Chapter 5

A moment or two passed and then he said, “Why don’t I go stir the sauce. Come in out of the cold, luv. We’ve got at least an hour before dinner’s ready.”

Buffy followed him back into the apartment and asked, “Is there anything you want me to do?”

“I’ve got it under control. It’s just pasta and bread,” he said holding up the loaf of bread that was on the counter.

“Ooo, Bread and Cie Bread? You can definitely be in charge of cooking!” said Buffy.

“Have you tried their cinnamon rolls?” asked Spike as he stirred the sauce.

“No! And I’m not going to! And don’t you bring any home either!” she admonished as she sat down on the sofa and stared into the flames of the fire.

“Tell me about Dawn,” he requested as he joined her. He bent down, unlaced his boots, pulled them off and tossed them aside.

As she watched him she marveled at the way that he seemed to fit. It wasn’t just that he seemed confident; it was that he seemed comfortable, at ease. He propped his feet up on her coffee table and then looked at her expectantly, “Well?”

“Make yourself at home,” replied Buffy, a bit sarcastically as she pointedly looked at his feet on her table.

“Don’t mind if I do,” said Spike as he slouched down further and wiggled his toes. “I promise I took my shoes off, mum. Come on! Tell me about Dawn. I’m not hurting the bloody table.”

“I’ve never met Dawn,” said Buffy.

“What?” said Spike, sitting up, and twisting to face her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I’ve never met Dawn,” said Buffy, more slowly.

Spike continued to look at her, patiently waiting for more of an explanation.

“Look,” began Buffy. “My mom was always a drinker, but after my Dad left it was worse. He never came around, but those child support payments came every month, like clockwork. They kept her in booze. My senior year in high school was hell. She knew that on my eighteenth birthday the payments were going to stop. She was hospitalized twice that year. Overdoses. She applied for disability and was turned down. Then, she started to get desperate, she-”

“What? Go on,” said Spike encouragingly.

“Why am I even telling you this?” asked Buffy as she stood up and began to pace in front of the fireplace. “I never talk about this!”

Spike pointed to his forehead and said, “Social worker, luv. I swear it’s embossed on my forehead. You’d be amazed at the things people have talked to me about. Take Mrs. Champieux for instance, down on the first floor. Did you know that she used to be a man?”

“You are so making that up!” said Buffy, disbelief clear on her face.

“Swear to God!” replied Spike, holding up his hand. “Just don’t tell Mr. Robert’s. She asked me not to. Seems he’s taking a shine to her, they’ve been going to church together on Sundays for a year now and, well, she wants to take the relationship to the ‘next level’ but she feels it’s only right that she tells him first. She needed a sounding board.”

“Next level? Eww! Are you referring to sex?” asked Buffy, making a face.

“You have something against sex?” asked Spike resting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward, towards her, his intense blue eyes looking pointedly at her.

“What? No! It’s just that, well, they’re old! Mr. Robert’s must be close to eighty,” said Buffy.

“Old people have sexual needs,” said Spike, matter-of-factly. “I’m not sure the desire for intimacy…connecting ever dies. The fact is he rings her bell! I think it’s kind of sweet. She’s planning of telling him tonight.”

“You’re not making this up?” asked Buffy narrowing her eyes and looking at him suspiciously.

“Nope, now finish telling me,” said Spike.

“Tell me something about you first!” challenged Buffy.

“This isn’t my real hair color,” replied Spike before taking a sip of his wine.

“That’s not a newsflash. No one has hair that color, Spike,” said Buffy rolling her eyes.

Spike motioned for her to sit back down on the sofa. He faced her and said, “I was once in love with a woman. She developed a drug habit. Then, that’s all she saw, all she wanted, all she needed. I became invisible. She became someone else. I couldn’t reach her. It broke my heart. Finally, one night I gave her an ultimatum…she didn’t choose me. I understand what it’s like to live with an addict. Nothing is as important as the next high. Certainly not the feelings of a lover-”

“Or the needs of a daughter,” interjected Buffy.

“Or the needs of a daughter,” agreed Spike.

“You’re good at this,” said Buffy. “You make it look easy.”

Spike smiled, leaned back and giving her his full attention said, “I believe it’s your turn.”

“She started looking for someone, someone to pay the bills and keep her in booze,” began Buffy. “I could tell what she was doing. She’d bring them home. Sometimes they’d be there the next morning. She got pregnant. She was thirty-seven and I was seventeen. She had no idea who the father was. She tried to pass it off on several of them with no success. And then she scored. This guy named Ted Buchanan. He knew the child wasn’t his; I overheard him telling my mom that he couldn’t have children and that apparently that’s why his last marriage had split up. He agreed to marry her, but stipulated that he wouldn’t adopt me, or the baby. He moved in two days later. I left the day after that. I never went back.”

“What happened? Why did you leave?” asked Spike as he reached out and took her hand in his.

Buffy looked up at him, and giving him a shaky smile said, “maybe someday I’ll tell you, but not tonight.”

“This Ted, he was the one that gave CPS your name. It seems he and your mum split a while back, don’t know the circumstances. They were still legally married, but she was going by Summers again,” offered Spike.

“Dawn will know,” said Buffy, solemnly.

“She’s only nine, pet. She probably won’t understand-” started Spike.

“Dawn will know,” said Buffy, again with certainty as she leaned her head back and rested it on the back of the sofa. After a minute she turned towards him and asked, “How is this going to work?”

“They’ve probably already done some preliminary checking on you. Once they hear that you’re interested they’ll get serious. They’ll do a complete criminal history check, make sure you’re not in the database as a perpetrator of abuse yourself, and then they’ll do a home visit and assess whether you meet the requirements to be licensed as a foster parent. They’ll check me out too,” he explained.

“I don’t want to be a foster parent,” said Buffy.

“It’s just procedure, luv. It doesn’t mean that you have to accept any more children,” said Spike.

“How long will it take?” asked Buffy.

“Depends on a lot of things. Are they going to find anything questionable in your past?” asked Spike.

“No,” said Buffy. “Well, there was that time when I was eight that I had dessert before my dinner. Other than that, I’m good. You?”

