Prologue

12/30/03 Sunnydale, CA

Officers Connery and Moore stepped into the elevator of the Drake Apartment Building and pressed the button for the third floor. As the elevator began to move Moore turned to Connery and for the second time asked, “What, exactly, did Dispatch say the woman said again?”

“She said, ‘She’s dead and I can’t get her to leave the apartment. Oh my lord.’” repeated Connery with a deadpan expression and bored tone.

“You’d think we’re coming up on Halloween instead of New Years, huh?” asked Moore a bit nervous. “Probably some loon thinking she’s seen a ghost!”

“Man, you just never know. You’re new here. I’m telling you, a few more years working the streets of Sunnydale and you’ll have all kinds of stories,” said the older officer as the doors to the elevator opened.

The two walked side by side around the corner and down the hall, checking the apartment numbers. As they rounded the next corner an impossibly thin woman ran up to them. Her eyes were almost comically wide. She was over eighty if she was a day yet her short hair remained jet black, save for the 1/2 inch wide strip of white apparent at the part. Her wrinkled lips had been meticulously painted with bright red lipstick, which was now smeared. She had been dressed to the nines in a red dress and matching pumps, but the effect was spoiled by the splatters of vomit that covered her shoes and skirt.

“Oh! Officer’s I’m so glad you’re here. It’s awful! Simply awful! I can’t get her to come out…and she won’t say anything! Not that she normally says anything-” the woman began to babble.

“Whoa! Slow down, Mrs.-” started Moore.

“Robert’s” she said. “Mrs. Robert’s. Oh! I must look a sight. I’m so sorry!, I-” began the woman as she pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of her dress and dabbed her forehead and her upper lip.

“Why don’t you tell us what’s going on?” asked Officer Moore as he lifted his nose into the air and sniffed. “God! What’s that smell?”

“That’s just it! It’s her, Mrs. Summers. The neighbors were complaining, about the smell. I couldn’t track it down at first. But then it seemed to be coming from her apartment. I knocked and there was no answer. I thought it could be a plumbing problem so I went in and that’s when I found them!” explained Mrs. Robert’s as she covered her mouth with her handkerchief and shook her head.

“It’s alright!” soothed Connery as he gently placed a hand on her shoulder. “Why don’t you show us?”

“No!” she shouted. “I’m not going back in there. I-I can’t!” she said taking two steps backwards.

“Just give us the apartment number, Mrs. Roberts” suggested Moore.

“3B,” said Mrs. Roberts as she looked down at her soiled clothing. They are in 3B. And, if you’ll excuse me, I have to- to get out of these clothes. I’m in 1A if you need anything else. Oh, God, how on earth am I ever going to get that smell out?”

The two police officers proceeded down the hall towards apartment 3B. The front door was standing open. The horrible acrid odor was even more pungent inside than outside. It was the unmistakable odor of decomposition, of death.

“Christ!” said officer Connery as he pulled out a handkerchief and covered his nose. In doing so he managed to brush up against a stack of mail on an entry table and knock it over.

“You’re making a mess!” scolded the more meticulous Moore.

“Somehow I don’t think the owner will notice,” said Connery through his handkerchief as he proceeded to walk into the living room. As he passed through the door he held one hand out behind him, a signal to his partner that he should stop.

Moore froze and swallowed hard when the more seasoned officer turned to him, a pained expression on his face. “Call the coroner, and call Child Protection Services,” said Connery before turning to slowly walk into the room.

Moore plucked his radio off of his utility belt and called in to Dispatch. He then slowly proceeded to follow his partner around the corner and into the room. The room itself was sparsely decorated, like the rest of the apartment. It was like dozens of other furnished apartments he had seen since coming to Sunnydale. But, this one would stand out forever in his mind. It wasn’t so much the image of the dead woman, laying in repose on the sofa; he had seen dead bodies before. It was the sight of the small, frail looking child that sat next to the body heedless of anyone's presence, as she rocked back and forth, staring into space, and clutching the dead woman's hand fast to her breast.

Chapter 1

12/31/03 San Diego, CA

“Oh! Now that’s just too much!” laughed Lorne as he clutched at his stomach and walked over to his desk.

