Lonely No More

Chapter One

Spike was preening himself in front of the mirror. He turned about from side to side, checking his rear end, patting his stomach and extending his white wings.

"What are you doing?"

Spike jumped a near mile and spun to see his best friend standing there,
smirking at him.

"Nothin," Spike bristled and set his wings firmly against his back.

"Looks like somethin'," Angel quipped.

"Well, it's nothin'," he looked at his tall, broad-shouldered friend with dark
hair. Studied him. Maybe he should change his blond hair back to brown.
Maybe that'd give him the extra something he seemed to be lacking.

"Why are you staring at me?" Angel asked, uncomfortably. Then his eyes
narrowed. "This isn't one of those times where you try to scare me into
thinking I have something on my face when I really don't is it?"

"No, you bloody git," Spike grumbled. "What do you think of the hair?"

"Yours?"

"Yeah."

Angel shrugged. "It's blond, it's short, it's. . . hair." He furrowed his brow
and frowned. "What are you going for here Spike?"

"You're an oaf, you know that?"

"I'm not a girl Spike. I'm not going to dissect your appearance. What are
you on about anyway?"

Spike sighed and sat on his bed. "It's just . . . been a while."

"Oh. I get it now." Angel nodded, knowingly. "Going through a dry spell
and you think you've lost the ‘touch'."

"More than lost the touch, mate. I've just plum . . . lost . . . the touch," he
shook his head, groaning and flopping back on the bed. "It's like I never had
it I lost it so much."

Angel chuckled.

Spike shot up and glared at him. "What's so bleeding funny?"

"Just funny to hear Eros' nephew fears he's ‘lost the touch.'"

"Just because the God of Love happens to by my uncle doesn't mean
anything."

"Except that you work for him," Angel said matter of factly. "You set up
the candidates and shoot the arrows for him."

"No, I don't set them up. That's the part I DON'T do," Spike muttered.

"I thought you were being trained?" Angel asked, confused.

"He's been putting it off and putting it off. Something about me needing to
settle down and concentrate. Whatever the hell that means," he ran a hand
through his hair and sighed heavily.

"Could be that you can't sit still for more than five minutes?"

"I'm bleeding sittin here right now!" Spike jumped up. Angel laughed and
Spike narrowed his eyes at him.

"Or it could be that you have no patience," Angel pointed out.

"I'm a failure to my father," Spike murmured. "He sets them up AND gets
to shoot. I just . . . shoot."

"It takes time and patience to be able to set up matches, Spike. You have
to make sure that when you're making a match, it's based on compatibility,
friendship and passion. It's not cut and dry. You've seen human
relationships; they're complex! All that talking, the emotions, the
compromise . . . it's hard work. It's easy for them to fall in love; it's not
always easy for them to STAY in love."

"Right. Which is where the merry band of Cupid shooters come in: To find
their true love. The one they'll settle with for eternity."

"Exactly. Otherwise all those mortals would be stumbling around making
bad matches everywhere and crying their little human hearts out."

"I'm ready! I know I can do it!"

"What about the dry spell you're on? You can't even match yourself up."

"Are you trying to help? I'm drowning here and you're describing the
water!" Spike exclaimed, frustrated.

Angel chuckled. "What happened to . . . what was her name?"

"Medea?"

"Yeah, Medea. She was a looker."

"She's involved with some guy named Jason. I never had a chance.
Besides, she's got this jealous streak in her that's just bordering on
psychotic."

"You were dating one of Hera's nieces weren't you?"

"Yeah, but do I really want to face the wrath of Hera once it blows up in
my face? No."

Angel sighed. "So, is it with you or them that the problem lays?"

Spike looked at his friend. "I think it might be them. I keep thinking the
right one will come around . . . I keep thinking it's me . . . but it's not. You
know what I think I need? A mortal. It worked for my uncle, it worked for
my mother. Why couldn't it work for me?"

Angel's eyes widened. "Are you thinking of asking if you can travel to
Earth?"

Spike shrugged, "Maybe. Zeus did it all the bloody time. Why do you think
Hera's such a bitch?"

"Used to. Key word, past tense. Mortals today aren't as accepting of us
anymore. Well, aside from the pagans . . . but they've also never actually
SEEN us in the flesh."

"I don't know Angel. I'm not saying that I will do it, it's just an idea I'm
entertaining. Not like I'd be allowed to go anyway and make myself
known," Spike explained on a sigh.

"Ever think of asking?"

"Didn't honestly put a lot of thought into it until now."

"Well, your uncle sent me to get you, so maybe you can ask him yourself."

Spike's eyes widened. "Bleeding hell Angel! You've made me keep him
waiting."

Angel grinned. "Just trying to help you out a bit there buddy."

Spike rolled his eyes. "That's what I get for making Iris' nephew my best
friend."

Angel patted his friend on the back. "Can't help it. She's got temperance
down to an art form. We support each other, you and I. We've got big
footsteps to follow."

"Don't I know it," Spike muttered and followed Angel out the door to meet
Uncle Eros, God of Love.

Starting to close his wings, Spike glided to a stop on the steps of Eros'
enormous marble castle –literally a castle in the sky—and took a deep
breath as he looked over at Angel who was settling himself on the steps.

"I'll wait for you here," Angel told his friend.