“I’ll check out,” said Spike. “So, want me to call LA and give them the thumbs up or do you want to sleep on it?”

“I was never going to have children,” said Buffy as she walked towards the counter and refilled her wine glass, pouring up the last of the wine. “When my father left us, I remember deciding then and there that I would never get married and have kids. I vowed that I’d never be dependent on someone or have someone depend on me.”

“How old were you?” asked Spike as he walked to the kitchen, turned on the oven to pre-heat it, and stirred the sauce.

“Twelve,” said Buffy as she climbed onto the barstool. “I was twelve.”

“And now you’re?” asked Spike.

“Twenty-seven,” she said, resting her chin in her hand as she watched him fill up a large pot with water and light a flame under it.

“Well, kitten, you’re a woman now. That means you’re entitled to change your mind. You’re mum’s life wasn’t like it was simply because she got married or had kids. You’ve got to know it’s more complicated that that. The interdependency you’re referring to that comes with relationships? It isn’t always a burden; sometimes it’s even actually a blessing,” said Spike as he added some salt to the pot.

“But what if it’s really awful? What if I’m really awful?” asked Buffy.

“You don’t have to do this. It’s alright to say no,” said Spike leaning across the counter and looking Buffy directly in the eye.

“I’m nothing like my mother,” said Buffy.

Spike smiled and said, “You’re Buffy.”

“What if that’s not good enough?” she asked.

“Do you want to do this?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“Then if it’s awful you’ll just keep working on it, both of you will, until it’s good. And then you work on it some more, until it gets even better. It’s a process. There aren’t any quick answers,” said Spike as the lid on the pot began to rattle.

Spike picked up a potholder, removed the lid, and poured in the penne pasta.

“Spike?” she asked.

“Hmmm?” he responded looking up.

“You should really think about doing this professionally,” said Buffy before taking another sip of wine. She set her glass on the counter and staring down into it twirled the glass around. “I mean, you’re a licensed therapist, right?”

“Yeah,” he said, watching her.

“You could be in private practice,” said Buffy.

“I don’t care how much you beg, I’m not taking you on as a client. It’d be a conflict of interest, what, with us living together, and all. Plus? You couldn’t afford me. Unless you’re willing to negotiate on the dishes?” joked Spike as he put the bread in the oven.

“I’m serious!” said Buffy. “Why are you working for Child Protective Services?”

“Why?” asked Spike. “You mean aside from the obvious glamour of it all? The hot chicks, light workload, fast company cars, large expense accounts, and the power lunches? Why, to make a difference, Buffy, it’s as simple as that. I think I can make a difference there.”

“Do you have time to call LA before the pasta’s ready?” she asked.

“You sure? This isn’t something you have to decide tonight. You can sleep on it. You can take as long as you need,” he said as he reached out and tucked an errant strand of hair that had come lose back behind her ear.

“I’m sure. I think…just maybe I can make a difference. I want to try,” said Buffy. Then, after a long pause she softly added, “She’s my sister.”

Chapter 6

1/3/04 5:30 PM, San Diego, CA

Buffy walked into her apartment after a long day of work. She and Willow had been at it all day, helping the daughter of one of the towns wealthiest plan her dream Valentines Day wedding. They had already been working on the account for months. Buffy was beginning to hate pink, really hate pink.

She dropped her purse on the counter and went over to the fridge to grab a bottle of water. The lights were off in the kitchen and living room and the place was quiet. She was alone. She leaned back against the door to the refrigerator, flipped on the overhead light to the kitchen, closed her eyes and released a sigh.

“You’re home late,” said Spike.

“Ahh!” shrieked Buffy as she jumped, dropping the water bottle on the floor.

“Christ!” said Spike as he jumped back a bit himself, before retrieving the bottle and handing it back to her.

“Sorry,” she said, giving him a sheepish smile. “It was a tense day. I thought I was alone.”

“I had been working on reviewing my new case files,” explained Spike. “When I started it was light out. I must have drifted off a bit ago. I woke up when you came in. Why was today so awful? Couldn’t the bride decide what color cloth napkins she wants?”

Buffy frowned and said, “It’s an important decision. A bride wants everything to be perfect on her wedding day.”

“That’s an unreasonable standard,” said Spike as he tilted his head asking her to move.

“What?” she asked as she stepped away from the fridge. “I suppose you’ll just have those brown paper napkins made from recycled material at your wedding.”

Spike grabbed a beer from the fridge and opened it as he headed back towards his room. “No, I would forego napkins altogether and just have them wipe their mouths on their shirtsleeves, like I do.”

Buffy rolled her eyes and laughed. He turned around, raised an eyebrow and asked, “Do they really make napkins with recycled content?”

“We’re not buying them,” she said.

“Why not?” he shouted as he passed through the door to his room.

She walked over to his door, leaned against the doorframe and replied, “They’re yucky looking and they cost more.”

“But it’s good for the environment,” he pointed out as he sat his beer on his nightstand, climbed back on the bed, opened up a case file and began reading.

Buffy took a minute to look around. The room had been totally transformed in the last two days. Initially it had contained just the dark walnut antique four poster bed and dresser surrounded by white walls. The first change had been those walls. When Buffy came home from Willow and Tara’s on New Years Day she discovered that Spike had painted them red.

“You painted the walls red?” she asked.

“The guy at the paint store said its called Rendezvous,” he said dryly as he continued to roll up the drop cloth.

“Oh yeah! I’m sure the place with be a real chick magnet,” she said laughing and shaking her head.

“Go ahead and laugh! I’ve got a vision. It’s gonna be great,” he replied, not deterred in the least.

And he was right. After he painted the walls the rich wine color, he had stenciled on the Chinese symbols for Peace, Love, and Faith. There was a 3X5 oriental rug with black, red, gold, and blue in it positioned between the antique dresser and the footboard of the bed. The richness of the colors set off the dark wooden tones of the hardwood flooring and walnut furnishings. There was even a large tray of sorts resting on top of the dresser, filled with pillar candles, that Spike had fashioned out of an old portrait frame.

