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In the romantic chill of February sturdy robins and daring red cardinals chirped loudly outside a clear glass window. They sat upon branches dripping water of former icicles, announcing their cheerfulness for waking upon such a balmy Valentine's Day.

Buffy was lying in a bed she had only come to know last night. A mattress she was still growing accustomed to, with its cushy body and warm, all encompassing blankets. Her head was pressing deeply into a soft white pillow, filled with dreams based in memory as wakefulness rapped gently against her subconscious.

"What are you going to get him for Valentine's Day?" Anya asked her.

Buffy frowned and quit filling in checkmark boxes down her To-Do list. The dance was taking up a good helping of time, and while she was stressing over decor and lighting options, the holiday being celebrated had gone almost completely ignored.

She looked her coworker straight in the eyes. "I have no idea."

"You haven't thought of anything?"

"I haven't... thought." Buffy sighed and closed her planner. "I do have to get him something. I just... I've been so busy, and distracted. I forgot Valentine's Day was an actual holiday."

"Well, now's as good a time as any to brainstorm." Anya perched on a stool and smiled easily. "What about records? Does he like music?"

"Yes, but-" Buffy shook her head. "Not sure he has a record player."

"Another leather jacket?"

"He's happy with the few he's got."

"Cologne?"

"Doesn't wear it."

"Gift card?"

"Way too impersonal."

"Why? It isn't like you're sleeping with him."

"Anya..."

"Fine, fine." She held her hands up in peace. "A book?"

"I'm not even sure he has time to read, what with the new job..." Buffy chewed on her lower lip. "What do you usually give Xander for Valentine's Day?"

"Lingerie and sex."

"I should have guessed," she mumbled.

"Yes, you should have." Anya studied her manicure. "You said he's been working as a mechanic lately, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, how 'bout you get him something he can use at work?"

Buffy frowned thoughtfully. "Like what?"

"I don't know. Gloves? Toolkit? Tool belt?"

"Do you usually wear a tool belt when you're working on cars?"

"How should I know? My husband's a carpenter."

"Never mind, it doesn't matter. Spike said he uses the tools at the shop while he's there."

"Does he ever watch TV?"

"Yeah, sure. He likes this soap opera my mom used to watch." Buffy squinted. "Think I should try and get him a box set?"

"Only if you plan on watching it with him."

"A big no," she said. "Maybe I should give him something less... materialistic."

"Sex would work."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "And I'm sure he'd love to know I only did it because a holiday told me to."

"No need to get so prickly."

Growing quiet, Buffy tried to think. She followed the rapping pattern of her nervous fingers and her gaze wandered to items on display below the glass countertop. Valuable jewelry and unblemished knickknacks were locked up but easy to see. Amongst glittering necklaces and pearl earrings Buffy spotted a brass key that fit inside a music box in the front window. She frowned at it.

"I think I've got it," she murmured.

"That was fast." Anya hopped off her stool, approaching the counter. "What'd you decide?"

The dream drifted away. New awareness situated itself within her subconscious mind. Buffy's eyes fluttered open and found a stream of golden white sunlight warming the floor below the window. It was half shaded by a dark purple curtain that appeared black when without the sunny backdrop.

Buffy shifted in bed, stretching languorously against sheets and a firm stature behind her. Smiling sleepily, she turned over and came face to face with Spike's throat. Buffy leaned closer to press a kiss there.

"Mornin', kitten."

She looked up in surprise to find his blue eyes bright and attentive. "Morning. How long have you been awake?"

"'Bout an hour." Spike ran a hand slowly down the side of her face. His touch was warm and gentle, like his voice.

"What time is it?"

"Nearly eleven."

"Really?" She frowned and scooted closer, nuzzling against him as the sheet was dragged higher up her arm. "We didn't sleep as long as I thought we would."

"Not complainin' about it myself," he said, and leaned down to kiss her. Their mouths collided, full and closed, even as Buffy felt the solid glide of his erection against her thigh.

She moaned quietly and let Spike turn her on her back. She molded her hands around his bare shoulders and lifted up, sneaking one leg around his hips. He could fit himself between her thighs and fill her easily. The invitation, however, went unanswered.

Buffy blinked when he pulled back. "Where are you going?" she pouted.

Spike left a row of kisses down her chin and throat, sliding gradually away. "I've got something for you."

Buffy sat up and watched curiously. He went to the door where a package, lean and wide, wrapped in simple brown paper with a red ribbon awaited. He hurried back to bed and knelt beside her with it, tugging the sheet over his lap.