Spike nodded and flew up the last few steps to the gigantic double doors.
They opened as if they knew he was there, which they probably did. It
never failed to take his breath away when he entered his aunt and uncles
home. It was a vast place and yet homey. He could see Aunt Psyche's touch
and he knew that Uncle Eros didn't disapprove of the place. The colors
ranged from the lightest pink to the deepest red and portraits adorned the
walls—portraits of family, friends, a ton of Aphrodite, which Spike knew
Aphrodite probably put there himself. A grand piano sat in the front room,
front and center, where his uncle loved to entertain. Dark wood floors with
rich mahogany colors bled throughout the room, from the chaise lounge to
the velvet sofa and chairs, made the room a not only comfortable but
sensual place to entertain and be entertained.

He remembered the last party they'd had, the room had been filled and
Bacchus had had the wine flowing to no end. Spike had gotten quite spirited
and had started picking a fight with the ponce Narcissus. He had tried to
reason with Echo that her man was just out for himself, but she hadn't
listened to him. All she could do was follow Narcissus around and repeat
everything he said as if he were chock full of wisdom. That had been the
beginning of Spike's spiral into discontent with the women of Olympus.

Passing by the room and down the long hall to his uncle's study, Spike took
a deep breath and braced himself. Not that he was afraid of his uncle, quite
the contrary. However, he feared his uncle would stop his employment if he
knew just how discontent he'd been of late.

Eros was poring over papers at his long oak desk when Spike entered. His
handsome uncle looked up and smiled his thousand watt smile at him.

"Hello Spike. How are you, my boy?" The sun shone off his golden hair and
Spike frowned inwardly, thinking he'd never had been able to color his hair
that same shade.

"Good uncle. Great. Perfect. You?"

Eros' face crossed with something Spike couldn't quite define—
disappointment? Uncertainty? Both? – before he gestured for Spike to
have a seat.

Settling down on the overstuffed, pink satin chair with the clawed feet,
Spike sat ramrod straight, waiting to hear what his uncle had to say.

"Spike, for some time now you've been after me to train you in
matchmaking," Eros began, leaning against the desk with his hip, his blue
eyes intent on Spike. Spike hated when his uncle stared at him in such a
manner. It was like he was looking into his soul, into his mind, and it
unnerved him.

Spike nodded, averting his gaze from Uncle Eros and shifting to the
gigantic crystal ball in the middle of the room.

"I've decided to honor your request."

Spike jumped up, his wings fluttering in excitement, "Really? When?"

"Soon. Today if you want," Eros grinned, seeming pleased by Spike's
enthusiasm. "I've been talking it over with your parents and your Aunt and
she agrees with me that this is the best thing for you."

Spike studied his uncle. "What is?" He had the distinct feeling that his
uncle was talking about more than just simple field work here.

"Do you remember me telling you about a mortal woman by the name of
Elizabeth Summers in Sunnydale, California?"

Spike nodded slowly, wondering where in Hades this was going.

"As you know at the last staff meeting, she's been a great asset to our
business with her own matchmaking. Her success is astounding. So many
happy marriages with soul mates having found each other without our aid.
It's unprecented that such a mortal could have such a gift." Eros paused
and then frowned, "However, as of late, her work hasn't been top notch.
She's had a few set backs. It started with a divorce or two and now it seems
she's just going through the motions and seems to have lost her touch."

Spike tried not to react to the very same words he'd uttered to Angel not
too long ago.

"That's where you come in my boy. I want you to help her. Help her find
her spark again, find her touch and bring her back into the game of making
those correct matches again. I'm hoping with her influence on the love
front, more will arise just like her so that we'll have chains of ‘Soul Matched'
everywhere, helping us out."

"With all due respect Uncle Eros, but how can I, who has never been able
to match before, help someone who's lost her touch with it? What could I
possibly learn from her?" Spike wasn't feeling too sure about this.

His uncle broke out into a wide smile, his white teeth sparkling. "I think
you'll find you know more than you think Spike. What do you say? Will you
do it? It's the perfect opportunity for you, it really is. I trust you, I put my
faith in you that you can help Miss Summers."

"I'm still unsure as to how I can –"

"Will you do it?" Eros asked, cutting him off.

Spike stopped and sighed, raking a hand through his hair. If there was one
thing he didn't want to do, it was disappoint his uncle. He looked up to the
man, always had. He only wanted to follow in his footsteps and hopefully
have the same kind of patience he did. Not to mention having the greatest
love possible. He looked to Uncle Eros and Aunt Psyche as inspiration and
hope. If they could achieve it, then he was sure he could too. Plus, he had an
advantage that his aunt and uncle didn't have—the meddling ways of
Aphrodite. The Goddess had tamed quite a bit since becoming hitched to
Mars. Which was ironic in a way really. What he wasn't understanding was
why his uncle was being so vague and just ‘trusting his abilities'. He didn't
trust his abilities. Perhaps that was the whole point though.

Taking a deep breath Spike nodded. "When do I leave?"

Eros hugged him quickly. "Good choice. You leave tonight."

"So. Miss Summers here I come," and Spike smiled weakly.

Chapter two

"Cordy, I don't understand, how can you just pick up and leave like this?" Buffy asked as she tailed behind her friend.

"It's easy. I pick my things up, pack them, and leave."

"But it's across country! With a guy you barely know! Cordy, the
vagabond lifestyle is not for you!"

"Not true," Cordy said, jutting out her bottom lip in defiance, "I've always
wanted to travel."

"Yeah, to London and Paris. Detroit is a far cry from that," Buffy retorted,
trying to stop Cordy from packing up her things. She started to take things
out of the box Cordy was packing her things into.

Cordy stopped and glared at her, clearly annoyed. She flipped her long
brown hair over her shoulder and fixed her penetrating milk chocolate eyes
on Buffy, arching a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. This would normally send
Buffy running for cover, but under the circumstances, and perhaps partly
in defeat, Buffy puffed out her chest and stood tall.