The bed itself was adorned with a black chenille duvet cover, trimmed in red Chinese silk. He had bought a little antique table down at a shop on Adams Avenue earlier in the day and already he was using it as a combination nightstand and side table. He had located it so that it sat between his bedside and the black leather chair that he had retrieved from storage. In addition to a clock and his beer, there was a lamp, and about four or five books on the table, along with a pair of reading glasses.

The overhead light in the room was turned off. The only light came from the candles and the bedside lamp. The room with filled with a warm glow, and interesting shadows danced across the dramatic walls as the flames of the candles flickered.

“You coming in?” asked Spike from his perch on the bed.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. If it’s alright?” said Buffy feeling a bit awkward.

“Of course,” said Spike gesturing to the leather chair.

“New table and lamp,” she observed.

“Found the table this morning over on Adams in one of those little antique stores,” said Spike as he flipped through his case file.

“Did you have the lamp already?” asked Buffy.

“Yeah, I’ve had it for a while. It was made in Thailand from dark bamboo and flax. When my mum was sick I saw it in a store up in LA, in Chinatown. It was nighttime when I found it. I don’t remember why I was there. I was probably just killing time. I remember walking over to it and looking at it, it was...unusual, you know? Anyways, this old guy walks over to me. For a few minutes he didn’t say anything. He just stood there and looked at it. Finally he said, “Peaceful, isn’t it?” and walked away. I bought it for her that night and took it over to her room at the hospital. We turned off all the lights, plugged in it, and just sat there together. I don’t know what it is. Maybe the way that the light gets diffused as it passes through the flax paper but it seems-”

“Warm,” interjected Buffy as she studied it. “The place looks great, Spike. It feels nice,” she said as she leaned back in the chair, kicked off her shoes and propped her feet up on the end of his bed.”

“You look like your ready for a nap,” he said smiling at her.

“Maybe a hot bath,” she said, closing her eyes. “How do you feel about take-out Chinese for tonight?”

“Can’t join you tonight, luv” he said getting up and draining the rest of the beer before setting it back on his nightstand. “I’ve got a date.”

Buffy’s eyes flew open and she watched him walk over to his closet and pull out his leather duster. She tilted her head to one side and after quickly sizing up his appearance said with confidence, “You do not have a date.”

“Why would you say that?” asked Spike.

“Because you’re not even dressed?” said Buffy, looking at him.

Spike wrinkled his forehead in confusion, looked down at his obviously clothed body and said, “Of course I’m dressed, what are you talking about.”

As he picked his keys and billfold up off of the dresser Buffy explained, “You’re not dressed up. You know, so that you can make a good first impression.”

“Look, it’s supposed to be casual. This is what I normally wear,” said Spike as he stuffed his billfold into the pocket of his jeans.

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t put in a little extra effort. You know, put your best foot forward. Did you even shower?” asked Buffy as she stood up and stretched.

“Course I did! I showered this morning when I came back from my run. Let me guess,” he said, crossing his arms in front of his chest, “you’re one of these girls that puts on airs, trying to impress so that you can reel some unsuspecting bloke in. Just when, may I ask, are you supposed to start to show your date the real you?”

“You think your date is going to let you see the real her?” asked Buffy.

“Don’t know. The truth is I have no control over that. What I do know is if I like what I see and she’s willing to go out with me again that it’ll be because she saw something in me that she liked. I won’t have to be guessing about whether what she liked was just the facade,” said Spike as he walked back over towards her so that he could retrieve his empty beer bottle. “Recyclable,” he said.

“At least let me help you with your hair,” she offered. “I could put some gel in it and spike it up. It’d look great.”

“You just leave my hair alone! It’s fine the way it is,” he said.

“You know what I think? I think you’re being just a teensy, bit disingenuous,” teased Buffy. “This is all part of an image,” she said, waving her hand, gesturing towards him, “the black boots, leather duster, rumpled t-shirt that screams I’m such a tough bad boy-”

Spike wrapped the arm that held the beer bottle around her waist and in one, fluid motion pulled her body flush against his. He placed his other hand firmly behind her head, bent his knee to encourage her to separate her legs a bit, and bowed her backwards in a low dip. He positioned his lips so that they just grazed the shell of her ear and in a low, seductive voice said, “Little girl, you have no idea.”

He felt her shudder involuntarily and knew in an instant that he had made a mistake. He initially took her into his arms to be playful, teasing. But his smile turned serious as he began to realize how good she felt, how good she smelled. He breathed in the scent of her, and nuzzling her neck added, “Baby, I’ve always been bad.”

“You mean, what you’ve shown me? This great sensitive guy I’ve been getting to know isn’t the real you?” she asked, slightly breathless.

Spike lifted his head so that he could look at her. Her face was flush and her chest was rising and falling rapidly from her shallow breaths. As he looked searchingly into her eyes, a surge of undeniable desire passed between them. “We all have a dark side, Buffy,” he murmured, “The part that lurks within us that longs to live for the moment, act on wild impulses… give in to temptation. Don’t you ever feel that?”

Buffy’s heart was racing and her mouth was dry. It was as if time had suddenly stopped. As she looked into his impossibly blue eyes she realized that this was one of those defining moments. One of those times when, with a single action, you could change the course of your life. If only you were willing to take the chance. Her tongue flicked out to lick her lips. “Spike I...you’re going to be late for your date.”

“Right,” said Spike, softly as he stood back up, bringing her to an upright position. “I’d hate to keep a beautiful girl waiting,” he added as he reached up and tucked a lose strand of hair behind her ear. Then he stepped back, turned around, and left her. Alone.

Chapter 7

“Pick up! Pick up!” chanted Buffy as she paced back and forth in her living room, holding the phone to her ear.

The buzzer to the intercom rang, announcing that the delivery boy with her dinner had arrived. Buffy buzzed him into the building and then tossed the cordless phone on the couch. She pulled a twenty out of her wallet, opened the door, and waited. Just as he turned the corner her phone rang.

“Leave the food! Keep the change!” she shouted as she shoved the twenty dollar bill towards him.

As soon as the man snatched the money out of her hand and passed her the brown paper bag Buffy was on her way back into the apartment and over to the telephone.

“Hello?” said Buffy, a bit breathless.