“Let me guess, you’re sharing my story. Let’s all have a great big laugh at Spike’s expense!” shouted Spike throwing his hands up in the air. “Is there anyone in this office that hasn’t heard of my humiliating experience?”

“Sorry, Spike,” said Fred leaning into the office, I think we’ve pretty much all heard.

“Xander! I swear you’re like an old woman! Can’t you keep anything to yourself?” asked Spike.

“Um, I hate to break this up. Really I do,” started Fred giving them a nervous smile and pushing her glasses back up on her nose, “but the boss just got a call about a new case and Xander’s up. He needs to see you, Xander.” The thin, slightly nervous secretary then glanced up shyly at Spike and quietly whispered, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone you’re moving in with a-a prostitute.”

“I am not-” began Spike before rounding on Xander and continuing “You! You’re in trouble mister-”

“Oooo! Will there be spanking involved? Can I watch?” interrupted Lorne.

“Eww!” responded Xander, wagging his finger. “There will be no spanking! And no watching! Not of any kind! If there is to be any retaliation it will involve manly punching or crude practical jokes. Geesh, Lorne! Keep joking like that someone’s going to think you’re gay,” finished Xander before leaving the office that the three men shared.

Spike pulled out his chair, sat down and propped his feet comfortably on top of his desk. His desktop was relatively void of personal items. He had just transferred to San Diego from Los Angeles County a few short weeks ago and was in the process of wrapping up the tail end of training for his new Child Protection job.

“Um, Lorne?” asked Spike as he absently picked up a Rubik Cube and began to fiddle with it. “Why doesn’t Xan know you’re gay?”

“He’s a bit homophobic,” said Lorne with a wave of his hand. “It makes him nervous,” he whispered before pulling out his own chair and sitting down.

“But the other night, when we were at your apartment you introduced Mark as ‘your partner’,” pointed out Spike. “Don’t you think that should have clued him in?”

Lorne shrugged, “People see what they want to see.”

“But, you live together,” confirmed Spike.

“True,” admitted Lorne.

“In a one bedroom apartment,” added Spike.

“Uh-huh,” said Lorne, absently as he sorted through his mail.

“Just what kind of ‘partners’ does he think you are? Business partners?” speculated Spike. “Like, by day you’re a mild-mannered social worker and Mark is a third grade teacher, but in your off hours you band together to…what?”

“Oh! Maybe we fight crime like Batman and Robin!” added Lorne obviously inspired.

Spike appeared to mull it over for a moment and then said, “Sounds plausible, Batman and Robin were obviously gay. No self-respecting straight guy would walk around wearing tights or trying to resist the temptation that is Cat Woman.”

“Oh! We’re talking about comic books now?” asked Xander as he walked back into the office and sat down. “I love comic books.”

“Actually,” began Lorne, “I was just about to hear Spike’s version of yesterday’s events. You have the floor.”

“Bloody Hell!” groaned Spike as he brought his feet back down to the floor and leaned forward in his chair. “Alright! Here’s the long and short of it. I get off a bit early yesterday and head back to my Uncle Rupert’s place where I’ve been staying. I get in the elevator and there’s this bird-”

“Translation,” interjected Xander, “hot chick.”

“Oi! Who is telling the story?” asked Spike.

“Sorry,” responded Xander.

“So,” continued Spike, “the elevator door opens up and we both get out on the same floor. We walk down the hall and end up right at the end. Apparently she lives across the hall from my uncle. Just as we get close to our respective doors the bottom falls out of her grocery sack and stuff goes everywhere. Course, being the helpful bloke I am I start to help her gather up her belongings-”

“And here’s where the story really begins…I swear this is just like one of those movies with Doris Day and what’s his name?” asked Xander.

“Rock Hudson?” suggested Lorne.

“That’s it!” shouted Xander excitedly.

“Go on, sweetie!” encouraged Lorne.