Snatching the framed picture of Hayden Christensen that she had on her
reception desk from Buffy's hands, she placed it back into the box, all the
while keeping a fixed eye on Buffy. She then proceeded to put the items
Buffy had taken out back into the box.

Buffy slumped in her seat in defeat. "What about your apartment?"

"I found someone to sublet it."

"How did you find someone on such short—"Buffy jumped up, "Cordelia
Chase! You knew about this for some time now haven't you?"

Something passed over Cordelia's face that Buffy had never seen before:
Guilt.

"I've known for a month," Cordy explained. "Which really isn't all that
much time at all. I had lots to do, plans to make. I had to find a home for
my car until I came back, put my stuff in storage . . . "

"And it never occurred to you to, oh, I don't know, tell me you were going?
I mean, I'm only your boss and your friend—"

"Buffy," Cordy stopped and turned to her. "Sometimes a girl has to do
what a girl has to do. I can't help it. Devon wants to go, he HAS to go. I love
him, so I have to go with him."

"As usual, it's all about you, isn't it Cordy?" Buffy said bitterly, walking
away from her.

"Yes, it is. It's all about me. Can I give you some advice Buffy?"

Buffy stopped on her way to consulting room and turned to her once
friend. "What?"

"Make some things about yourself for once in your life. Maybe if you took
the time to make yourself happy once in a while you wouldn't feel so
washed up and bitter."

Buffy's jaw dropped and her eyes stung with tears at Cordelia's strong
words, not to mention the harshness in her voice.

Cordelia pushed past her and pushed the swinging door to the entrance
open with her hip. "I'm sorry if that was harsh, Buffy, but it's true and you
know it. If you got out once in a while and didn't waste your time on those
wounded birds you seem to pick up, you'd find this place back to the
success you once had it at. If you don't start taking care of yourself, you're
going to die an old maid." Without further ado, she swept out the door.

Buffy rushed to the door and opening it, yelled after her. "I hope the tour
bus breaks down! I hope he gets booed off the stage and he gets tired of
you!"

Cordy's tires screeched out the parking lot and Buffy watched her go. The
girl didn't deserve her tears. Not after the horrible things she'd said.

It probably stung so much because they were all true.

Spike was exhausted. After he'd agreed to take his uncles task, he'd been
rushed out of Olympus. It was as if they couldn't wait to get rid of him. It
struck suspicion in Spike and made him wonder if Angel hadn't been
flapping his gums about him feeling discontent. Then came the blow that
he'd be de-winged on Earth. Spike balked at that. How did they expect him
to get around? Eros had merely chuckled and said there were all sorts of
transportation on Earth and he'd fare just fine.

His mother had been tearful, but pleased for him, and his father had
congratulated him and directed him to "make him proud." As if there
wasn't enough pressure on him already.

After much goodbyes and hugs, Spike had been sent on his merry way. Or,
like an angel clipped of his wings, he'd hurled to Earth and landed
unceremoniously in his new digs. Unscathed of course, unless you count the
thud in which he'd landed on his rump. He had been cursing the delivery
when he'd taken in his apartment. He had to smile; his uncle knew what he
liked. Large amounts of space, hard wood floors as rich as Eros' front room,
deep rich earth tones and overstuffed sofas and chairs, not to mention a
spacious bed with silk, blood red sheets and black and red frumpy pillows
stuffed with feathers. Just off his bedroom, furnished with a mahogany
Aware and oak desk with gold leaf trim, was a balcony overlooking the
ocean. Spike smiled as he stepped onto it and breathed in the fresh sea air.
He sent a silent thank you to his uncle and decided to freshen up a bit
before meeting his mission: Elizabeth Summers.

Soul Matched was attached to a video store. The outside was pretty simple
and did not at all match the posh atmosphere that was inside. Upon
entering, Spike felt as if he were entering one of those clubs he'd witnessed
in Eros' crystal balls when he was finding matches. It wasn't dark, but
wasn't bright either. The lights hung low and were in the shape of stars.
The wall weren't all one color, they traded from deep burgundy to deep
ginger. There was a sofa and a love seat in the corner with Japanese
designs on them, the background of them being black. A glass coffee table
sat in the center with a cream colored shag rug under it. Directly off to the
left, right past the love seat was a room with a small desk complete with a
desk, some framed pictures and a few plants. Across the main room was a
room shrouded with pink and blue scarves and beads hanging from the
door way. In the center was a long desk with a computer and against the
wall was a bookcase filled to the brim.

He felt at home there, that was the first thing that hit Spike as he took in
his surroundings. His eyes settled on the form that hunched over the desk,
pouring over papers. It had to be Elizabeth Summers. Her long, wavy blond
hair was creating a curtain on either side of her face.

Just then she looked up and Spike's breath caught. Great Merciful Zeus
she was breathtakingly, heartbreakingly gorgeous. Her amazing green eyes
peered up at him curiously, and the pink in her cheeks darkened. Her nose
was slightly crooked at the end and for some reason it made his heart swell.
She swept her long hair over her shoulder and proceeded to tie it back in
some elastic that appeared out of nowhere.

"Hi. Do you have an appointment?" she asked.

He shook his head, finding speech had left him.

"Would you like to make one?"

He shook his head again, mesmerized. He noticed then her eyes were
slightly puffy. She'd been crying? Who had made this beautiful creature cry
and why?

"Then what can I help you with?" she asked, frowning slightly.

"I'd like to work here," he stated, finally finding his voice.

