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The following couple of days were hell for Buffy. She had written easily thirty drafts of the article and hated each and every one of them.

‘Either they sound generic or mediocre,’ she thought. ‘Why can’t I write this piece and be done with it already?’

She heard a knock on her door and sighed.

“Can you get that, Dawnie?” she asked loudly, hoping her little sister heard her.

“Yeah,” Dawn replied, exiting her bedroom and going to the door, opening it just as the visitor was about to knock again. “Oh my god.”

“Hi, Dawn,” Spike smiled, putting his hands in his pockets. She stared at him, her jaw slightly dropped.

“You remember my name?” she asked, a dreamy look in her eyes. He chuckled, and she snapped out of her trance before becoming defensive and crossing her arms. “What’re you doing here?”

“Is Buffy around?” he asked, trying not to sound nervous. She looked at him sternly. “Is that a no?”

“Why should I let you see her?” Dawn asked. “After you hurt her so much?”

“Because I care about her and want to make things better,” he answered sincerely. “Now can I see her?”

“If you hurt her again, Spike, I’m going to hunt you down and beat you to death with a shovel, okay?” she asked before smiling widely at him. He raised an eyebrow and nodded.

“Sounds like a deal, pet,” he replied. She turned on her heel and walked to Buffy’s bedroom, watching her sister typing on her laptop. Spike decided to follow her and stopped to stand behind her, studying how aggravated Buffy looked with whatever she was working on.

‘Maybe I shouldn’t have come here right now,’ he thought. ‘It’s best not to irritate her more than she already is.’

“Who was it?” Buffy asked, not looking up from the laptop’s screen.

“Me,” Spike answered quietly, and Buffy’s eyes instantly traveled upwards to focus on his. “Hello, luv.”

“Hi,” she said quietly, quickly closing her laptop.

“I’ve got a date with RJ in ten minutes, so I’ll see you later, Buffy,” Dawn said before looking at Spike. “And don’t forget about our arrangement, Crawford.” He watched her leave the apartment before looking at Buffy.

“When exactly did your sister get unbelievably scary?” Spike asked, leaning against the doorframe of her room.

“Should I even ask what your ‘arrangement’ is?” Buffy asked. “Plan on moving on to my sister next?”

‘Because I’m sure she’d love that,’ Buffy thought, sickened by the idea. ‘She’d love to be Miss Band-Aid 2005.’

“Is that what you want?” Spike asked, amused. “For me to date your sister?” She made a face and looked down, causing him to chuckle.

“A world of no,” she answered. “Unfortunately, she’s eighteen, so she’s not jailbait anymore, but that’s still wrong.”

“Don’t worry, Goldilocks- I’m not here for her,” he said, smiling. “I’m here for you.”

“Why?” she asked, bringing her knees up to her chin, trying to indirectly comfort herself.

‘This is only going to make writing harder, isn’t it?’ she asked herself. ‘Why do I see him at the worst possible times?’

“I wanted to see you again,” he said, slowly approaching her bed before sitting beside her on it. “I talked to Red yesterday and found out that you two talked.”

“Is that against the rules?” Buffy asked, slightly defensive. “We can’t share friends?”

“Did I say that?” he asked, raising an eyebrow and looking at her.

“No,” she mumbled, looking down. “Sorry.” He smiled slightly and noticed that she was fidgeting.

“Is that your nervous habit or something?” he asked, chuckling. “I’ve seen you do that several times now.”

“Is there something wrong with it?” she asked, looking at him. He raised his hands in surrender.

“No, just commenting on it, is all,” he replied. “I can see you’re in a foul mood- maybe I should go.”

“You came here to talk, so talk,” she said, looking at him with an unreadable expression.

“Red mentioned that you didn’t know what to write in your article, and I decided I want to help,” he said.

“You want to help?” Buffy asked in disbelief, and he nodded. “How do you propose doing that?”

“Well, I was there, wasn’t I?” he asked, smirking. “I figure I saw the same things you did, if not a hell of a lot more. I can give you more of the inside scoop.”

“I thought you didn’t want to play any part in the article?” she asked, surprised. He shrugged.

“It’s your job, isn’t it?” he asked, looking at her. “Besides, I can make sure you only include the truth.”

“Does that include everything about you?” she asked, opening her laptop.

