

"You didn't. Well, not me, but Xander is definitely in manly protector mode." Anya smiled, and Buffy could hear a slight shift in her voice. "I don't mind. Actually, I should be thanking you. He's cute when he's worried."

Buffy rolled her eyes and Anya quickly went on to say farewell. "The early birds are coming in now. Time to smile! I'll talk to you later, Buffy."

"Be nice-"

She hung up with a click. Buffy sighed and stuck her cell phone in her back pocket. She leaned her head against the window. Cold, flat glass pressed into her temple. The parking lot was dotted with cars already dusted by a fine layer of white. It was common for teachers and staff to show up early when the weather was this bad. Evidently, folks here shared a common motivation to beat traffic when they could; Lord knew they would all be fighting to get home later.

She felt bad for the kids, having to roll out of their warm beds and face this frigid weather before sitting at hard desks for hours. Buffy was of the opinion that school should start later, especially considering teenagers these days were known to never get enough sleep.

They weren't the only ones suffering from that problem lately, Buffy thought again. She yawned. It was grueling to be left every night to the mercy of a brain that just wouldn't settle. No matter what she did, she couldn't find rest. Tea didn't help, medication only made her loopy, and trying to go without coffee for two days had given Buffy migraines.

It was no use. Her brain was on a constant loop of repetitive questions concerning one man, peace forever stalled at bay. Really, the situation just kept on getting worse.

Spike should have felt like a memory by now, not a distraction in her present. She hadn't had this much trouble forgetting a man since Angel, and that was saying something. She hadn't been able to forgive Spike, or even try to understand why he'd done what he'd done, for so long, that the latest debates going on in her head were effectively unsettling.

When Buffy had discovered those pictures in Spike's house, it was like getting shocked by a live wire. She shivered thinking about it now. All the same questions started lining up in a predictable pattern. Why and when had this obsession begun? What did Day One consist of? How might Spike have fallen from afar, and why did she even think for a second that a normal man could?

You couldn't love someone without knowing them. You could fantasize, spin a daydream behind the provided image, but it wouldn't be the truth. It wouldn't be the person. Not their real personality, mind, or spirit...

Buffy closed her eyes. Angel's voice rang like a distant bell in her head, a time when she had loved him wholly, and he told her about the day he spotted her.

She squeezed her eyes tighter. He'd said he felt spellbound, it was "love at first sight." Buffy thought it romantic back then, and the way he followed her around asking for dates and attention was charming, flattering. He hadn't done what Spike had done, but when you considered the impression being vocal made versus keeping desires to yourself, why was one taboo and the other romantic?

Because Spike hadn't fallen in love with who she was, Buffy reminded herself. He had followed her, taken pictures and hung them up to create a private shrine. A daydream that couldn't be real beyond the film. She didn't want to think about what he did behind closed doors with it. He was a silent admirer, but the privacy breach was both unfair and perverted.

She was fully aware of the fact there hadn't been one peeping tom photo on that wall, and she did believe Spike when he said he kept a certain distance. He hadn't crossed quite every line, but that didn't make what he did any less wrong.

Well, maybe it did. But that didn't mean his feelings were real, by any standard. It didn't mean apologies could mend things, or that he wouldn't revert to old habits. He hadn't known her when he started following her; when he got close, he claimed he had stopped, but did that make it right? Was that fair? No, of course not.

But what was fair in love? In life? She'd heard nothing was, believed it, too, for as long as she could remember. If a man loved from a distance, he should do it wisely. He should break the fears and insecurities that kept him away. He should step up and ask for a stupid phone number. The more Buffy thought about it, the more she wondered day to day if Spike's loneliness and total lack of social confidence had a hand in his behavior.

What he said that day outside her house, against the frozen stillness of a Friday in December, plagued her for the hundredth time. The memory seemed to echo like a scream in a cavern the last several nights... "Because I didn't think you'd so much as look at me twice. I didn't know you'd ever want... that you'd ever give a chance to someone like me."

Buffy opened her eyes to stare at the growing snow piles. It didn't matter, she told herself. Spike didn't deserve her pity. He shouldn't have followed her, shouldn't have taken those pictures. He couldn't have known who she was when he decided to act as her second shadow, could not have loved her. It wasn't possible.

But Spike stayed after getting to know her... the real her. More than willing to be everything she wanted, and needed, in a partner. He had stayed.

Buffy sighed wearily. These were the kinds of thoughts beating her up on a daily basis. Ever since learning the truth, she'd been good at pushing off sympathetic considerations and excuses. Slowly now, Buffy found herself getting worse at it, not better. She acknowledged the heartache, and that was supposed to help, but all it really did was clear her mind of rightful emotions like anger and fear.

If Buffy were honest, she could admit that Spike helping change her tire on Christmas Eve had done away with the majority of fear. Following that, the single most jarring thing to happen, and in the last week no less, was her conversation with Jack. Learning of Spike's secret role in the boy's life was more likely to upset her sleep schedule than just about anything else the world could throw out.

It was the inner sympathizer bowing to heroic activism. It had to be. Knowing Spike had helped Jack without telling her anything about it was undoubtedly the reason for these growing uncertainties.

She was warming to him again, subconsciously making excuses, and coming up with secondary possibilities that might allow her to cut Spike a break.

He didn't deserve a break, she kept scolding herself, and yet... Buffy's heart had switched sides; it fought her every step of the way. She wished to God the wall she'd built around it would just stay solid for once.





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