She looked taken back for a second and then recovered. She stood and
Spike drank in her form completely. So petite, was she. The jeans and
oversized t shirt did nothing but hide what was sure to be a delectable
body. Spike was itching to find out, to peel away the layers and find the
core of Elizabeth Summers.

"You want to work here?" she chirped, confused.

He nodded.

"I haven't even had the help wanted sign up for more than an hour."

He hadn't seen the sign. Thank the Gods in Olympus there'd been a sign.

She crossed her arms and studied him. "Why do you want to work here?"

"I specialize in matchmaking."

"Is this a joke?"

"No," he said defensively. "Why would I joke about something like that?"

"Because you're a guy," she said matter of factly.

He took offense to that for not only himself but for his uncle and father and
for every other Eros helper out there. "A guy can't want to help people find
their match?"

"Are you gay?" she asked, knitting her eyebrows together.

"I'm not bloody gay!" Spike nearly roared with frustration. "Can I have the
job or not?"

"I don't know you! How can I give you the job when I don't even know
your name?" she put her hands on her hips.

"Spike," he said through gritted teeth.

"Spike? Is that a nickname or the name you were given as a child?"

He pursed his lips together.

"I need your real name."

His eyes darted to the bookcase. "William," he told her.

"Last name?" her eyebrow raised and her foot was tapping.

He looked back at the bookcase and took the first name he saw. "Giles."

"William Giles. Why Spike?"

"Long story."

She shrugged. "Whatever."

"You're not exactly welcoming there pet. Especially since I'm here to help
you out."

"I've had a rough morning," she muttered, going through the papers on the desk. "I can never find anything she has on here."

"Am I hired or not?"

"Don't you want to know what the job consists of?"

"It's pretty self explanatory innit?"

She narrowed her eyes. "It's not all that easy."

"I'm a quick learner."

"You're not actually setting anyone up, you realize."

"Why not?" he asked, defensive once again.

"Because that's my job."

"Rumor has it you've been sliding on the job. Seems to me a new set of
eyes is what you need."

She glared at him. "Not all about the eyes, smart ass."

"I hit a nerve huh?" he smirked, placed his hands on the desk and leaned
in toward her. Patchouli. She was scented with Patchouli. Reminded him of
home.

"What's your background if you know so much?" she challenged.

"Oh, cutie. You don't need to worry about that."

"I DO worry about that."

"Hire me and I'll tell you anything you want to know."

Chapter Three

She wasn't sure why she said, "Fine, you're hired." She tried to tell herself it had everything to do with the fact that she was desperate and nothing to do with the fact that William Giles, the man who called himself Spike of all things, was incredibly gorgeous. God-like gorgeous. He was also arrogant and tempermental. Not that she was much better on the temper front. Now, he was smiling like the cat that got the canary and she had the urge to take it back. However that would mean not learning anything about him and something about him most definitely intrigued her. She just wasn't going to let him on to that fact.

"So, what would you like to know kitten?" he asked, tucking his tongue
behind his front teeth in a gesture that Buffy found both sexy and
infuriating.

"Got a license?" she asked, holding out her hand.

His grin faded. "No."

"Why not?"

He shrugged. "Cause I don't."

"Are you an illegal alien?" she narrowed her eyes.

"I'm not an alien!" he sounded horrendously insulted.

"Then why—never mind. Do you have ANY forms of identification?"

"For what?"

"So I can PAY you?"

"I'll have what you need by the end of the week," he grumbled.

"Do you drive at all?"

He grinned rakishly, "Depends on your meanin'."

The images that erupted in her mind angered her, "You're a pig," she
retorted. "If you're here to match yourself then you can waltz yourself right
out that door." She pointed to the exit/entrance for emphasis.

"I'm not here for that. I'm here to help you."

"Fine then, let me show you around." She strolled to the back of the room,
into the consulting room and pushed aside the scarves and beads that made
the door. Inside was a bar and a small table with two chairs in the middle of
the room and against the wall was a couch, a recliner and a bookcase.

"What is this all about?" Spike asked, raising his eyebrows.

"I find it helps to create a date like atmosphere. The couch and recliner
with the books for those who are more comfortable in a café slash
bookstore type of setting and the table and chairs and bar for those that
prefer clubs and that sort of thing. I find when you bring someone closer to
the element they're more comfortable in in the dating world, they get into
that mindset and it helps me peg them and their mate," Buffy explained.
"We don't serve alchohol. It's all non alcoholic and nothing fancy. I only do
appointments, so I'll find out what they prefer before coming in and make
it. There is also coffee and a cappuccino machine behind the bar."

She was pleased to note the impressed expression on his face. "Your job
will be to help me prepare for a client. Help me ‘set the mood' so to speak.
Also, your job is to set up appointments for me."

"So I'm a glorified receptionist now," he said dryly.

She put her hands on her hips. "You can't just expect to jump in and start
matching people."

"Why not? I bet I'd be good at it."

"Have you ever done it?"

"Well, no."

"Then how do you know?"

"I've got connections," he said through clenched teeth.

"Connections to people who make matches aren't going to help you make
the correct matches."

"What's your secret then? How do you do it?"

Buffy took a deep breath. "I talk to them, I ask them questions about
themselves, like an interview. Or, more like a date. I get a feel for the kind
of person they are, what they like, what they don't like, what makes them
the most comfortable, what turns them off. I get a feel for their personality
and then have them set up a profile that you will later put in the computer.
The computer spits out some matches for that person and then I personally
go over the list and choose the one that I think will make the best match. If
they choose the one I picked for them, I pay for the date. If they choose not
to, I set up the date, but do not pay for it. The bill is forwarded to them at
their residence so no one is the wiser as to if they were ‘The One' I chose."

