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NA GRACH CROI


Chapter 2:


Spike, who had been some places, some hard, very hard places and some rather good ones in his life, knew a ‘treasure’ when he saw one. Elizabeth Summers, the dream before his blue eyes was certainly a treasure. ‘The’ treasure, Spike decided right then and there, one he had never found before, nor would again, he feared, must not be left to slip away from him. “Thank you, again, Sir,” the green-eyed beauty whispered softly to him as she turned to leave.

“Miss Summers!” Spike cried out in desperation, much to his embarrassment, “wait!” The young woman turned back to meet his gaze with her emerald green eyes, a soft, utterly feminine look in them, “yes Mr. O’Hara,” she asked evenly enough. “Walking,” Spike mumbled, sure he was bright red by now, “walking through the streets of Belfast, alone, Miss. It’s not the best thing, you know? You might run into those men again and…” Miss Summers smiled, ‘smile of an angel,’ Spike thought dreamily as she nodded warmly back at him. “You wish to escort me to my Inn, then, Mr. O’Hara? I do not know, Sir, a solo lady, such as myself? Left to blithely chat away with such a good looking stranger such as yourself? In the streets of Belfast? What would your family think, sir? Or the proper citizens of this town? What would my ‘extended family’ be left to ponder?”

Elizabeth, or Buffy as her late Mother had called her, knew a worthy man when she saw one. Probably, because she had seen so few in her young life, so very few, actually. At barely twenty-one, a supposed lady, Buffy had seen the worst sort of men society had to offer. Oh, some decent ones, but never one quite so ‘worthy’ as this blonde, blue eyed Irishman in front of her appeared to be. A rather, long lost feeling of sweet innocence seemed to overtake her and this Spike O’Hara seemed to be affected also.

“I thought you said you were here, visiting your extended family, Miss Summers?” Spike gave her a puzzled look. “Oh,” she stumbled over her quick words, “I was, they do not live here, actually, we met here. At least most of them. Actually,” Buffy thought a moment then continued, “only my own cousin Anya is still in town. She’s staying at another Inn, not mine. No room left there when I arrived. Sad, really, I certainly miss my cousin’s company at night and such. I do get lonely, of course.”

Spike grinned, he hoped it was not too obvious, his inner feelings that is. A little voice in his head began to nag him ‘this is a lady, Spike, not a whore. Don’t go getting any big ideas here. You want sex, go down the block and get your fill. But, then again, man, this is a rare beauty, this Elizabeth Summers. Hell, who the fuck needs a quick shag with a whore, when you can hold out for better things, like real love making, with this blonde angel in front of you?’

He, Spike, held out his still strong arm and offerred it to the little beauty in the pale blue dress, “may I?” he asked politely. “You may,” Miss Summers blushed as she took his arm with her slim one. “Oh, and Mr. Spike O’Hara,” she added warmly, “please do call me Buffy. It’s the name my own Mother, God rest her soul, gave me as a babe in her dear arms. An endearment, special to only her.”

They walked along, to Buffy’s temporary residence, arm in arm as they went. She knew the young man was taking his time, walking as slowly as he could to keep in her company as long as he might. It touched Buffy, really, that this handsome blue-eyed male would want to be with her, so openly in this rough and tumble town. Since the time she was seventeen years of age, Buffy had grown accustomed to men, all kinds of men. Men who wanted to possess her; men who wanted to kiss and pamper, but mostly men who wanted to fuck her. Fuck, that was the word that Buffy’s best friend and employer, Anya Jenkins, called it. ‘Men, these patrons of ours, they like to fuck, Buffy. They want to fuck all the time and they’ll pay up the nose for it. Especially, they’ll pay, men that is, to fuck a little darling like you, Buffy honey. You’re so beautiful and innocent looking, so tiny and fragile in appearance. Good thing,” Anya would chuckle wickedly, especially after a few belts of brandy, “you are such a prize my little Buffy. You’re my meal ticket, honey,” the older woman would chuckle, “my honey pot. The other girls I have, they’re nothing compared to you. This British Army, little Buffy baby, they’ll pay their weeks wages to put it in ‘you’ and come back next week for more!”

And, they had, Buffy thought ruefully, as she clutched onto the arm of this ‘worthy’ man who escorted her to her Inn. They, the British Army and every other paying customer before and some after, had paid up the nose as Anya had put it, to fuck Buffy every chance they got. However, after her stint in England, with Anya’s proud group of high class whores, Buffy had grown weary of it. She’d been a bought and paid for woman since she was almost eighteen, since her Mother had passed away in a hospital in New York. Buffy thanked God, every day that she had met Anya Jenkins, her future madam, on the corner of Park and 5th in that cold, unforgiving city of New York.