“So,” said Spike. “She says something about my being her 4:00 as she unlocks the door and invites me into the apartment. I walk in because my arms are full of the chit’s groceries and I start to lay the stuff out on the counter. Next thing I know she’s pointing out the way to the bedroom and saying something about hoping that the Queen sized-bed is sufficient. She tells me to go on in and that she’ll be there in just a minute.”

“Okay, so you think she’s offering…” began Lorne.

“Nookie!” interjected Xander. “Isn’t this hilarious? So, tell him what you said!”

“I think it was something profound, like, ‘huh’?” admitted Spike. Then she says, “I just assumed you’d want to, you know, see stuff before filling out the application. I mean, there’s no need to fill out an application if you’re not interested.”

“And here’s the best part-” interrupted Xander. “Our Romeo says, ‘Oh, I can’t imagine that there’s a bloke alive that wouldn’t be interested, Pet.”

“And, that’s when she gave me the application to rent the room in her apartment,” finished Spike.

“Okay! So does the young lady have any idea that you thought she was a-” began to ask Lorne.

“No! And she’ll never know!” said Spike pointing back and forth between the two of them.

“Right!” nodded Lorne. “It’ll stay between you and me and the rest of the Department of Social Services,” said Lorne rolling his eyes, “our little secret.”

“Man, you’re just lucky that you were actually looking for an apartment!” said Xander. “So! Where is this place?”

“Over on Goldfinch, in Mission Hills,” said Spike as he stripped off the blue denim shirt that he had been wearing over his t-shirt, and sat back down at his desk to start reviewing his e-mails.

“Goldfinch?” asked Xander, looking down at the paper he held in his hand.

“Yeah, 4435 Goldfinch,” said Spike as he began to read the latest e-mail from his supervisor. It contained the long list of cases that he was to be assuming responsibility for as of January second. “Looks like they’re not wasting any time assigning cases to me,” said Spike as he rolled back in his chair and began searching through a desk drawer. “I’ll have to hit the ground running on Monday. No more slacking off!”

“We’re too short staffed to let you just sit around looking pretty,” chimed in Lorne as he picked up his ringing phone.

“Um, Spike?” asked Xander. “What did you say your new roommates name is?”

“Buffy, Buffy Summers,” said Spike as he pulled out a legal pad and began to scribble down the list of case numbers.

“Elizabeth Summers?” asked Xander, still looking at the piece of paper.

Spike turned around and raising an eyebrow at Xander asked, “Do you know her?”

“My new assignment,” said Xander holding up the sheet of paper. “Seems she’s the only living relative of a court dependent from LA. They wanted someone to go down there in person and talk to her about taking the kid, otherwise they’ve got to find long-term placement on New Year’s Eve and-”

“Why wouldn’t they just call her? That’s what they normally do,” said Spike as he stood up and walked over towards Xander.

“There are extenuating circumstances. This is strictly a courtesy request. Seems like the girl’s mother passed away. They found her in the apartment, locked up with the deceased. She’d been there a few days, Spike. The coroner notified the next of kin, it was the deceased’s estranged husband. He’s the one that gave CPS the name of your Elizabeth as the girl’s sister,” explained Xander.

“I take it he’s not the girl’s father?” asked Spike.

“No,” said Xander, “it says father unknown. The worker from LA thought it would be best to deliver the news in person-”

Spike reached for the report and frowned as he reviewed the details. After a moment he looked up at his new friend and said, “Why don’t you run along home to that pretty wife of yours? I’ll have a chat with Ms. Summers and call LA back.”

“You’re sure? It’s my case and-” started Xander as he started to put on his coat.

“Go!” said Spike. “And, it’s still your case. I’m just doing this one thing, got it?”

“Thanks, buddy! I owe you!” shouted Xander as he left the office.

Lorne hung up the phone, turned to face Spike and asked, “Tell me I didn’t hear what I thought I heard.”

“You were talking on the phone the entire time! How could you have possibly tracked our conversation?” asked Spike dryly as he put his shirt back on.

“I can multi-task. It comes in very handy when trying to eavesdrop,” explained Lorne.

“Well,” said Spike standing up and reaching for his leather coat. “There’s no good time for news like this. Might as well get it over with. Looks like I’ll be looking for an apartment again.”

