8.
Spike slipped his key into the lock and turned the mechanism. He looked up at Buffy, knowing he couldn’t stall the inevitable. She plastered a calm look on her face. The external facade of his building and the ancient flaking linoleum in his hallway wasn’t a good sign but she’d been inside the hellmouth with what seemed an infinite number of grimy ubervamps. Nothing could be worse than that.
“I haven’t had time to fix it up just yet,” Spike explained, knowing he was going to get an earful when he turned on the lights.
“Relax. The decorating police are on hiatus.” Buffy forced herself to sound neutral although she anticipated seeing something scuttle away in the glare of light. He snapped on the light and let her enter first.
Her first thought was that Spike must be really preoccupied. He’d made a hole in the ground cosy and almost inviting, but this place? Buffy never realized that cigarette smoke could be an actual wall color.
The refrigerator emitted a congested wheeze in welcome. It was drab by anyone’s standards, only one room filled with precious little furniture that the Goodwill would have rejected. Buffy found the lonely single bed strangely comforting. Maybe that was a sign Spike hadn’t started entertaining, but they’d hardly needed a bed in the past so she couldn’t be sure. Spike followed her in and closed the door.
“Buffy, this is my place. My place, this is Buffy. There, that’s the uncomfortable introductions out of the way.” He took off his duster and hung it on a hook.
“It’s fine, Spike.”
“It’s a bloody hole,” Spike pronounced, “but it’s not connected to Wolfram and Hart at all, so I guess that’s something.”
Buffy walked to the small table with her bag from the restaurant. She pulled out two orders of dessert and set them down. “Forks?”
“I think I have one of those.” True to his word, Spike produced a single fork from his cutlery drawer. He rinsed it under the tap and wiped it with a tea towel covered in chicken motifs. “Go ahead, you first.” He handed her the fork.
“We can share.” Buffy sat at the table and opened the styrofoam containers. “That’s always preferred with desserts.” Spike took the hint and sat beside her. Buffy cut off the tip of the cherry cheesecake with the edge of the fork and scooped it up, presenting it to Spike to sample, which he did. She then sectioned off another mouthful for herself. Next came the triple chocolate torte. A mouthful for Spike and a mouthful for her. Simple. Easy. Taking it slow.
Spike stared into her eyes and the months apart disappeared. They were in her basement again, during that long night before the last battle. He held her while she trembled, until her breathing grew deep and even and she fell into the restful sleep of the Good. They hadn’t needed many words then to speak the truth between them. He’d replayed it many times and it never got old. So close. So perfect. So–
“So, what’s the deal with Angel anyway?” Spike didn’t even flinch at her words.
“Huh?”
“Angel and that place? Talk about strange bedfellows–“
“You want to talk about Angel?”
“A little small talk for a go slow kind of evening?” Buffy reminded him.
“Right.” Spike licked the edge of his lips. Angel was hardly neutral territory, but thoughts of him extinguished other more problematic instincts stimulated by the scent of Buffy’s body lotion and the hitch of her heartbeat when Spike licked his lips. Yeah, Buffy was feeling it too. Nothing like a little Angel talk to avoid the smoldering truth they both knew was still there.
“I know he’s a sore subject–“
“It’s fine, Buffy.” Spike took a deep breath and spoke in a business like manner. “I suppose it was the canvas that appealed: big ego, big hero, big problems, big torments. Wrap that up with a nice red bow and you’ve got our Peaches.”
“He seemed kinda cranky to me.”
“Yeah? Personally, I think he’s happier than a pig in shit. Well, not Angelus popping out of a cake happy, but happy.” Spike paused for a moment before adding the disclaimer, “…ish.”
“How can he be a hero in that place?”
“Don’t ask me. We’re not exactly bosom buddies these days but he has his moments.” Spike took the fork from her, scooped up the last piece of cheesecake and gestured to her. Buffy shook her head.
“You go ahead. I’m stuffed.” Soon a few sticky smudges were all that was left on the plates. A silence fell between them. It wasn’t uncomfortable but they were hardly the chatting kind.
“How’s Dawn doing?”
“She’s great. School’s great. She’s got a couple of scholarships to choose from. Maybe Stanford. Maybe Cambridge. It changes daily.”
“Boyfriends yet?” Spike was curious. Dawn would always be his Nibblet but times changed and Nibblets had the annoying tendency to grow up.
“No. No way. Dawn is not allowed to date until after university. That’s my number one rule now.”
Spike had missed Buffy’s unique brand of crazy. “Bet you’re a popular sister these days.”