“What is it? Are you sick? Do you need to go to the hospital?” asked Willow.

“What? No! Why would you think that?” asked Buffy as she sat the bag of food on the counter.

“You’ve left me seven messages in the past hour saying there was an emergency?” suggested Willow.

“Oh! Well, there is, just not a hospital kind of emergency,” explained Buffy as she removed the cartons of food from the bag. “It’s more of a kissing type of emergency. Well it wasn’t a kiss, actually. More like an almost kiss-”

“Buffy, breathe,” interjected Willow.

Buffy took several deep breaths as she walked over to the sofa and sat down. “What am I going to do?” she then asked.

“Tell me what happened, then we’ll figure it out,” suggested Willow.

“He was holding me in his arms and looking into my eyes. I could smell the leather of his coat and the faint scent of the beer he had just finished on his breath. It was as if time suddenly stood still and all I could see was, him. He said something and then I looked at his lips. I had this impulse to… What’s wrong with me?” finished Buffy.

“You’re horny because you haven’t had sex in three years?” replied Willow.

“Two years,” corrected Buffy.

“Just who are we talking about here?” Willow asked.

“Spike,” said Buffy.

“Oh, goddess!” said Willow. “Spike made a pass at you? You’re new roommate, Spike?”

“No, it wasn’t like that. We were talking while he was not getting ready for his date. I was teasing him-” began Buffy.

“You were teasing him?” asked Willow.

“Not in a sexual way!” explained Buffy. “I was teasing him about what he was wearing. I said something about him trying to project a certain type of image and next thing I know there was the eyes and the lips and the almost kissage.”

“But there was no kiss,” confirmed Willow.

“No kiss,” said Buffy. “But there were sparks, Will.”

“Definate sparkage?” asked Willow.

“Yeah,” said Buffy as she leaned back, resting her head on the sofa.

“Then, what happened?” asked Willow.

“I got scared,” admitted Buffy. “I pulled away. It was like we were wrapped in this spell and then, suddenly I made it all go poof! God, I’m such an idiot! What was I thinking? I was practically panting, Willow. I’m so embarrassed.”

“Maybe he didn’t notice?” asked Willow.

“He noticed,” said Buffy, quietly.

“You got scared,” said Willow, trying to comfort her. “Everyone gets scared. When Spike returns from his date just tell him.”

“I can’t get involved with Spike,” said Buffy. “I can’t get involved…you know that, Will.”

“Not can’t,” clarified Willow, “won’t”

“It’s the same thing,” said Buffy.

“It’s not, and you know it,” challenged Willow. The she quoted:

“can (verb): to be able to.

              will (verb): the capability of conscious choice and decision and intention”

“Do you actually read the dictionary, Will?” asked Buffy.

“Hey! We’re not talking about my quirks, here, we’re talking about your quirks. Tomorrow you can call me back and pick on me!” admonished Willow.

Buffy sighed and then said, “Fair enough. Maybe I’ll just pretend nothing happened.”

“That’s your plan?” asked Willow.

“Well you’re not helping! It’s the best I can come up with right now!” insisted Buffy.

Willow thought for a moment before gently responding, “From what you’ve told me about this guy, my guess is that he’s not going to fall for that. I don’t think creating an alternate universe is going to work this time, Buffy.”

“You’re probably right,” admitted Buffy. “What if he brings it up? What am I going to say?”

“Just say what’s true. Just tell him what you feel,” responded Willow.

“What if I’m not sure what’s true or how I feel?” asked Buffy feeling a sense of panic at the thought of revealing herself.

“Then that’s what you say. You can do this Buffy you are able to,” encouraged Willow. “Call me tomorrow. Maybe we can get together for dinner? I want to meet this guy.”

“I’ll call you, tomorrow,” said Buffy before hanging up the phone.

She picked up the remote control, switched on the television, and began searching for something to watch. “‘Dr. Zhivago’, ‘Out of Africa’, ‘Casablanca’?” she said out loud as she quickly flipped through the various channels. “Is there anything on other than tragic romances? Ah-ha ‘Lawrence of Arabia’! That will work, a war story. No woman. No romance.”

Buffy dished up some of the Chinese food, poured herself a glass of wine and curled up on the sofa. Two hours later she realized that her strategy wasn’t working. She was still thinking about Spike. “Stupid Peter O’Toole and his stupid blue eyes,” she mumbled as she aimed the remote control at the television set and clicked it. The television screen went black. Buffy then walked over to the CD player and popped in some Spanish guitar music.

For the next few minutes she busied herself cleaning up her dishes, placing the left-over Chinese food in the fridge, and turning off the lights. Then she went into her bedroom, intent on taking a bath. First she undressed and put on her robe. Then, she grabbed a fresh towel out of the linen closet, walked into the bathroom that she and Spike shared and turned on the taps to the water. Buffy poured in a generous amount of her Origins Ginger Float bubble bath. As she waited for the bath to fill she made a quick trip to the kitchen to re-fill her wine glass, then she walked into Spike’s room to search through his stack of books.

“He’s got to have something that I’ve never read before,” she said as she walked over and looked at the stack of books on his nightstand. “Stormfront, by Jim Butcher, hmm,” she said before looking at the back and reading, “Harry Dresden is the best at what he does. Well, technically, he’s the only at what he does…yadda, yadda, yadda… this should take my mind off Spike!”

Buffy returned to the bathroom, hastily pushed the door closed, shed her robe, turned off the taps, picked up her wineglass and stepped into the tub. She sat the glass down on the floor and then leaned back, submerging herself in the hot water and she began reading. About thirty minutes later she pulled the plug, letting out a bit of water, and then she started to add more of the hot. The tension in her neck and shoulders was beginning to subside, finally. She turned off the tap; set the book alongside her empty wineglass closed her eyes and exhaled.

“Buffy?” she heard him call from the other side of the door.

“I’m taking a bath,” she said as she sat up a bit in the tub, looking at the closed door.

“Yeah? Well, I’ve got to use the bathroom. So, if you’re the modest type you better close the shower curtain. I’ll try not to peek,” said Spike as he placed his hand on the doorknob and pushed open the door.