"Smart," he said appreciatively.

"And sometimes there are cases in which the computer spits out matches,
but I don't feel that any of them are ‘The One'. So, I go back into the
archives and choose the one I feel is correct."

"And that's been failing you lately?"

"You seem awfully keen on insulting me. Are you seeking revenge for a
friend or something? What's your deal?"

He smiled cordially. "I just want to help."

"Then maybe you can stop with the judgment," and she started for the
‘door'.

"I'm not judging you, Elizabeth—" he said, almost apologetically as he
followed her.

"Buffy," she corrected him, turning to face him.

"Excuse me?"

"Everyone calls me Buffy."

His lips twitched. "Cute."

"Thanks," she said dryly.

"Look, I'm sorry if it seems like I'm judging you. I just heard a lot of good
things about this place and, well, you and your abilities and that you've hit a
rough spot."

"I'm sure I'll be back on track in no time," she told him, straightening.

"Burnt out?"

"Shouldn't I be the one asking the questions considering I'm your
employer and I still don't know anything about you?" she asked, tapping
her foot and crossing her arms across her chest.

He held out his arms. "I've given you free reign to ask me anything,
kitten."

"I'm not a ‘kitten'."

He leaned closer, smirking. "How bout tigress?"

She took a step back. "No."

"Lioness?"

"N—Actually, I like that."

He knew she'd like that. His little lioness, all feisty and fiery, not to mentions deadly.

"You have a boyfriend, my little lioness?"

"Okay, but I'm not your lioness."

"I chose the name, I get to call you it, with possession attached."

She sighed and rolled her eyes, "You're exhausting. Do you have a
girlfriend?"

"What are you trying to say?"

"That any girl that gets involved with you must be worn out from having
to deal with you."

"Oh, they get worn out all right. Most deliciously," and he waggled his
eyebrows.

She walked away.

"You never answered me. You have a boyfriend?"

"What business is it of yours?" she snapped.

"Just wondering how a beautiful woman such as yourself can run a place
like this and do what you do without getting hit on left and right."

"Well, you'd be surprised about how much I don't get hit on," she
muttered, plunking herself back down behind the desk. She put her elbow
on the table and rested her chin on it as she regarded him wearily.

He squatted down in front of her and they eyed each other. "What
happened this morning? You mentioned you had a rough morning."

"It's nothing William," she sighed.

"Please call me Spike."

"Spike. Where did you get that nickname?"

He grinned. "I was destined for greatness."

She was clearly confused. "How do you mean? What does that have to do
with your nickname?"

"In time, my lioness."

Chapter Four

Buffy watched Spike wearily as he moved around ‘Soul Matched', checking things out. He had an insatiable curiousity about everything and after the morning she'd had with Cordelia coupled with Spikes questions about her business and how it was failing, Buffy wanted nothing more than to go home and hide under the covers for the day. Or a week. She was almost tempted to do it. Almost tempted to tell him since he seemed so keen on setting up clients and since he thought he could do better, then she'd let him have at it and see how long it took before he sought her counsel. She frowned. What if he didn't though? What if he did have success? What if she was forced out of her own business?

"You're thinking hard," Spike observed standing in front of her at the
reception desk. He tilted his head to the side. "And you look tired. Why
don't you make some coffee or take a few minutes on the couch."

She blinked at him. "Are you suggesting I take a nap?"

"Yeah, why not? You don't have an appointment until three. That's forty
five minutes from now. Take some time."

"No," she said flatly.

"Trying to help Buffy," he told her gently.

"I'm going to set up," she mumbled. He followed her.

"Tell me your story," he urged.

"My story?" she asked as she started the coffee and placed a Jazz CD in
the stereo system.

"Everyone's got a story."

"I was born, I grew up, here I am. That's my story."

"Don't be so prissy and closed off," he said, hopping up on the counter and
swaying his feet. "Tell me about your morning at least."

"Cordy left," Buffy mumbled, placing out cups.

"She was the former receptionist," Spike stated.

"Right. And I thought she was my friend."

"You thought she was—she's not then?"

"Apparently not. Seems I ‘latched' on mistakenly. Why am I telling you
this?" she asked, turning to him.

"Because you need to get it out. It's not good to hold things like you do
luv."

"You've known me three hours and you've already psychoanalyzed me?"

He shrugged. "Not that hard. You're closed off. Defensive. Doesn't take a
crystal—magic—no, doesn't take uh… psychology degree to figure that out."

"What was all that?"

He had the gall to look innocent. "What?"

She shook her head. "Never mind."

"So, why were you mistaken in thinking this Cordelia was your friend?"

"She pretty much let me know when she packed up and left without any
warning at all even though she knew she would be taking off for the past
month. That kind of tipped me off," Buffy said matter-of-factly. Though she
felt anything but matter of fact about it. In fact, she was still stinging and
her words combined with Spike's were still ringing in her ears and running
over and over in her mind. So now in addition to ‘washed up' and ‘bitter',
she could also add ‘closed off' and ‘defensive'. When the hell had this
happened to her?

"You're thinking again," Spike said and pointed at her. "Where did she go?"

Buffy sighed heavily. "She took off her with her rocker musician boyfriend.
This is the same girl that hates going to shows because it's always ‘seedy'
and her shoes stick to the floor and she hates beer. . . But somehow she's
decided to traipse off touring with Devon." She shook her head and rubbed
her forehead. "I don't get it."

"She's in love," Spike said, shrugging.

"Love? No. Lust is more like that." Buffy said, her head snapping up.