Buffy's eyes flitted between his face and the present, filling with warmth and mild disbelief. "What is that?" she whispered.

Spike smiled uncertainly. He cleared his throat and tried to control the urge to close his eyes. If he could, he might have rewound the moment and elected not to tell her about the gift until he felt more prepared. More capable of saying he would take both items back if she didn't like them. Only he was lost to do anything else the second she awoke by turning in his arms and peppering kisses across his skin.

Buffy watched Spike's fingers tap dance nervously across the flat surface of the paper. "M'sorry," he said, "that it's not fancier wrapping. I was goin' to get something better before I gave it to you, but then since you spent the night... Figured it was only right to give it to you the morning of."

Buffy took the present carefully when it was offered. It was heavy and solid in her hands, but the middle depressed when she touched it, something soft and cushy hidden underneath.

"Happy Valentine's Day, love."

Buffy smiled, saying nothing. She very carefully undid the red bow, then unfolded the neat brown edges he must have taped together while she slept. Ribbon and paper peeled away to reveal the bottom of a dark wooden frame. Above that, Buffy found what had felt so cushy to her through the packaging.

A creamy cashmere sweater lay folded in red tissue paper in the center of the picture frame. It was as soft as a silk feather. When she picked it up the fabric lay like frosting over her hands and fingers, cut strongly in the middle and fitted down the torso. Just her size. The tag beheld a name she didn't recognize, and the price had been removed. Undoubtedly, this article cost a pretty penny.

She lay it across her lap, fingering the buttery material. She looked up at Spike in amazement.

"Like it?"

"It's beautiful." She swallowed thickly. Getting emotional with presents was not her thing, but seldom did Buffy receive a gift as thoughtful or luxurious as this. "Where did you get it?" she inquired softly.

For some reason, his voice was much louder than hers when he answered, as if a heaping of uncertainty had lifted, alleviating pressure on his throat. "There's a shop, bit a ways outside town. Small place, but they do all right. Stuff's locally made. I thought you might like something warm for the winter."

It wasn't just warm, it was almost ethereally soft. And, if Buffy could read his mind, she would know that was one reason Spike had chosen it. So she could wear and feel something as delicate as sunlight on her shoulders, even in winter.

Refolding it, Buffy set the sweater aside. "Thank you." She leaned forward and offered a tender kiss.

Before she could take it farther and forget about the second item lying between them, Spike tapped the still half wrapped picture frame with one finger.

"Oh." Buffy smiled easily, missing the new uncertainty gathering in his eyes. She peeled away the last of the brown paper.

Sitting underneath was a painting. Before a golden background, outlined in mallard green, stood a red rose. It was oil paint, she could tell, and looked almost antique. There was no damage done to the canvas and the frame was shiny, free of nicks or scratches. This didn't look like something one could buy in just any old store, maybe not even one like hers.

"Wow," she breathed, running her hand along one smooth edge.

"It was my aunt's," he broke out. Buffy looked up quite suddenly. "My mum saved a lot of her art after she passed. Most of it's still hangin' on the walls in the house. This one," Spike touched the very corner of the green paint, "she kept in her bedroom. Along with this," he fiddled the brown paper that had been tossed aside. "Found it while I wrappin' the sweater. Thought you'd like it since I didn't get a chance to buy you real flowers."

Buffy's voice, when it came, started out as a breakable murmur. "Your aunt was very talented."

"Yeah, she was. Taught me how to draw."

Blinking heavily, the picture of the rose was moved very gently to the chair by the window, beside the North Star, along with her sweater. Buffy climbed hurriedly back into bed and removed the sheet she had used as a makeshift cover.

Nestling close, she crawled into Spike's lap. She wound her arms around his neck and kissed him immediately. She felt his hands scale her bare back. When she broke for air, she knelt a little higher and pressed every inch of herself against him.

"You sure you like 'em?" he asked timidly.

"I love them." She glided down carefully and felt his body fill hers.

"Oh, Christ..." Spike breathed.

She watched him suck in air through flaring nostrils, his eyes closing heavily before popping open again when she started to move. "I got you something, too," she said. Shudders grew, passion flickering to light as it coursed through her veins. Spike groaned against her collarbone, nipping gently. "But I- I left it," Buffy gasped, "at home."

"You're enough," he muttered, so quietly she was certain he hadn't meant her to hear, and admitted she might even be mistaken.

But the possibility she wasn't gave Buffy the courage to tell him right then what she was planning on giving him. "I had a key made."

A moment filled with heartfelt whispers passed before he responded. "A key?"