“Happy New Years!” shouted Lorne after him as he took off down the hall.

Chapter 2

Thirty year old Spike Giles paced in front of the door to what he had been starting to think of as his future apartment, “Good evening Miss Summers,” he murmured before shaking he head and stopping. He reached up and nervously ran his hand through his short-cropped bleached blond hair, making it stand up on end. He puffed out his cheeks, exhaling and said to himself, “Try again, mate.”

Spike leaned against the wall of the hallway and nervously tapped the heal of one of his Doc Martens against the toe of the other as he reached in the pocket of his duster and pulled out a rumpled pack of Marlboros. He looked inside at the one cigarette that remained in the pack and scowled. Two years ago he had lost his mother to breast cancer. Before she died she begged him to promise her that that would be the last cigarette he ever smoked, and he had yet to smoke it. Every time he looked at it he remembered her pain and the incredible void he experienced with her death.

He put the pack back into the pocket of his duster and then he reached into the pocket of his blue jeans for a stick of gum. He tucked the motorcycle helmet that he had been holding under one arm. As he proceeded to open up the stick of gum the helmet slipped out and loudly struck the hardwood floor, awkwardly rolling until it stopped, knocking up against the front door of Buffy’s apartment.

As he bent down to pick it up he heard the unmistakable sound of the door opening. “Come on in, Will,” he heard her say, “I’m almost ready. You’re early!”

Spike stood up and peered into the apartment. Already she was nowhere in sight. Where she had disappeared to so quickly he couldn’t begin to guess. He stepped inside and quietly closed the door. As he turned around he was greeted by the vision of her walking out of the bathroom, shaking out the loose curls of her long mane of honey-blonde hair. She was wearing a stunning red dress. It was cut on the bias, dipped low in the front, and hugged her curves in all the right places. In her hand she held a mismatched pair of shoes. “What do you think? Should I go with the sexy strappy sandal or the more conservative pump?”

As her eyes met his, her beautifully red-glossed lips formed an almost perfect “O”. “Spike!” she said, surprised, looking around.

“Yeah?” he asked following her gaze.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. “Where did Will go?”

“You’re expecting another Will?” he questioned.

“No, just the one. Where did she go?” asked Buffy again.

Spike tilted his head and tried desperately to focus on what she was saying and not on what had become his suddenly uncomfortable blue jeans. “Where did who go?”

“My friend, Willow. Didn’t she let you in?” asked Buffy.

“Ah!” said Spike. “No. You let me in. Thought you were talking to me when you shouted out the invitation. Will is my Christian name, luv.”

“Oh!” said Buffy smiling up brightly at him. “William Giles. I like it. It suits you.”

“Once upon a time, perhaps. Not anymore,” said Spike. “Care to model them? It’s hard to imagine which would look best.”

“Sure,” said Buffy as she leaned down and easily slipped the pump on and then the sandal.

Spike swallowed, cleared his throat and then took a step back to take a good look at the overall affect. “Maybe if you walked a bit?”

Buffy dutifully turned around and took a few steps away from him. Spike watched appreciatively as she moved, the skirt of her dress swaying along with her hips. For a moment he became lost in thought. Before he knew it she had spun around and was walking back towards him.

“Well?” she asked, expectantly.

“What kind of an impression are you trying to make, exactly?” he asked.

Buffy frowned and said, “Hmmm. Sexy but not slutty. I’m a fun but serious, looking for a special someone but still independent Buffy.”

“So this is a first date?” asked Spike. “Not that it’s any of my business.”

“Huh? No, no date. I’m just going with Willow and Tara,” offered Buffy. “But you never know when you’re going to meet Mr. Right!”

“Definitely the pumps,” said Spike with conviction.

“Right!” said Elizabeth as she kicked her sandal off and bent down to slip on the other pump. “Hey! You can help me choose earrings,” she said before turning towards her bedroom.

“You do realize I’m a guy, right?” he asked.

Buffy turned around to face him and placing her hands on her hips said, “Of course! That’s why I’m asking your opinion, silly!”

“Something is different,” he said, his forehead wrinkling in confusion.