"How do you know?"

"Because she barely knows him!"

"Sometimes a moment is all it takes," Spike said wistfully, staring at her
with an odd expression on his face.

She turned away. "Yeah, well . . . "

He jumped down. "Don't have anything to say to that do you? And you
should know about those quick moments working here. It's what you
specialize in isn't it? Making the connection, hopefully the right connection
with the right person. If you didn't believe in it, then you wouldn't pay for
the date you chose for them. Unless of course you DON'T believe in any of
it. Then that just makes you a fraud. So, what is it Buffy?"

Her jaw dropped. "What's what?"

"What are you? A fraud or a believer?"

"Both," she said, sticking her chin up in a haughty motion.

"Care to elaborate?"

"Not really."

"Humor me."

"You seem to have all the answers, why don't you tell me?"

"I'd rather hear it from you. I think it might help," he said simply.

"Help what?" she asked almost incredulously.

"Help you get out the turmoil you have. Help you clear out all that plagues
you."

"So what? I'll be back on track and as big of a success as I used to be?" she
said sarcastically.

"Exactly," he nodded.

"Very idealistic. What is this? A therapy session? A movie in which the

hero knows all the ways to make the heroine well and all she needs to do is
open up and take the first step to heal and then a whole world will open up
to her that she never knew existed?"

A smile tugged at his lips. "Something like that, yeah."

"That's crap."

"Try it."

"I don't want to," she said stubbornly and looked away from him.

"Maybe you like to cling to those walls you've erected around yourself.
Maybe you're afraid to shake them for fear they'll crumble."

She whipped her head to him. "And why would I be afraid of that?"

"Because they make you feel safe."

"What is WITH you? Why am I such an interest for you? You don't even
know me—"

"And you don't make that any easier to try and get to know you."

"I just met you!" she exclaimed, frustrated.

"And I'm intrigued Buffy," he told her earnestly. "I see a defiant, self
sufficient, brilliant woman before me that should feel as if the world is her
oyster and yet she's bitter and angry and doesn't seem to believe in the
very things she's made a career out of."

"I do believe okay? I do," she said, exasperated, throwing up her arms.

"I sense a ‘but'," he said patiently.

"I believe in it for others, but not for me."

He stared at her. "You believe in true love for everyone else, but not for
yourself?"

"Right. I believe that the universe somehow jipped me. It gave me the
talent to set others up, but it came with a catch," Buffy told him bitterly.

"That you have to be alone?" He seemed shocked.

"Yes. Everyone leaves me. Everyone has someone. And when I do find
someone, it's some bottom feeder that sucks the life out of me."

"Don't pick bottom feeders," Spike said as if he'd just solved world hunger.

"I have tragic taste in men, what can I say? I can pick for everyone else in
the world—though not as of late—but I can't pick for me."

Spike nodded. "It's the same in other professions I'm sure Buffy."

"You mean like the mechanic who can't fix his own car?"

"Right," he nodded.

"Except a broken car doesn't hurt and make you feel lonely. You can
always go out and buy a new car. It gets a little trickier when it's a person
you're looking for," Buffy said, her eyes starting to well up. Why was she
telling him this?

Spike moved to take her in his arms and Buffy pushed him away. "You got
what you wanted. I don't want your pity now!" she yelled at him and
stomped off. She hated William ‘Spike' Giles for making her tell him those
things. She hated him for bringing out her inner demons. How was it that
he made her do that? It was like he'd seen right the core of her. She didn't
like that at all. She was just going to have to make sure the boundaries of
employer/employee were firmly in place. No more talking about her
feelings and fears. No more, no way, no how.

Chapter Five

Spike saw the sadness on Buffy's face and he felt tremendous guilt. He'd pushed her too far. He thought he was doing good, thought that if she talked about it, it'd help. All he'd succeeded in doing was hurting her. It was too much, too fast.

She regarded him as he moved around the place with a set jaw and steel
eyes. He was waiting patiently for her to blow, and when she did, he'd take
it. He just wanted her to know that he'd be there in spite of it all.

"We need to set a few boundaries here," she said finally and stood.

He watched her intently. "Such as?"

"We are employee and employer. You digging into my psyche," she wiggled
her pointer finger around at him, "has nothing to do with that professional
relationship."

"I want to be your friend Buffy."

"You just met me!" she cried.

"Haven't you ever met someone and just wanted to get to know them?"

"No."

"You're lying."

"So, you've succeeded in not only making me spill my guts to you, but
you've also succeeded in turning me into a brat," she said accusingly.

Spike smiled. "Something tells me you were probably already a brat
before."

She scrunched her eyebrows. "Thanks?"

"Buffy, I pushed you. For that, I apologize."

She stared at him, thoroughly confused and wide-eyed. "I'm glad we had
this talk," she said finally and nodded curtly.

"But I still want to be your friend and I still want to help you."

"I don't need your help William. I don't need your pity."

"You think that's what I feel for you? Pity?"

"Isn't it? Don't you feel sorry for the girl that lost her faith in love and
whose business is suffering?"

"Don't you think the two go hand in hand?"

She shrugged. "It's a possibility. It's kind of like a vicious cycle. I don't
believe in love anymore, I become bitter, I make poor matches, people
come to me unhappy and then I don't believe in love anymore—you see
where I'm going."

"Except that you do believe in love for everyone BUT you."

"I never said this was easy."

"You're cynical and pessimistic."

"You're psychoanalyzing me again. I told you NOT to do that!" she yelled
at him.

"Uh, hello?"