"For you." She lowered her body again, taking him in as deeply as she could. "To my house."

All movement stopped. Spike pulled away from a shoulder to gaze up at her in what could only be described as utter shock. His Adam's apple bobbed behind the skin on his throat. His grip tightened, and she couldn't slide upward anymore. "You...?"

Awareness dawned between his unfinished question and the disbelief nestled inside it. Foggy though her brain was at the moment, Buffy still didn't miss her chance to spell things out. Settling against him, she framed Spike's face in her hands. "I trust you."

It was that simple. That quick and easy to explain, but monumental all the same. Seeing the beautiful things Spike had chosen for her made Buffy feel a little lame for not having gotten him something of material value at first; but now, as he stared at her with heartbreaking gratitude, all she felt was pride.

Pride, in herself for having the guts to make this decision, and pride in Spike, a man who so clearly thought this kind of present was worth more than gold. To most a key symbolized a step taken before moving in or meeting the parents; to Buffy, it meant something else entirely.

To him, it meant the world.

He lunged up and stole her lips again. Spike's kiss was blatant and dripping hunger, consuming her every thought and sense. Buffy rolled her hips because she couldn't move more than an inch inside his arms. Implacable and steadfast, he ate at her mouth while she writhed to try and alleviate the flaming tension gathering between them.

Spike rocked deeply into her body, his cock pulsing and stroking warm, wet walls, hugging him as tightly as he held Buffy in his arms. She moved like a wave, gasping, moaning lowly against his mouth. Heat suffused their skin. A sweaty, grinding fuck bettered tension, climbing between two fused bodies and clasping hands.

Buffy's spine arched acutely and her head fell back. She came around him, to the sound of Spike confessing, "I love you, I love you, I love you..."

It echoed around her, bled into the moans filling her throat. Buffy felt the force of his drives carrying her pleasure, until Spike groaned blindly into her flesh and they both fell to the bed.

"I love you," he murmured again. Buffy gasped for long forgotten breath as Spike's mouth traveled along her sweat shined neck. "I love you so much."

***

"I'm going back."

Spike looked up from the kitchen table and his omelet. Buffy sat across from him, her robe wrapped body framed by one glass of orange juice, a mug of coffee, a plate laden with eggs, and a bowl of blueberries. In the middle of the table sat a small pile of toast. They had decided to have breakfast for lunch.

"Going back?" Spike asked curiously, smiling at her. She took a sip of creamy coffee and nodded.

"I'm going to call Robin and ask for my job back."

Spike felt excitement race up his spine and fill his eyes. "S'that so?"

"Mhm." Another nod, this one preceded by a single bite of toast. She popped several blueberries into her mouth and chewed. They had worked up strong appetites over the last couple hours. "I realize I need that place. I need the kids, as much as they need me. And after last night..."

Spike's brow rose of its own volition. "Lots of things changed."

Buffy blushed. "They did." She picked up a forkful of cheesy eggs and swallowed the whole bite. Another sip of coffee, five more blueberries.

Spike watched her eat almost more than he actually ate his own meal. He did this surreptitiously at first, but eventually she noticed him staring and snickered. "What? Do I have jelly on my face or something?"

He shook his head. "You don't have to go anytime soon, do you?"

Buffy smiled. "No. I can call Anya, and ask her to open the shop for me tomorrow?"

His blue eyes filled with familiar, heated intent and pleasure. "Do that."

"Okay." She licked her lips, then added, "Oh, do me a favor? Remind me I need to ask her or Xander to feed Tabitha, too."

Shit, he forgot about the cat. "No problem."

Buffy returned full attention to her toast. "I'll call them all after we're done."

***

Three phone calls later, Buffy had a Sunday off, her cat looked after, and her old job back. Anya was only too happy to help if it further propelled the consummation of her prude boss' only relationship. Xander fed Tabitha on his lunch break and promised to stop by the house again before heading home from work, which Buffy thanked him profusely for. After all, it was a selfish reason why she wasn't home to take care of the responsibility herself.

Robin Wood was over the moon after Buffy called him. She had to phone the house, but he didn't seem to mind. As a matter of fact, he was so happy to rehire her that he offered a raise on the spot. She said she would think about accepting it, once she got back into the swing of things.

Finally, half an hour having passed with her cell phone pressed up against her ear, Buffy was relieved to spend more time away from contact with the outside world and head back to bed. She was in the bathroom downstairs, having brushed her teeth with a brand new toothbrush and switched out Spike's heavy black robe for one of his black T-shirts.