“Teenagers are a nightmare.” It was easier to avoid Dawn with an army of surrogate siblings in Sunnydale. The din of hormonal complaints became white noise to Buffy, but living with a single teenager who couldn’t stop talking for ten seconds altogether was a heavy burden indeed. Dawn apparently never got the memo that stipulated the length of adolescent angst and sullen silence in years. She was full of fascinating anecdotes and cheery, relentless good humor. It was, as Buffy knew intimately, a nightmare.
“So, if you’re here…” The lengthening pause indicated a question.
“Oh, she’s on school break at the coven in Devon.”
“And if she goes to school in the states…then you’ll be…”
“Reconsidering my options.” It was a bit of a smart ass reply. Buffy could see the thoughts churning behind Spike’s eyes. She shifted in her chair and picked up the empty dessert containers.
*
“No! No! Not again! Agh!” Buffy collapsed back onto the sofa as the hand controls fell from her fingers into her lap.
“This is a surprising development, Buffy. I’m deeply shocked.” Spike quirked an evil grin as the congratulatory banner and statistics indicating his game victory flashed on the screen.
“Chivalry is dead!” Buffy protested. “Whatever happened to letting the guest win a few lousy games?”
“My suit of armor is at the cleaners,” Spike stated plainly. “You’re in the big leagues, pet. It’s every hedgehog for himself here.”
“Give me a break. I was otherwise occupied during my adolescence and not by playing mindless video games.”
“They’re not mindless.” Spike stared blankly into the garishly colored screen. “It’s an acquired skill. Fancy another game?”
“Thumbs were not meant to move like that.” It was an admittedly weak rationale for her spectacular loss.
“Yeah? So says the loser.”
Buffy countered his smug grin with a tired smile. It was getting late. She did have a hotel room booked but she couldn’t make herself move and they probably hadn’t held it considering the lateness of the hour.
“I don’t want to play anymore,” she said in a soft voice. Spike tossed down the hand set and turned off the television.
“Okay.” He turned his head toward her but stayed quiet. Words would ruin what he saw in her eyes. Buffy drew her palm slowly up his spine to his neck. The intimacy of that touch was enough to unnerve him.
“Buffy,” his voice sounded a warning. He could talk to her and play video games with no problem. If she was going to touch him then all bets were off.
“How have you been?”
How had he been? Crazy with missing her. Trapped in an evil law firm. Forced to interact with Angel. “I’ve been good,” he lied as he relaxed back into the cushions.
“Umnh.” A smothered sound accompanied her nod. He’d been good. Now it was her turn. “I really tried in Rome, Spike,” she began with confidence. Her words and the expression on her face meant one thing, this was a speech she had prepared. “To make a new start. I even started dating this guy. Well, maybe dating is too strong a word.”
Spike didn’t want to listen to her speech, particularly when it included references to some other guy and unspecified activities loosely related to dating. “It’s all right Buffy, you don’t have to–“
“Nice enough guy too,” Buffy continued, feeling the need to confess. Unease froze on Spike features. Buffy dated a nice guy. That information cut through his gut with a serrated edge. She took a deep breath and deviated from her practiced script. “I suppose.”
The truth was she didn’t know.
Cesare was an enigma in a cleft chin. He was there, all mysterious and immortal and he pursued her relentlessly until she gave in; or rather, until Dawn pushed her out of the apartment for a night of clubbing in the trendiest hot spots in Rome. Overnight her picture was plastered all over the newspapers with speculation of whether this was “the one”. She was the mysterious blonde on the arm of Rome’s most illustrious and scandalous bachelor.
Suddenly her movements were fodder for media speculation. She’d been reported at a bridal fitting, in an obstetrician’s office, dancing in the Trevi Fountain and fist fighting with Donatella Versace all in one day. The scrutiny was surreal. It was a heady rush but Buffy was under no illusions. He wanted a slayer on his arm and she wanted to get the image of that hole in the desert out of her mind. It was a pairing of true convenience that made Buffy realize convenience wasn’t what she wanted.
“I won’t bore you with the details,” her voice accelerated. Departing from her script filled her mind with a myriad of unrelated and annoying tangents. She thought only to leap over the Rome stuff as quickly as possible. “There was a bit of a thing at the end…a few minor explosions. Nothing big.” Her mouth folded into a frown. A little rationalization never hurt anyone. “We made the hot couple/not couple page in “Hello!” magazine.” She flared her eyebrows for emphasis then her voice quieted considerably. “They called me an unemployed American.” That was the kind version. Buffy tried for an indifferent shrug but Spike could tell she was embarrassed.