“Well my hair isn’t pulled back in a ponytail, I’m wearing make-up and I’m not in jeans and a sweatshirt?” proposed Buffy.

“No!” he said dismissively waving his hand. “It’s not you, you were just as stunning yesterday its…the boxes,” he said as his eyes were drawn to the large boxes that were in the corner of the living room.

Elizabeth blushed slightly at his unwitting compliment and then asked, “Oh, that! You don’t happen to have a screwdriver and read ancient Sumerian do you?”

“Sumerian?” asked Spike following her back towards her room.

“I’m not very handy,” laughed Buffy. “Assembly instructions might as well be in some dead language for all the good they do me. There’s actually a smaller third bedroom. I bought a desk and shelving so that I could set up an office in there. Willow and I had used it as an office before, but the furniture was all hers.”

“Willow, is the friend you’re going out with tonight,” Spike said as he shook his head at the long ornate black-jeweled earrings she held up.

“Yeah. We run a business together, Seasons, we plan events and parties. We used to be roommates too,” she said holding up a pair of red crystal earrings. “But, then she found true love. She and Tara are really committed to one another and Tara’s great. When Will told me that they wanted to live together I couldn’t help but be happy for her-” continued Buffy as she started to again fish through her jewelry box.

Spike looked over her shoulder and pointing at a pair of simple square-cut ruby earrings said, “Those.”

Buffy looked up, surprised. As she put them on she said, “My mother gave me these for Christmas the year I graduated from high-school. They used to be hers.”

“Buffy, there was a reason I came, luv-” he began.

She looked at him expectantly and said, “You’re not bailing on me, are you?”

“No, nothing like that. It’s business. It’s about your mum and sis, actually,” began Spike.

“My mom and sister?” asked Elizabeth, confused.

Spike pulled the paper from his pocket and said, “Best you sit down.”

“I don’t want to sit down,” said Buffy feeling a bit agitated. “How do you know anything about my family?”

“I don’t know much, Pet. This came across the fax at work today. One of the other social workers was assigned the call but once I realized, I…” Spike brought his hand up to again nervously run it through his hair. “Buffy, your mother’s passed away, luv. I’m terribly sorry. Seems it was a few days ago, but she was found yesterday. Your little sis is alone. She needs a place to stay. LA CPS thinks the best place for her is with you.”

Buffy looked up at him slowly, her eyes glistening with tears. “What?” she asked as she struggled to take it all in.

Spike led her over to her bed and she mechanically sat on it. He took her hand in his and quietly repeated, “Your mum’s passed away, pet. I’m sorry.”

She looked at him, her upper lip quivering and asked, “How?”

Just then, they were interrupted by a harsh buzzing sound. Both sets of eyes were automatically drawn to the living room where the buzzer was located. “Willow and Tara,” said Buffy as she pinched her nose, and shook her head trying to prevent the inevitable flow of tears.

“Shall I buzz them into the building?” asked Spike.

“No!” shouted Buffy, looking panicked. “I d-don’t want…I’m not ready,” she started.

“They’re you’re friends, right?” asked Spike.

He watched as Buffy stood up and stiffly walked out of her room and over to the intercom by the door. “Willow?” she asked.

“Hey, Buff!” said the cheerful voice. “Buzz us in!”

“You know? I think I’ve caught some awful flu thing,” said Buffy into the intercom before giving a sideways look at Spike. “I was just about to page you. It’s ugly, really. I don’t want to let you up and expose you. You two go and have fun, alright?”

“Well, do you need anything? I hate to leave you alone,” said Willow hesitantly.

“It’s probably just a 24-hour thing. I’ll probably be right as rain tomorrow. You two go and have fun. Have a glass of champagne for me!” said Buffy as she leaned her head against the intercom and released the call button.

“You have my cell,” said Willow. “Call if you need anything.”

And then there was silence. Spike watched as several minutes passed without Buffy moving. He removed his leather duster and laid in over one of the living room chairs. He looked around the apartment trying to look for clues about just whom this girl was, what made her tick. And he realized, for the first time, how sterile it all looked, how impersonal. The furniture was of good quality and although there weren’t many pieces what she had was tasteful. But it looked like a showroom, devoid of pictures, or any of those other touches that can make a space feel lived in, that makes a house a home.