She entered the kitchen on bare feet, surprised to hear Spike's own cell phone ring. He was rinsing dishes, his hands dripping with hot water, while a little device chimed away on the countertop. Buffy walked to it and saw the name blinking on the screen.

"Of all times," he grumbled. "Who is it?"

"I don't know," Buffy said with a frown. "Who's 'Candace?'"

"Bugger." Spike sighed and dried his hands on a paper towel, approaching her. "Coworker. She helps her father manage the body shop."

Buffy frowned harder as Spike picked up his phone. "Bandoni's?"

"Yes," he sighed. "Callin' me on my day off ain't a good sign."

He finally cut the intensely annoying ringing in half and answered the caller with transparent impatience. Buffy was only somewhat mollified by this.

She moved closer to Spike and warmed when he wrapped an arm around her. If she strained her ears and shut her eyes, she could make out what the other woman was saying, but Buffy refused to do it.

Spike didn't move away, or claim he needed privacy during the entire phone call. It was only a few minutes in reality but to her it felt like an hour. The point of the conversation became clear almost immediately. Spike was being asked to come into work. Thankfully, he declined humbly and was not sacked on the spot. There were even moments where he chuckled, and Buffy got the feeling Spike was well liked at his new job.

When her boyfriend hung up, she couldn't keep her mouth shut for long at all. "Are you staying then?"

"Naive of you to even ask," he murmured, leaving a kiss on her head. He inhaled the soft scent of her hair. "M'not goin' to get fired, sweets. There's a whole lot of others they can call, Candace just chose me first off the list."

"That's the girl you punched Joe over, isn't it?"

She froze upon speaking. Spike leaned back a bit and looked into her eyes. "You were the girl I punched Joe over."

"According to Jack-"

"Jack didn't get the full story clear then." Spike turned her to fully face him. "Yeah, the bastard deserved it for treatin' Candace the way he did, but I lost my temper 'cause of what Joe said about you."

Buffy blinked rapidly, though she was still frowning. "Oh."

"Wish I'd made that plain before, but I didn't realize..."

"You couldn't really. We weren't exactly on speaking terms."

"Buffy," he said, studying her perceptively, "if you think for a second you have somethin' to worry about, you're off your rocker."

"I didn't say I was worried."

"Yeah, but..." He squinted. "You look it."

Buffy bit her bottom lip. Silly, old emotions swelled in her chest. Things she hadn't felt for years, over anyone, fought with common sense and what she saw every time Spike looked at her. He was doing that now, gazing with love and helpless hope, obviously concerned she was going to grow fearful over something entirely cooked up by her own mind. "Can I meet her?"

Relief lightened the invisible weight on his shoulders. "Absolutely."

"Thank you." She hugged him. "Sorry I even thought..."

"Don't be." He kissed her temple, holding on tight. "You didn't really believe it."

"How can you say that?"

"Because I love you, and you trust me."

She pulled back, her eyes filling unexplainably with tears. She choked them back and kissed him hungrily. Spike moaned, yanking her body flush against his own.

Within minutes they had maneuvered their way into the living room. They landed on the couch, hands tugging, hems riding. Buffy undid the clasp on Spike's jeans as he situated her over his thighs. Impatience rose up like a tidal wave. With a hot exhale, she engulfed him easily and rocked forward, stealing his gasping lips in an openmouthed kiss.

Spike grasped Buffy's hips, hands sliding under the shirt she wore. His shirt, black as night and made of cotton not nearly as soft as her skin. She squeezed his cock with warm, rippling muscles. Her neck arched back as she sat up and controlled him with beauty alone, moaning, sighing, ghost whimpers dropping from her bee-stung lips like pleas. Buffy gained a rhythm both slow and torturous, swirling her hips before taking him in ever deeper.

He watched her with glazed eyes. Blonde, messy waves bounced with grinding motions, dancing along the edges of her jaw, caressing her throat. Groans left him unbidden. Her mouth opened on breathy "Oh's" and his cock grew harder, until he was thrusting steady but gentle inside her. His hands rose, plucking peachy nipples below the crumpled hem of his shirt, blessed to feel her heat surrounding him. She was all his, she'd made that clear; and she was marking him hers.

With each desperate or supple movement, Buffy coaxed him to completion; with sweet figure eights and merciless clenches, writhing in abandon until Spike sat up and clutched her tight. "Go on now, baby," he grunted, supporting himself with one arm while the other guided her lifts and descents. "Let it go. Want to feel you squeezing me like you can't help it when you cum. Now, Buffy, let me feel it... Finish with me..."