Buffy gasped as she sat up, reached forward, grabbed the shower curtain and pulled, shielding herself. “You peeked!” she yelled. “I saw you.”

“I said I’d try not to peek. I did try. I found I couldn’t help myself,” he said smiling as he unzipped his pants, lifted the lid on the commode and relieved himself. “If you feel you simply must even the score you’re welcome to peek.”

Buffy heard him flush the commode, zip up his pants, and then turn on the water at the sink. As he was washing his hands Spike noticed the empty wineglass and his book on the floor. “Is that my copy of Stormfront?” he asked, casually.

“Hope you don’t mind, I-” started Buffy.

“Don’t mind at all. I’ve finished it, you’re welcome to it, pet. Can I get you another glass of wine?” he offered.

“Yeah!” said Buffy. “And could you hit the play button on the CD again?”

“Anything else you can think of to make your bath more enjoyable milady?” he called from the kitchen as he poured her another glass of wine and grabbed himself a beer.

“Brad Pitt?” she called out. “Oh!” she gasped as the curtain suddenly opened a few inches. As she turned towards the opening her eyes met his. He was crouched down, holding out the glass to her. “I promise, I’m just looking at your eyes,” he said. “No peeking. Two outta three ain’t bad,” said Spike.

“No Brad?” said Buffy looking disappointed.

“Oh, pouty! Look at that lip-” Spike began before being interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone.

He reached down, and answering the call said, “Hello?”

“I miss you, already,” said the voice on the other end of the phone.

Spikes forehead wrinkled as he moved into a sitting position, his back against the wall. “How did you get this number?” he asked.

“Xander gave it to me,” she explained. “I told him that I left something in your car.”

“Did you leave something in my car?” asked Spike, as he tilted his beer to his lips and took several swallows.

“No. But, tonight didn’t go exactly like I had hoped. I was thinking that, maybe, if you wanted to we could try a different ending,” she said coyly.

“Harm-” he began.

“I’m waiting for you. I want you. You know where I live. No. Strings. Attached,” she said, slowly, before hanging up.

Buffy had heard every word. He looked over at her and she quickly looked away, avoiding his gaze. Her cheeks were tinged pink from embarrassment.

“You heard. You’re embarrassed. I’m sorry,” said Spike as he sat the cell phone down on the bathroom floor and then took another sip of his beer.

“It’s been a long day,” said Buffy, quietly as she stared down into her wineglass. “I’m tired.”

“This will only take a minute, I have something for you. I meant to give it to you earlier, but we got…distracted,” said Spike.

“Aren’t you going out?” asked Buffy looking up at him, a bit surprised.

“To see Harmony? That would be a no,” said Spike as he climbed to his feet and started to head out the door. “Be right back.”

“But, she was offering sex!” blurted out Buffy.

Spike froze, his back to her and quietly said, “Yes.”

“D-don’t you like sex?” asked Buffy.

Spike turned around, walked back into the bathroom, crouched down in front of her and with a slow smile said, “Oh, I like sex, luv. I didn’t like her.”

“But you kissed her,” said Buffy.

Spike tilted his head to the side and looking at her curiously asked, “Why would you say that?”

Buffy reached out and dragged the pad of her thumb across his earlobe. “Lipstick,” she said, showing it to him. “You also have some that you missed on your neck.”

“She kissed me. When I dropped her off,” said Spike.

“So there was major kissage,” said Buffy before taking another sip of wine. “But, you don’t like her.”

“We just didn’t…spark, you know? Why would I want to waste my time?” asked Spike.

“You could have gotten laid?” suggested Buffy.

Spike rolled his eyes. “You so don’t need to remind me of that!” he said. “I’ll leave your present on your bed. I’ll see you in the morning, pet.”

“You’re going to sleep?” asked Buffy.

“Not likely. Think I’m going to have myself a nice long wank,” said Spike as he stood up and again headed out the door. Before closing it he peered back around, winked, and said, “Pay no attention to the man moaning in the next room, even if he calls out you’re name.”

Buffy sat alone in her room. The apartment was dark and quiet, except for the soft sounds of jazz that continued to emanate from Spike’s room. It took her quite some time to gather up the courage to open the card. She looked down at it and after wiping a tear from her eye she read it again:

Buffy tore open the wrapped package. It was the 60^th Anniversary Edition of The Little Engine That Could, by Watty Piper. Buffy opened the book to the first page and began to read, “Chug, chug, chug. Puff, puff, puff. Ding-dong, ding-dong. The little train rumbled over the tracks…”

Chapter 8

Spike sat at the dining table, reading the Sunday paper and eating some oatmeal. It was close to 10:30 AM. He had found sleep elusive and had spent most of the night tossing and turning, thinking about her. The phone rang.

“Hello?” answered Spike.

“So? How did it go?” asked Xander.

“How did what go?” responded Spike, momentarily confused.

“Harmony!” responded Xander. “It seemed like she really liked you. I mean, she did ask you to drive her home. So?” asked Xander.

“Yeah, she liked me alright,” said Spike, sounding bored.

“But you didn’t like her?” said Xander with disbelief.

“Not really,” said Spike as he brought his hand up and ran his fingers through his hair, inadvertently loosening it and making some of the ends stick up haphazardly.

“Maybe you didn’t give her enough of a chance,” speculated Xander. “Maybe you should just go with it for a bit. She’s a beautiful girl. She’s obviously attracted to you-” began Xander.

“We just didn’t click,” said Spike, walking over to the table so that he could take another sip of coffee. “The chemistry just wasn’t there. It was alright, good even, but not great, not what I want, not what I need.”

“So, you and Harmony did?” asked Xander.

“We kissed, that’s all. She was offering, but it just didn’t seem right,” said Spike as he sat back down.

“Spike?” responded Xander.

“Yeah?” answered Spike.

“I’m officially taking away your Guy Card. If I were there I would hit you upside the head. Did you not notice her tits?” asked Xander.

“They were kind of hard not to notice,” said Spike. He leaned back in the chair and allowed himself the brief memory of how her breast had felt, cupped in the palm of his hand. As she moved in and kissed him goodnight Harmony had boldly lead his hand under her sweater, placed it over her right breast and encouraged him, guided him… Just then, someone beeped in.