Both heads swiveled to see a tiny red head standing in the doorway. She
had big hazel eyes and a tiny nose. She was dressed all Renaissance like and
was more ‘cute' than beautiful, Spike decided. Buffy was beautiful. Spike
spared a glance at said beautiful girl and wondered if Buffy knew she was
beautiful. Maybe that was part of the problem.

"Hi, you must be Willow?" Buffy asked, stepping forward and extending
her hand. "I'm Buffy. Nice to meet you." The girls shook hands. Buffy
turned to Spike, "This is Spike. My uh, recep—"

"Assistant," Spike supplied cutting her off. He didn't dare look at her to
catch the deadly glare that was surely shooting his way.

"I didn't know you had an assistant," Willow said. "I thought you did this
alone."

"I do," Buffy told her quickly.

"Oh," Willow looked at Buffy to Spike. "So does that mean that only you'll
be meeting with me?" she asked Buffy.

"No," Spike interjected. "I will too."

"Will excuse us?" Buffy asked sweetly and grabbed Spike's arm, leading
him outside.

"What the hell are you doing? Do you know how much I want to rip your
arm off right now and beat you with it?"

Spike smiled. The girl was a spitfire.

"Why the hell are you smiling?" Buffy demanded angrily.

"Because you're just so cute."

"You sniffed glue as a kid didn't you?"

"How else am I supposed to learn the ways of the business if I don't sit in
with you and learn?"

"You really don't hear anything I say do you? I just talk and you just don't
listen."

"I hear you talking, I just don't agree with what you have to say. I prefer
to pick and choose."

"Maybe you'd like to pick and choose your ass out of here," Buffy said
matter-of-factly.

Spike poked her nose and grinned. "I don't think you'll fire me kitten."

"You wanna bet?" she challenged and crossed her arms across her chest
and glared at him.

"You won't because I'm all you've got right now."

"Wouldn't take that long to get a replacement."

"With your attitude?"

"Are you trying to save your job right now or . . . . ?"

"You'd be hard pressed to find someone as dedicated as I am to this job
and to helping you make an impact on the dating and marriage world
again."

"You're sure of that are you?"

"I am."

They stared at each other and Spike prayed that Buffy wouldn't deny him,
that she would see he was legit and not just trying to get under her skin,
even if getting under skin was starting to prove so much fun. Her cheeks
flushed when she was angry and her green eyes sparkled in defiance and
fire. In short, she was simply breathtaking. Every bit the lioness he'd
dubbed her.

"You can sit in there with us, but do NOT talk. Do you think you can
handle just ONE direction?" she said exasperated, and now not looking him

in the eye.

"Yes ma'am," he nodded.

"I mean it William."

"Spike."

"I mean it."

"I know. Thank you."

"For?"

"Not firing me."

She smiled a faux sweet smile. "Day's not over yet."

"So Willow, tell me a little bit about yourself," Buffy started, extracting her
notebook.

"Oh god, I don't know where to start," Willow said sheepishly, blushing.

"You're shy," Spike interjected.

Willow grinned. "Little bit, yes. Just weird being here."

"Why?" Buffy asked.

"I guess it's like admitting defeat in a way. I can't find someone on my own,
so I need help. Not that you don't have a fine establishment here, I just
meant that—"

Buffy reached across the table and placed a gentle hand on her arm. "It's
okay Willow. Many people come here as the last resort. If it wasn't so hard
‘out there' I wouldn't have a business at all now would I?"

Willow smiled, "I guess not."

"So you prefer the café, bookshop type atmosphere then," Buffy noted. "Do
you often go to meet someone or just go to find a book and grab a coffee?"

"Well, I feel more comfortable in this type of atmosphere even though I've
never had much luck in meeting anyone unless you count the times I've
gone to poetry readings the bookstores sometimes hold," Willow explained
and took a sip of her coffee.

"Do you share your poetry?" Spike asked and promptly felt Buffy kick him.
He couldn't help it. He was curious.

"Not really," Willow replied softly.

"Why not?" both Buffy and Spike asked and glanced at each other oddly
before Buffy leaned in. "Why not?"

"I guess I feel to . . . exposed."

"So what you need is someone that will let you shine," Spike summed up,
rubbing his chin a thoughtful manner.

"I guess?" Willow said uncertainly.

"Willow, what would your ideal date be?" Buffy asked. "I'm not talking
places or things to do. I'm talking about how you'd like to get to know
someone."

Willow smiled, "Lots of talking. The kind of talking where you never run
out of things to say and it's exciting because you keep finding things you
have in common." She stopped, getting this far away look in her eyes and then seemed to snap back to reality a second after. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize. I think that's wonderful. You want to discover things
about someone and share interests," Buffy told her.

"Exactly," Willow agreed.

"You like mysteries, don't you?" Spike asked, grinning.

Willow nodded, "I do."

"So perhaps someone that seems like a mystery, but is really an open book
once you ‘open' them?" Spike supplied.

"Yes! Gosh, you guys make a great team," Willow gushed.

Spike grinned at Buffy, "Hear that sweetheart? We make a great team."

Buffy just shot him a withering glare and Spike chuckled. "She's my
lioness," Spike told Willow jovially.

Willow giggled, "Are you two--?" she asked.

"No," Buffy told her adamantly. "How about you fill out this form," she
directed and handed Willow the questionnaire and a pen. "And we'll be out
there when you're done," and she pointed to the lobby.

"Sure thing," Willow nodded definitively.

Following Buffy out of the room, he waited for her wrath. She turned to
him as soon as they were out of ear shot.

"I told you to be quiet," she said flatly.

"I know. I couldn't help it."

"I have to get used to you defying me don't I?"