“What do I need to do?” he heard her ask.

Spike walked over to her and placed his hand lightly on her shoulder, “I’m sure this is quite a shock,” he began quietly.

“Don’t,” she said as she stepped away from him. She looked up at him, tears staining her cheeks, eyes still moist and said, “Don’t be tender. Don’t pretend like you care. You don’t even know me. You don’t know anything.”

Then she turned around and without another word she walked back to her bedroom and closed the door with a quiet click.

Chapter 3

Spike stood there for a few minutes looking at her closed bedroom door. “What the hell are you going to do now?” he mumbled to no one in particular. And then he heard them, quiet sobs.

He didn’t think twice. He stood up, walked over to the closed door, and quietly entered the room. Buffy was lying on her side on the bed, facing away from the door. Her hair was splayed out across one pillow and she held the second pillow clutched to her. He approached the bed, sat down behind her, and automatically began to run his fingers through her hair, “Some of what you said in there is true. I don’t know you-”

“What are you doing?” she asked as she suddenly sat up and pulled away.

“Trying to comfort you?” he hesitantly suggested.

“But the door was closed!” stated Buffy, incredulous that he had invaded her privacy.

“Yes,” he admitted nodding.

“And, I specifically left you on the other side of the closed door!” said Buffy pointing at the door.

“True, but the comforting thing doesn’t work so well that way. See, we social workers use this technique called empathic listening and in addition to occasional vocalizations like, ‘tell me more’, ‘I understand’, and ‘hmmm’, it requires actual eye-contact,” said Spike.

“Did I ask for your comfort?” responded Buffy, obviously agitated as she climbed off the bed, moved over to the dresser and angrily pulled a tissue out of the tissue box. “No!” she yelled as she wiped at her eyes. She hastily reached for a second tissue and in doing so knocked over her jewelry box.

Spike knelt down and quietly said, “Let me get that.”

“I can do it!” snapped Buffy and she fell to her knees. “I can take care of myself! I don’t need-I d-don’t-”

Spike watched for a moment as the woman before him began to frantically pick up the dropped pieces of jewelry and replace them in the box. Within a few seconds, though, her motions ceased and she just sat there, staring down at the floor, sobbing.

Spike swept aside the remaining pieces of jewelry, slid closer to her, and gently wrapped his arms around her trembling body. And, she let him. They sat that way as minutes ticked by. How many passed neither one of them knew. Slowly Buffy’s sobs subsided. Her head was still buried in his chest and she dreaded having to look up.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like this,” murmured Buffy quietly, as she started to pull away, too embarrassed to look him in the eye.

“I’m not,” he said reaching out to lightly caress her face, gently guiding her head towards him so that he could search out her eyes. Then he smirked, reached up and grabbed a tissue and handing it to her said, “Except for the snot part. I could have done without that. Blow.”

Buffy’s eyes widened and she immediately brought the tissue up to cover her nose and did as directed. As she finished she moved to climb back to her feet. Spike jumped up and held his hand out to her. She placed one hand in his, the other on the edge of the dresser and stood up. “Thanks,” she said, quietly, her eyes still glistening with tears.

Spike pulled the front of his now tear stained t-shirt away from his body and looking down at it said, “I’m gonna go change. I’ll be right back. Then, we’ll talk.”

“You don’t have to baby-sit me,” said Buffy.

“Look, you don’t have any plans. I know that for a fact, now. I don’t have any plans, either. I was just gonna cook myself some dinner and watch a bit of television. It’s just as easy to cook for two. It’s not baby-sitting. It’s being a friend,” said Spike. “Now, why don’t you wash your face and put on something comfortable. In spite of my snarky snot comment earlier…well, I want you to know that I’d rather see the real you, warts and all as they say.”

Buffy wrinkled her nose and said, “Eww, I don’t have warts.”

Spike raised his eyebrow and smiled, a genuine smile. Then he reached back to rub his neck and said, “Kitten, we all have warts of some kind.”