“Hold on. Hello?” said Spike.

“Spike? It’s me. I’m glad I caught you,” replied Buffy, sounding all business.

“I missed you this morning,” said Spike, lowering his voice.

Buffy swallowed and nervously said, “Y-you did?”

“Yeah, well, I slept late. When I woke up you were already… Where are you, anyways?” he asked.

“The mall, I had to do some clothes shopping. Then I’m going over to Ikea to order the bedroom stuff for Dawn’s room,” said Buffy.

Spike heard a knocking sound, and then he heard a voice say, “Buffy? We don’t have your cup size in the beige, just black, red, and ivory.”

“Try on the red,” said Spike as he felt his heart rate pick up. “Red’s my favorite color.”

“What? Hold on,” said Buffy as she sat the phone down, opened the dressing room door, and accepted the handful of lingerie that the sales lady was offering.

“Ok,” she said as she picked the phone back up. “What were you saying?”

“You’re trying on lingerie?” asked Spike, his mind conjuring up an image of her, standing before him in nothing but a red lace bra and thong. “Describe it. The more detail the better.”

“Spike, are you wearing pants?” asked Buffy, her eyes narrowing.

“Yeah,” he said looking down at himself and shifting a bit. “But they’re becoming uncomfortable. I could take them off. Ask me.”

“I’m not having phone sex with you,” said Buffy as she felt herself beginning to blush. She quickly removed her panties.

“Tell me I’m imagining this. Tell me you don’t feel it. The attraction,” said Spike in a low, sexy voice.

Buffy leaned back against the door to the dressing room and closed her eyes. Her hand slid across the full mounds of her breasts, then down the length of her stomach. As her fingers reached her center they slid easily between her folds, dipping into the hot wetness. “I feel it,” she said, slightly breathless. “But we can’t…we shouldn’t…”

“Tell me what you’re doing,” said Spike as he unzipped his jeans. “The sound of you’re breathing… it’s-”

“Wrong,” said Buffy as she looked at herself in the mirror and quickly removed her hand. She turned around, resting her head against the door. After taking a deep breath she said, “Spike, it doesn’t matter if I’m attracted to you. I can’t act on that. I won’t act on that. My sister’s moving into that apartment in just a few days. She’s going to need my attention, my focus. She’s going to need stability. No.”

“No, as in eventually?” asked Spike as he stood and zipped up his jeans.

“Maybe you should go out with that Harmony again, it seemed like she really liked you,” she said as a tear rolled down her cheek. She sniffed reflexively.

“I don’t want Harmony. What I want… Are you crying?” asked Spike, feeling confused. “You’re not being true to yourself. You’re not being honest.”

“I’m not attainable,” said Buffy.

“Have dinner with me?” asked Spike.

“That’s why I was calling, actually. I invited my friends Willow and Tara over for dinner,” said Buffy.

“Right!” replied Spike. “I can go to a movie of something, stay out of the way.”

“What? No! They want to meet you,” explained Buffy. “I want you to be there. Please?”

“Buffy?” asked Spike. “You do realize that you give off a lot of mixed signals right?”

“Maybe that’s because I’m really mixed up?” asked Buffy, hesitantly.

Spike smiled and asked, “How does lasagna sound?”

“That depends,” said Buffy. “Am I making it or are you?”

“Me,” said Spike. “I’ve got the left-over Bolognese sauce in the freezer. It’ll be a snap. Tell them to come around 6:00.”

“Thanks, Spike!” said Buffy, getting ready to hang up.

“We’re going to talk more about this,” warned Spike before clicking back over to Xander.

“Sorry, Xan!” said Spike.

“Jesus! What the hell took you so long?” asked Xander.

“It was Buffy. We had phone sex. I was trying to draw out her pleasure. It took a while to make her come,” said Spike, dryly.

“Wow. Maybe you don’t have to go back to Remedial Guy Camp, afterall. In fact, you might just be my new hero. But, she’s your roommate. Couldn’t that get, I don’t know, complicated?” asked Xander.

“I expect it’s going to get very complicated,” said Spike as he refilled his coffee cup and took the Bolognese sauce out of the freezer.

“As much as I’ve enjoyed this little chat, I was actually calling to speak with Buffy. I’m bowing out of doing the home visit tomorrow, potential conflict and all that. Bonnie over in the Continued Services department agreed to do it. If all goes well she can place Dawn in the home maybe as early as Wednesday, Friday at the latest. And then, Bonnie will just keep the case,” finished Xander.

“Let me give you Buffy’s cell number,” offered Spike before rattling it off.

“Spike? The kids going to need a therapist, she’s not talking,” said Xander.

“She’s been through a traumatic event. It could take a long time before she feels ready to talk about it,” offered Spike as he took another sip of coffee.

“No. It’s not that she won’t talk about it. She’s not talking at all. Not one word. Not since the police found her,” said Xander.

“Is she catatonic?” asked Spike.

“No. She’s responsive. Just mute,” replied Xander.

“Tell Bonnie we’ll plan for Friday. I’ll take the day off. That way we’ll have three days with her before Monday. Is she going to be able to go to school?” asked Spike.

“They think so. She’s following directions and processing,” said Xander. “Bonnie was going to talk to Buffy about getting her signed up at Grant. It’s within walking distance from where you are.”

“I’ll talk you on Monday, Xan. Thanks for everything, buddy,” said Spike before hanging up the phone.

Spike walked over to the smaller, third bedroom and peered into it. There was nothing inside. Not one piece of furniture. Not one stitch of fabric. Not one bit of color. It was empty.

Spike walked back out to the kitchen, picked up the phone and dialed Buffy’s cell.

“Hello?” answered Buffy who was standing in line at the register.

“It’s me. Did Xander reach you?” asked Spike.

“Yeah. We just hung up,” said Buffy.

“I’m not sure Ikea is the best idea,” said Spike.

“Why not?” asked Buffy.

“I don’t know,” said Spike walking back over and looking again into the empty room. “Yes, I do. She’s going to need warmth. She’s going to need comfort. She doesn’t need cold, hard lines, and furniture without history. I’m painting the room yellow,” he said.