She gasped his name, nails raking his back as she slammed onto him. A hard thrust inside, stabbing deep as she moved fast against his lap, and they both fell. Identical shouts of pleasure filled their ears, echoing against throats straining towards the ceiling.

Buffy slowed down first, feeling Spike's last desperate surges into her body before she melted in aftershocks. Falling heavily onto his shoulders just ahead of his collapse to the sofa cushions.

"That..." she started to say, then lost her breath again.

"I know." Spike stroked her hair, gasping beside her ear. "Bloody-"

"Incredible."

***

An hour later and they were dozing in the afterglow on the couch. Spike had built up the fire and a warm orange shadow cascaded across the floor, dancing, licking the air with tenacious heat. She was lying on top of him and every warm, muscled plane felt exquisite.

Buffy smiled as Spike left a kiss on her forehead, humming pleasantly. She jerked in his arms when a loud ringing disrupted the moment, and she saw her phone blinking on the coffee table between them and the fireplace.

She groaned as Spike reached out, rolling his eyes, to retrieve it. He had brought it in from the kitchen when he got the fire logs from outside, but now she wished he hadn't been so thoughtful.

Taking the phone from him, shifting carefully so she could rest her temple against his chest, Buffy said, "Thanks," and answered the disruptive cellular device.

She bit back a sigh and tried to ignore the feel of an attentive hand on her bare ass when she realized it was Giles on the other line. Buffy also tried to sound perky as a conversation begun, but there was very little incentive.

Spike listened with half an ear, too content and warm to care overly much about one more phone call. So long as this one didn't drag Buffy away, he didn't mind. The fact the bloke she was talking with lived across the pond meant it was very unlikely she would need to leave.

He closed his eyes, listening to the soft responses issued by Buffy's voice. Spike caught words and questions that led him to think her cousin was considering another trip to America. His girl said something about never having touched base about a visit in January. This was followed by a surprised exclamation he couldn't understand, but would ask more about once she got off the phone.

The way the conversation went, and the way Buffy spoke to Giles, made Spike that much more certain he would need to be on his best behavior when he met the bloke. It had never been obvious, during those two lonely years of not really knowing her, that Giles was her cousin. Now, Spike was only too surprised he hadn't guessed the man to be a blood relation. All previous glances from a distance had him assuming Giles was an old friend of her mother's, maybe someone like Al. Spike only knew Buffy had a cousin at all when she told him herself.

Suddenly, Spike heard her scoff, and she reached over him to set the phone back on the coffee table. Buffy settled into his arms easily. "Everything all right, love?"

"Oh, everything's fine," she chirped. "My cousin is planning on visiting in a couple weeks."

"Is he?"

"Yeah, he wanted to see if it was okay that he stayed with me while he looked for an apartment to sublet."

"Sublet?" Spike frowned deeply. "So it's an extended stay then?"

"Apparently." Buffy shook her head in amused shock. "I haven't heard from him in a little while, not even a letter."

"He was supposed to visit you at the end of January, was he?"

"It was a maybe thing. But that was more because he wanted to spend time with a woman he met here over Christmas."

"Bloke has a girl on his mind then."

"You could say that. He just told me she visited him at the end of last month instead of the other way around."

Spike chuckled.

"It's really not funny."

"The look on your face is."

"I don't have a 'look.'" Buffy ducked her head. "It's just weird, thinking of Giles dating. I mean sure, he's overdue, but it's kind of... wiggy."

Spike snickered again. She swatted his chest. "So you're goin' to be housing him for a bit... When's he get in?"

"He said the twenty-seventh or eighth, most likely."

"Think he'll like me?"

Buffy turned to look him in the eye. "I don't know. But he'd better."

Spike grinned, absently playing with a lock of hair hanging over her left cheekbone. "Planning to defend me, kitten?"

"You don't need defending, but let's just say Giles can be... overprotective."

Spike smirked, and somehow, the tension in Buffy's shoulders trickled away. "I like him already."

"Do you think she's still with him? He never said if she had left yet..."

"It's Valentine's Day, pet. Likely means he just barely got out of bed long enough to phone you."

Buffy swatted him again and groaned. "I so didn't need that visual."

Spike paused. "Well then, let's get you another one."

She squealed as he rose off the couch without warning, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge before quickly lifting her into his arms. "Spike!"

He didn't answer, but Buffy didn't need one as she was carried, yet again, to the now familiar regal staircase. In under a minute they were locked inside the bedroom, and all unpleasant thoughts were wiped quite easily from her mind as bliss swept right on in.





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