As he backed out of her room and moved to leave the apartment he hollered out, “Do you want to lock up behind me or leave the door open? I’ll just be about ten minutes.”

“Was it suicide?” he heard her ask quietly.

Spike stopped, turned to face her and nodded, “Booze and barbiturates.”

Buffy swallowed and asked, “My sister, she’s in detention someplace?”

“Over at Oliveview, for now,” responded Spike. “I’ve got the number if you want to call her.”

“I’ll leave the door open,” she said. Then she followed him back into the living room and watched as he slipped out.

She walked over to the closed door and shakily raised her hands, one coming to rest on the deadbolt, the other pressed flat against the door. She took a step towards the hard wooden door and resting her head against it released a ragged breath.

Chapter 4

Thirty minutes later Buffy emerged from her shower and toweled off. Before Spike had shown up she had bathed and painstakingly readied herself for the evening. As soon as he left she felt the need to shower again. She told herself that the hot water would help relax her and that the steam would help the headache that was forming behind her eyes. But really, it was an irrational desire to attempt to remove the stench of her past.

Although she had pulled her hair back before stepping into the shower, some random lose strands had gotten wet. She pulled out her hastily clipped up hair and brushed it back into a neat ponytail at the base of her neck. She then put on a thin layer of moisturizer, slipped on her red silk robe, and walked out of the bathroom and into her bedroom.

As she caught a glimpse of herself in her mirror she turned towards the image, studying it for a moment. She leaned forward, sticking her tongue out at her own reflection. Then pointing at herself she said, “You know what the problem is Buffy Summers? Wherever you go…there you are.”

Suddenly she became aware that music was playing out in the living room. Not just music, opera. She slowly opened the door and looked around. The kitchen, living room and dining room were all clearly in view. Spike had lit the gas logs in the fireplace and the candles on the coffee table, her expensive candles, the one’s that were for decoration. He was in the kitchen, standing over a skillet, singing along with Pavarotti while he stirred.

He must have sensed her presence because suddenly he looked up at her. He picked up the remote for the stereo, turned down the volume, and then lifted up a bottle of white wine. “Can I pour you a glass?”

“You listen to opera?” she asked, unable to hide the surprise in her voice.

“Sometimes,” he said with a shrug. “Seems fitting to listen to Italian Opera when making a Bolognese, don’t you think? Besides, I didn’t think you’d like the Ramone’s.”

“Who is Ramón?” asked Buffy as she walked towards him and accepted the wineglass that he offered.

“Thought so,” replied Spike.

“Smells yummy,” she said as she hopped on the barstool that was at the counter and peered over to look at what he was doing.

“You can’t go wrong with a recipe that starts with sautéing garlic and onion in olive oil,” he said as he continued to stir. “Leastwise that’s what my mum used to say. Before she died, that is. Listen, I’m sorry I barged into your bedroom. At the time it felt like the right thing to do. I just couldn’t not reach out to you when you were in such obvious pain. But I know that a closed door, especially your bedroom door, is a boundary that I shouldn’t cross and-”

“Forget it, Spike,” said Buffy, taking a sip of her wine.

“Forget it?” he asked, perplexed. “No! I mean if we’re going to live together, we need to have respect for one another’s space and-”

“You mean you’d still consider living with me? Even after seeing psycho Buffy? Even knowing I’m going to have a nine year-old moving in here?” she asked.

“Unless you don’t want me to? Maybe you’d rather have the place to yourself now?” responded Spike.

“Rather, yes. But I can’t afford it, especially if I’m going to have another mouth to feed and clothe. You know what real estate prices are like here!” she said.

“So it’s settled then? You’re definitely going to take her?” he said as he began browning ground sirloin in a second skillet and turned the flame off under the onions.

Buffy watched as he took out a large pot, poured the onions into it, and then dropped the first skillet into the sink. Her eyes narrowed as she began to assess the number of glasses, plates, skillets and pots that he had pulled out and she asked, “Just who is going to do all these dishes?” changing the subject.

“I’ll do all of the cooking, and cleaning this year, you take it over for next year. How’s that?” he suggested.