“You have something in mind?” asked Buffy.

“Yeah, I saw some stuff yesterday while I was out shopping for my table. There was a sleigh bed and nightstand in the same shop. The sales girl seemed to take a shine to me, maybe if I talk dirty for her we can get a deal,” said Spike.

“You’d do that for me?” asked Buffy.

“You know I would,” said Spike, smiling. “And, a lot more than that. You want to meet down there?”

“Sure!” said Buffy.

“Go buy a twin-sized mattress and box-springs. I’ll run over and buy the paint, maybe stop by for some bedding. We’ll meet at, say 2:00 outside of the Antique Row Café?” suggested Spike. “We can be back here and painting by 3:00 give or take.”

“What’s this we stuff?” asked Buffy.

“You’re painting, too. I’m tired of doing all of the work in this relationship; all I do is give, give, give! And, do you appreciate me? No! If you don’t help me paint I’m not putting out for you tonight! I have pride you know! Standards!” said Spike before hanging up the phone. He immediately pressed the call button and dialed.

“Good morning!” answered Lorne.

“Lorne?” asked Spike. “It’s me. I need some decorating advice for a little girl’s room. Can you meet me at Bed Bath and Beyond in forty-five minutes?”

Chapter 9

Spike lifted up the end of the braid that ran down Buffy’s back and said, “Uh, Buffy? I think somehow you dipped your braid in the paint?”

He walked around to face her and brought the tip up in front of her face to show her the evidence, a glob of yellow paint. The two of them had been working on painting Dawn’s room for a couple hours. Since the room was empty it took little time to prepare for painting. After changing into work clothes, they covered the floor with a large drop cloth and masked it off. Then they masked off the ceiling, the one window, poured up the paint and went to town. Spike took charge of rolling on the quick drying cheery yellow latex paint that he had purchased earlier in the day. Buffy had taken on the task of cutting in around the baseboards, corners and the one small window. The room had already begun to take on a much different feel.

“How did that happen?” asked Buffy.

“Don’t know, but it’s managed to drip down you back too. Aren’t you glad that you listened to me and changed into work clothes? Let’s hear you say I was right…” said Spike as he teasingly waved the paint-covered tip of her hair in front of her nose.

“You did it!” she gasped. “You did it on purpose! Like some little boy, you went and dipped the end of my hair in the paint.”

“I most certainly did not!” replied Spike as he bent down to add more paint to the roller. “This second coat is going on much faster. It’s a good thing too, we don’t have much time before our guests arrive and I’m in desperate need of a shower. How about you open the window? It’s like a bloody furnace in here.”

“It’s not hot in here, you’re just all sweaty!” said Buffy as she struggled to open the window.

Spike began to chuckle.

“What?” she asked turning to look at him.

He walked over to her, placed his hand on her wrist and twisted her arm so that she could see the long path of yellow paint that stretched down the length. “You must have brushed it against the wall,” he said, smiling as he pushed the window open. Then, looking at her he added, “You look good in yellow.”

Buffy impulsively dipped her paintbrush back into the paint and flicked it towards him, spattering his white t-shirt, chin and neck with the bright color.

Spike stood there for a second, his mouth gaped open wide, speechless. He looked down at himself and then up at her. Before he could say anything Buffy burst out in a fit of laughter. “You look…You look…Oh, Oh…You look kind of mad…Spike?”

Spike didn’t say a word. His eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared slightly as he took a step towards her. She looked beautiful, wide-eyed and breathing heavily. The image played through his mind in the space of a second. Buffy’s nude body pressed up against the wall, covered in wet paint. He could feel his arousal building and he wanted desperately to give into it.

“You’ve been a very naughty girl,” he said as he walked towards her.

“P-P-Please, don’t hurt me. I’m sorry. I was just being playful,” said Buffy.

Suddenly Spike registered her fear and his expression immediately softened. He set the roller down on the tray and softly said, “I would never hurt you, luv.”

Buffy’s breaths were coming in heavy pants, her face was flush and she looked almost panicked. The knuckles on the hand that gripped the paintbrush were white and the hand itself was trembling.

“It’s alright,” said Spike as he walked over to her and slowly placed his hand over hers. “It’s alright.”

Her eyes tentatively rose to meet his and she gave him a shy, hesitant smile.

“Someone’s hurt you before,” said Spike. “A man.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” said Buffy turning her head slightly and breaking eye contact. But, not before he saw her eyes begin to glisten with tears.

Spike nodded his understanding, content to leave well enough alone, for now. “I wasn’t going to hurt you, pet. I was going to resort to that age-old fool-proof strategy called tickling to get the brush away from you.”

“Wouldn’t have worked,” said Buffy, defiantly lifting her chin in the air, any evidence of impending tears vanishing. “I’m not ticklish!”

“I have a theory about that,” said Spike as he began to walk his fingers up the side of her torso. “See? I think I just…need…to find…the right…spot.” Spike wrapped one arm around her waist to pull her closer to him and with the other he attacked the side of her stomach.

Buffy squealed and managed to break loose, but only for an instant, then he had her captured again, unmercifully tickling her sides. Peals of laughter escaped her lips and her legs began to fold beneath her. They dropped to the floor and she began to kick her legs back and forth as she pulled away trying to escape.

“No! Stop! Stop! I can’t stand it!” she pleaded between breaths.

“Not ticklish my ass!” laughed Spike as he rolled her onto her back and climbed on top of her, straddling her hips.

He had her hands pinned over her head, the paintbrush was still clutched firmly in one. His eyes locked on hers as he hovered over her face. She was smiling up at him chuckling softly, her breathing still labored. As he looked at her underneath him his smile began to gradually fade. “God, you’re beautiful,” he said reverently.

“Still not getting the brush,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Buffy,” he said patiently, “let go.”

“No,” she replied.

Spike tilted his head to the side and asked, “What are you doing? Are you testing me? Wanting to see if I’ll resort to using my physical strength to dominate you and take it? I’m not going to do that. I could sit like this for hours, it’s quite comfortable actually.”