Buffy’s Mother, Joyce, had just passed away from the cough and she was lost, without hearth or home, or Father. She had been wondering, aimlessly, about New York and somehow stumbled upon Anya and a nice enough older gentleman leaving a rather posh eatery in the City. The man, who looked a bit like some dead President, gave Buffy a good eye over and Anya must have noticed. The older brunette woman immediately offerred Buffy a ride in the carriage that the obviously well-to-do man had ordered and she eagerly accepted.

Instead of just dropping Buffy off at some unnamed spot, that night, Anya and the ‘older man’ took her to his place in a rather nice hotel. When Anya excused herself from the apartment, to ‘rest’ the older man proceeded to teach Buffy a few things she might need to know for the future. Buffy and Anya walked out of that apartment, the next morning, leaving a very happy gentleman behind, and carrying a hundred dollars, each, in their pockets. Buffy had been with Anya’s ‘working ring’ since then, that is until lately, after England and the mess that happened there. But, Buffy, being the kind hearted and optimistic woman she was, overlooked her past and tried to move on to a more respectable future. This Spike O’Hara, as it turned out, or so Buffy thought, might just be the ticket.

“This is my Inn, Mr. O’Hara,” Buffy purred as she pulled her arm from his, ever so gently. “Thank you, so much, for coming to my rescue and escorting me here. I’ll leave you to your business, now, Sir,” she added, rather cleverly, since she realized that this Spike O’Hara had surely been without for quite a time now. “Tonight,” Buffy threw in a hopefully ‘affective’ pout, “I will sup in my own room. I’m leaving, the day after next, to return to my beloved America. For now,” she sighed dramatically, “I’ll go up to my room and pack, perhaps write in my journal and have just a sip of good wine.”

Buffy hoped to high heaven that she was behaving ‘coy’ enough to impress this Spike fellow. The word ‘coy’ had not been in Buffy’s vocabulary for a few years now and it felt odd, but somehow comfortable for some reason. For some reason, she really, really wanted him to stick around, maybe even ask her to supper with him. ‘Suppose he’s going to head off down to that trashy bordello, at the end of the block. Those other idiots, the smelly, nasty men who tried to take a peek were headed that way, I know it.’ Something inside Buffy ached, sorrowfully, or maybe enviously. For some reason, she did not want this O’Hara man to even think about paying for sex in that hovel at the end of the block. For some reason, Buffy wanted Spike O’Hara all to herself, but not in ‘just’ a sexual way. Something inside of Buffy, something deep and perhaps long forgotten was nagging at her, almost taunting her. An emotion that she had pushed down inside of herself, years before and succeeded in almost destroying with her own hardened heart.

“Miss Summers,” Spike began with hesitation. “Buffy, please, ‘Spike’ O’Hara,” she offerred as she batted her golden lashes at him. “Buffy,” he smiled warmly, “I like that endearment. Suits you, anyway, Buffy,” he continued, a little shyly, “are you engaged this evening?” He was rewarded with an innocent blush and a soft smile from this golden Goddess, “no,” she shook her head slightly. “I’m alone, tonight, like I said. Most of my extended family have left, back to other places and my dear cousin is otherwise engaged tonight.”


He was stammering, which gave Buffy some renewed hope that she might be able to twist this situation to her liking. “Would, would you have supper with me, Miss Summers, I mean Buffy,” Spike stammered with a blush. She scrunched up her brows in thought, almost real, sincere thought, which rather surprised her. “Tell me, Spike O’Hara,” Buffy murmered, “and be honest, Sir. Are you a married man?” This Spike blushed even brighter red, which Buffy found adorable and illicited a loud giggle from her. “No!” he stated firmly, “no, Buffy. I am not married, I swear.” She suddenly felt quite elated that Mr. O’Hara was a single man, and in a way, it pleased her, yet frightened her, a little that is.

“Yes, then, Spike,” Buffy purred silkily, “I’ll sup with you, tonight. Where shall we go? Should I dress rather up, or down?” She gave him a coquettish grin and again, batted her eyelashes. “I’ll only take you to the finest place in Belfast, Buffy,” Spike grinned at her warmly. Please though, dress as to what makes you comfortable, I’ll be dressed in a suit, of course. I’m sure anything you wear will be most appropriate, especially for a lady such as yourself.” Buffy smiled up at the charming blonde man and boldly touched his cheek with just the lightest stroke of her fingers. “Until tonight, Mr. O’Hara.”

Spike was so euphoric, that he almost forgot to tell Buffy what time he would call for her. “I’ll be here, at 6:30 PM, Buffy,” he grinned down at the beauty he’d be having supper with that very night. I certainly will look forward to it.” She rewarded him with the most dazzling smile he’d ever witnessed and turned to hurry up the stairs of the Inn she was staying at. ‘I’ll be damned,’ Spike whispered to himself with a happy grin, ‘maybe things are turning around for me!’


A/N: I promised someone some Spuffy loving in this chapter, but…okay, I felt it was a little too fast, even for this plot line. Please keep with the story, please!!! Thanks for reading and please review, luv, Spuf





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