“Figure it might as well,” he answered, shrugging. “I deserve whatever you write about me, and it’s not like most of the public doesn’t already think I’m an alcoholic bastard.”

“That could change, you know,” she replied, looking at him. “It doesn’t have to be that way.”

“And how are their opinions going to change?” he asked. “Through this article? You can’t really make me sound like a prince, Buffy, after what happened.”

“I know that,” she said quietly. “But you still can prove people wrong.” She sighed. “My opinion changed, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, but I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing yet,” he replied, looking at her.

“My point is that you don’t have to be the person that everyone thinks you are,” she said. “You’re better than that, Spike. You have the potential to be something far greater than an ‘alcoholic bastard’.”

“Is that really what you think?” he asked, tilting his head and studying her as she looked at her laptop.

“Yeah, I do,” she answered quietly before taking a deep breath. “So, as for collaborating on the article-”

“I’m just adding details,” he replied. “Not collaborating, luv. I’m making sure you state the facts. All of the facts.”

“Including the vicious truth about you?” she asked, smiling, and he nodded. “That’s career suicide, Spike.”

“And not writing this article is ‘career suicide’ for you, pet,” he replied, and she looked down. “Besides, I’ve decided to scrap the idea of becoming a solo artist. Too much bloody work.” She laughed quietly before looking at him.

“Do you think you’ll get back together with the guys?” she asked.

“I’d like to,” he answered. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if they told me to bugger off, especially Harris.”

“They’re your friends- I don’t know if they’d turn you away,” Buffy said. “I guess I wouldn’t blame them, but I don’t think they would. You were friends before the band, and I know they took it pretty hard when you quit.” He looked down, nodding. “But I’d at least throw the idea out there. What’s the worst that can happen? They reject you?” He looked at her, an eyebrow raised. “Then at least you would know it’s not an option.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he replied. “You know, you reminded me of Willow for a second.”

“Maybe her wisdom rubbed off on me,” she said, smiling, before taking a deep breath. “If I write this accurately, Spike, I doubt it’ll portray you in a good light. Can you live with the aftermath of that?”

“I deserve it, don’t I?” he asked. She looked at him.

“The jury’s still out on that one,” she answered before looking at her laptop.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, intrigued.

“It means that I don’t know exactly what you deserve anymore,” she said quietly before looking at him once again. “I think maybe you should go, Spike. I want to write this, and I have a feeling that you’ll somehow hinder what I decide to write.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” he said. “You’re the reporter, luv- write whatever you choose.” She looked at him, not caring that she was practically pleading with her eyes. “Fine, I’ll let you get to work. But if you need help, you have my number.” She nodded, and he stood up, walking to the door. “Buffy?” She looked at him. “Thanks.”

“For what?” she asked, confused.

“For giving me a chance,” he said, winking at her before walking out. She smiled softly and began typing.

‘If he thinks I’m giving him another chance…then he’s right.’

* * *

The next morning, Buffy walked into Lilah’s office, hoping that she came off as confident as she was trying to be.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite music reporter,” Lilah said, smiling at her employee. “Are you finished with your article?”

“Yes,” Buffy answered, handing a couple of sheets of paper to her editor.

“And how did you present the lead singer?” Lilah asked, skimming through the words on the paper in front of her.

“Read it to find out,” Buffy said, heading towards the door. “And be sure to read the last page- it’s a real humdinger.” Lilah raised an eyebrow as Buffy grinned and left the office.

About ten minutes later, Lilah was perplexed by what she had read.

‘Spike Crawford doesn’t sound like a jerk,’ she thought. ‘She makes him sound like a guy who made one or two wrong calls. I wanted drama and angst, but this is-’ She flipped to the last page.

Dear Lilah,

Over the last week or so, I’ve decided that I love working here, but I love my values and feelings more, and compromising both of those things isn’t something I want to do anymore, especially if it’s for my job. I realize that the article probably isn’t what you expected and/or wanted, but if I see any part of it changed, we’re going to have a little chat, and I can promise you that it won’t be of the pleasant variety. Everything I wrote is true, and I don’t want readers to have an agonizingly negative view of Spike Crawford. I’m sorry if that isn’t what you wanted to see, but that’s the article and I’m happy with it.

I’m putting in my two weeks notice as of now.





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