Buffy’s face was becoming increasingly flush her breathing was becoming ragged. Her tongue darted out and moistened her lips. She said nothing.

“Ah,” he said leaning down and whispering in her ear. “A glimpse of Buffy Summers’ dark side.”

“Unhand me!” demanded Buffy as she bucked underneath him.

Spike smiled, “Well, milady, seems you’ve got it a bit backwards. You see, you don’t get to take that imperious tone with me. I’m the lord of this manor, pet. You do as I command or I’ll have you thrown in the dungeon and subject you to endless hours of torture. Now, relinquish your weapon!”

“What kind of torture?” questioned Buffy, playing along.

“Um, let me see,” began Spike. “We’ll pipe Barry Manilow into the cell 24-hours a day, 7 days a week. And, you’ll get only bread and water to eat. No Evian and Bread and Cie for you, no! It’ll be only horrid tap water and day-old bread from the market. But, not from a market that’s part of the UFCW strike, because we need to support those people-”

“Fine, I can live with that!” said Buffy rolling her eyes.

“Manilow?” asked Spike, incredulous.

“Only if you include Copa Cabana,” said Buffy dryly.

Spike looked disgusted, “Stubborn chit! There is something fundamentally wrong with-”

“Oh! Hey, Willow, Tara-” said Buffy cheerfully craning her neck a bit, looking over Spike’s shoulder.

“Wha-?” began Spike as he released her wrists and turned his head towards the door. “Ompf!”

Within the space of a second she had turned the tables on him. As soon as he released her and turned around Buffy sprung up, pushed him over, and pinned him to the ground.

“You cheated!” he complained.

“Whoo Hoo! Go me! Go me!” she cheered as she bounced up and down.

Spike cocked his head to the side, curled his tongue up behind his teeth, wiggled his eyebrows and in a low voice said, “So, you like being on top up? I don’t mind a bit, truly I don’t. I can be comfortable with turning control over to a woman, sometimes. But, I think you should let me up.”

“You admit that I won, fair and square and then we can shower,” said Buffy.

Spike lifted his head to look over her shoulder and said, “Sorry, seems the lady of the house has gone a bit daft. We should probably humor her.”

“Oh, right Spike! Like I’m going to fall for that one, sheesh! Willow and Tara are always late.” said Buffy rolling her eyes.

“Not always!” said Willow from the doorway where she stood wearing an amused expression.

“A-a-and, when we are late it’s usually my fault,” added Tara. “Are you and Spike… together?”

“What? No!” said Buffy turning slightly to look at them. “We are definitely not together. I mean, I know what this probably looks like. But it’s not. What does it look like? You know what? Nevermind! Whatever it looks like it’s-”

Spike reached up and placed his hand over her mouth. “Stop. Breathe. Let me up. I call dibs on the shower.”

Buffy looked at him, smiling up at her and climbed off of him and then to her feet. “You’re probably wondering what we were doing,” she started to say to Willow and Tara as Spike stood up.

“No,” said Willow casually. “It seemed pretty self-explanatory to me!”

Tara nodded enthusiastically and said, “Yeah! I don’t think I have any questions. Nice to meet you, Spike.”

“Likewise!” he said, extending his hand to first Tara and then Willow before turning back towards Buffy. “Listen, I’m gonna go grab a quick shower. How about you clean the lettuce for the salad? I shouldn’t be more than 10-15 minutes. Then the bathroom is all yours, pet.”

Spike sauntered off towards his room to gather up a fresh set of clothes then quickly disappeared into the bathroom. Within seconds the three girls could hear the water running.

>Willow and Tara exchanged a quick look and burst out in giggles. “Oh my Goddess!” gasped Willow. “Spill!”

“There is nothing to spill, we’re roommates, that’s all,” said Buffy as she walked into the kitchen and washed her hands.

“Of course,” said Willow turning to wink at Tara.

“That’s all!” insisted Buffy looking from one to the other. “It’s never going to be anything more than that. Besides, he’s annoying.”

“Annoying?” asked Tara.

“He-he doesn’t do dishes!” exclaimed Buffy.

“That’s the best you can come up with?” asked Willow, crossing her arms in front of her.

“Yeah,” said Buffy sounding disappointed.

“So, when he came home last night did the two of you talk?” pressed Willow. “Did you decide to give this a chance?”

“No. No chance. I admitted that I’m attracted to him-” began Buffy.

“So what’s the problem, sweetie?” asked Tara.

Buffy glance towards the bathroom; then looked back at her two friends and bit her lip. “I…you see…”

“Tell us,” said Willow as she covered Buffy’s hand with hers.

“My sister’s moving into this apartment in just a few days. She’s going to need my attention, my focus. She’s going to need stability,” said Buffy.

“Buffy,” said Willow softly. “Maybe it would be different this time. Maybe he’s the one.”

They were startled when the bathroom door suddenly opened. “Alright, luv, showers all yours,” he said as he emerged, still barefoot, wearing fresh jeans and a t-shirt. His hair was still wet and sticking up from his attempt to dry it quickly with a towel. “Hey! You didn’t even start on the lettuce,” he observed before walking over to the refrigerator and pulling out two heads of romaine.

“Sorry, we got a bit carried away with catching up. Here, I’ll do it,” she said extending her hand.

“Nonsense,” said Spike lifting the lettuce out of reach. “Go get cleaned up. I’ll finish the dinner and set the table. You can do the soddin’ dishes. How’s that for a deal?”

“What is it with you and dishes?” asked Buffy, curiously.

“When I was a babe my mum used to bathe me in the kitchen sink. One time I accidentally dislodged the stopper and the water all drained out. I thought I was going to get sucked down too. It was terrifying, very traumatic,” said Spike with a serious expression on his face.

Buffy rolled her eyes, then turned to walk towards the bathroom. “That was completely lame. You can do better than that, Spike,” she replied. Then she paused, turned around to face him and pointing a finger at him said, “You behave with my friends.”

His face was the picture of innocence as he held up one hand and assured her, “I promise, I’ll work on making a good impression, put my best foot forward and all that rot. By the time you emerge from the bathroom you won’t even recognize me.”

“On second thought,” said Buffy, “maybe you should just be yourself.”

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