“I’m not falling for that! There’s only a few hours left of this year!” said Buffy.

Spike looked at her and said, “Here’s the truth. I love to cook, don’t mind most house chores, but I hate having to do the dishes. So, if we could work out some sort of trade that would be great, but, not tonight. Tonight I’ll do the soddin’ dishes without complaint.” Spike looked back at the sink and then added, “Or, I’ll come back in the morning and do them.”

Buffy laughed and said, “We’ll work something out.”

She then turned around and looked at the stack of boxes that contained her newly-purchased office equipment and said, “Guess I’ll be returning that day after tomorrow and trading it in for bedroom stuff.”

“I’ve got my own bedroom set in storage,” said Spike as he added the browned meat to the pot. “You could give the Little Bit the room that you were going to give to me. That already has a bed in it and I can move my stuff into the smaller room.”

“You don’t need to give up your room,” said Buffy, seriously. “But, if you prefer your bedroom set…I mean if it’s nicer-”

Spike had begun to pull open drawers in the kitchen and paused to look up at her and say, “Can opener?”

“Second drawer over there,” she pointed.

“It’s not nicer. I picked it up from a consignment shop when I was a starving graduate student. It’s done me fine for years though and-”

“Keep it in storage,” she said with a wave of her hand as she got up off of the barstool and walked over to the fireplace. “I’ll get Dawn new stuff. Maybe I could just get a small desk and put it in the corner over here,” she said gesturing to the right of the French doors that led onto the balcony. “I don’t really need an entire office. We can keep most of the stuff for the business over at Will’s.” she said as she unlocked the doors to the balcony and opened one.

Spike finished opening up the cans of tomato paste and sauce. He poured them into the pot, added the herb mixture that he had brought over with him, poured in a cup of Chianti and set the pot to simmer. He washed his hands in the sink, dried them with a clean dishtowel and then poured himself some more Chardonnay.

As he moved towards the balcony he couldn’t help but notice how beautiful she looked in the moonlight. The night air was cold for southern California, almost bracing. There was a breeze coming from the west tonight, off of the ocean, and it made her robe flutter around her legs. As he approached the door he saw her shiver.

“Cold?” he asked wondering if she had any idea what kind of affect she seemed to have on him.

Buffy nodded then tuning ever so slightly asked, “How did you mother die?”

“Cancer,” said Spike as he walked up behind her and placed his wineglass on the ledge of the banister that surrounded the balcony.

“Was she a good mother?” asked Buffy. “Did-did you love her?”

Spike placed his hands on her arms and ran them up to her shoulders and back down again in an attempt to warm her. “Very much,” he said as he felt her lean back into him slightly.

“My mother was horrid,” said Buffy. “She was a drunk. I hadn’t spoken to her in years. I think I’ve spent most of my life hating her, trying to get away from her. I thought that I had put all of that behind me. But now, somehow…now that she’s gone-”

“It feels like a piece of you is missing,” finished Spike.

“But why?” asked Buffy as she looked out at the city lights, puzzled.

“Because,” said Spike simply, pushing down the impulse to wrap her his arms and pull her close, “she was your mother.”

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 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
I know that you’re nervous about Dawn, wanting everything to be perfect. It won’t be. It’s going to be awkward, sometimes painful. You’re going to have doubts. You’re going to make mistakes along the way. I suspect that soon after Monday’s home visit you’re going to get the green light. I wanted to get you something to mark the occasion, but I wasn’t sure…and then I read something. It was this story called Layaway by Moxie. She wrote the sweetest scene between a mother and daughter. It was so real, so genuine. And it made me think about the fact that sometimes it’s the subtlest of things that create the greatest changes in our lives, in us. Maybe it’s not all that complicated. Maybe it’s as simple as stopping in the hallway to help some girl pick up her spilt groceries. Or, maybe it’s not even the actions at all that’s important. Maybe it’s more about what we think, what we feel, what we believe…about ourselves…about one another. I believe in you. I think you can.
Spike

Buffy tore open the wrapped package. It was the 60th 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…”




CONTINUED...