“Boy, I am crap at dating.” The tension in her face slowly eased. “Dawn says I have unresolved issues.” Buffy looked her unresolved issue straight in the eye. “I think she may be right. She said I needed to deal.”
“She did?”
“She’s a very smart girl, you know. Scholarship material.”
“I always thought so.”
“She booked my airfare using Giles’ frequent flyer miles.”
“Cheeky little bit.”
“Yes, she is.” Buffy brought her hand up to stroke Spike’s face. He froze again.
“Buffy–“
She interrupted him. “Remember when you said we’d go be heroes and then see what happens?” Okay, now she was back on track.
“Yeah.”
Buffy leaned in closely, her breath warming his lips. The kiss was soft and sweet. Spike let it wash over him but he stayed still. They were supposed to take things slow and move cautiously. After all, there was no deadline and no panic to do or say anything rash. They could take the time they needed to hold hands and have a decent conversation, to do something ordinary instead of diving straight into the heady abyss of sexual combustion as was their pattern.
“This was the kind of ‘what happens’ I had in mind.” Buffy leaned against his shoulder wanting to say things right this time. She wanted to tell him it was better being a hero with him at her side, that everything was better when he was there. What came out was a truth she’d never dare say aloud before.
“Rome was about running away and pretending you–” Buffy’s voice caught in her throat. She could say no more. She was good at pretending.
“Buffy.”
“The closest I ever came to getting it right was with you, Spike.” She didn’t dare look at him because she feared what she might see in his face. “Now, I know how ridiculous that sounds but it’s how I feel.”
“I always thought we could be good together if we gave it a real chance.”
“The bad stuff was all about me,” she said quickly. “I know that now. I can’t defend any of it.”
“There was a lot of tit for tat going on back then, love.”
“But I hurt you and I hurt myself and–“
“And the world still managed to get saved once again.”
“We make a good team.”
“Haven’t I always said so?”
“But–“
“Leave the rest in the past, love, where it belongs.”
“But I want to get it right.”
Spike stopped her as she leaned in again. It was late, she was jet lagged and topped up with decadent desserts. Just as in the past, impulsive actions at this point could prove corrosive.
“I don’t want someone else or some place else.” Buffy admitted softly. “I know that now. This is where I need to be.”
“In a one room flat with a concrete floor and cockroaches tap dancing across it?” Yeah, that was every girl’s dream.
“With you.”
Spike narrowed his eyes and evaluated her. “I’m not some push over anymore, Buffy. I got my pride. I got a place. I fit here.”
Buffy shifted her body across his chest in an easy embrace. Spike held her with some hesitancy.
“Buffy, did you hear me?”
She nodded. “Mm hmm.”
“Not really wanting to give that up.”
“I’m not asking you to. I’m glad you fit. I know what it means to you.”
“Then what?”
“I was thinking about going shopping for a bigger bed.”
“Right,” Spike’s mouth tightened. “I get the joke, love, it’s just not funny.”
“No joke.” She snuggled closer.
“Giles and his band of merry wankers aren’t gonna let–“
“Giles doesn’t have a vote in how I live my life,” Buffy stated clearly. “Neither does Angel. I told you already. I don’t want to play anymore.”
Spike rolled his tongue in his mouth as if he was tasting her words. “I thought we were taking it slow.”
“This is slow.”
“For you maybe.” Certain Spike parts clanged at alarming internal decibel levels. “I don’t want to misinterpret anything.”
“What? Don’t you want to ravish me?” She spoke that fantasy phrase with more innocence than the Buffybot could ever have approximated and more genuine playfulness than Spike thought he’d see in her again.
“Is that a trick question?”
“Definitely need a bigger bed.” Buffy closed her eyes and yawned. “This is good too. You’re nice to hold on to.”
“Yeah, so I’ve been told.”
Buffy cracked open an eyelid. “Told lately?”
Spike shook his head. “Lately, my dance card has been empty.”
“Oh. Yay for me then.” Buffy tried to hide her grin against his chest.
“Looking to dance, are you?”
“I’ve been thinking about the Lambada,” Buffy wiggled her eyebrows. “It’s the forbidden dance.”
“That the butt shaking one? Sounds a tad poofy to me.”
“I always wanted to try that one but you need really supple hips to do it. How are your hips, Spike, supple wise?”
“I could show you.”
“You could?”
“Whatever you want, Buffy, just say the word.”
“Tell me, where does a girl park her toothbrush around here anyway?”