"My lioness," he smiled. "We make a great team. She said it herself."

Buffy didn't say anything to that. She merely shook her head and headed
for her office, shutting the door behind her. Spike frowned. Now what?

Chapter Six

Spike figured he'd give Buffy some time alone before bothering her. Well, he didn't exactly look at it as ‘bothering' her. Course, it was that train of thought that had led him to pacing outside her door for the past fifteen minutes. Willow had filled out her questionnaire and Spike had inputted it all professional like. He'd pissed Buffy off more than once today and been insubordinate more times than he could count, so he figured he could at least follow one direction.

He blamed it on the fact that he'd never spent much time on Earth and with mortals. He never had much direct contact with them but knew from what he had been taught, that mortals were beings that needed help and often times didn't ask for it. Pride, Uncle Eros had called it. Too much of it was a bad thing and such was the case of one Miss Buffy Summers.

He'd seen the pain in her eyes earlier when she spoke of not believing in love for herself. It'd pained him to see it. His aunt and uncle had always told him that there was a lid for every pot. Sometimes, it was hard work and not all peaches and cream, and working through those rough times made it all the more worth it in the long run. Spike had a feeling that Buffy had had her share of the hard work. He wanted to know what had happened to make her so jaded and make it better. She didn't think he could, but he knew with a little time and patience he could do it. He'd heard what his uncle and aunt had gone through with Aphrodite. If they could weather her, Spike could weather Buffy.

Then she was there, standing in the doorway, staring at him.

"Hi, pet," he grinned at her, halting his pacing.

"So, has it been driving you crazy to wait?"

He cocked his head to the side. "Was that the plan?"

"To drive you crazy?"

"Yes."

"Of course. You've been driving me crazy all day. Tit for Tat."

He grinned. "How are you?"

"I'm tired. You?"

"Fine. Buffy, did you eat today at all?"

"What are you my mother now?"

"I think you need to eat."

She waved him off and went back into her office. "I'm fine," and she
started to close the door.

Spike shimmied in the tiny space she left for him and ignored the heavy
sigh of annoyance she let out.

He looked around her office. It was kind of bare. The only photo she had
on her desk was one of an older couple he assumed were her parents. He
picked up the picture and noted how she resembled them both in some
way.

"I'd love to see you as a little girl," he murmured.

"What?" she asked surprised. He looked up at her, setting the photo
down. "I bet you were cute."

She furrowed her brow. "What are you on about now William?"

"Spike," he corrected.

"Does it bother you when I call you William?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I prefer Spike."

"You know what bothers me?"

"What?"

"When you don't follow my directions and back off when I ask you to."

He sat down on the chair across her desk. "Tit for tat."

"Not even close to being even remotely the same thing."

He shrugged. "Fine then. Call me William. Your parents still together?"

"Yes."

"Happily?"

"This is one of those times where you need to learn boundaries," she said
on a sigh and dropped in her chair fixing him with a warning look.

"Buffy, I want us to be friends."

"We're employer and employee. That's it."

"You and Cordelia were friends."

She pursed her lips. "Consider it a lesson learned then." Closing her eyes
briefly she rubbed her temples with the pads of her fingers and yawned.

Spike stood up quietly and made his way around to the back of her chair.
He placed his hands lightly on her shoulders and she jumped.

"Just relax Buffy."

"What are you doing?" she asked, every muscle tensing.

"Giving you a massage. You're all bound up."

"Can't imagine why," she muttered.

"When was the last time you had anyone take care of you?"

"I don't know. Why? You signing up for the job?" she joked half-heartedly.

"Yes, actually I am."

She leaned forward so that his hands no longer touched her. "What?"

"I want to cook you dinner," he said matter-of-factly.

"What? Why?"

"Because I want to take care of you tonight. I caused you a lot of stress
today and I think with some dinner and conversation, we could understand
each other better. Even become friends."

She was silent for so long and just staring straight ahead of her that Spike
hoped he hadn't taken things too far. He seemed all about crossing lines.
What if this line was crossed so much there was no coming back from it?

Finally, she broke the silence and surprised them both. "Okay."

After closing up shop for the day, Buffy and Spike stopped by the local
grocery store to get some food. Spike was pretty sure he knew how to cook.
His father, a mortal before meeting his mother, had still kept many of his
human ways and taught Spike a great deal about how to live as a mortal.
Cooking was among those things he'd been taught and right now as he led
Buffy to his apartment, he was glad for it. He'd gotten a couple steaks, some
salad fixings, a couple potatoes and a bottle of wine. He hadn't checked to
see if his fridge had been stocked before he left that day, so he figured a
little more couldn't help. He silently thanked his uncle for the money he'd
left in his pocket and hoped that he'd leave more for him at least until he
got paid.

He kept a close eye on Buffy, concerned at how quiet she was. She looked,
in a word, defeated. He hoped he didn't have anything to do with it.

"You all right my lioness?" he asked lightly, resisting the urge to reach out
and move the hair away from her face as to see her face better.

She nodded. "Just tired and hungry."

"We're here," he announced leading her up to his place.

Stepping inside, she whistled low. "Nice place."

"Thanks," he grinned, leading her to the kitchen.

"What did you do before?"

He stared at her, "What do you mean?"

"For a job?"

"Oh, uh, I worked for a big company."

"What kind of company?"

"Would you like some wine?"

"Please."

"So, how do you like your steaks, kitten?"

"Oh, I don't know. Cooked."

He smirked. "No kidding really?"

"I don't cook."

He smiled. "I'll teach you."

"I'll ruin the meal."

"No you won't."

"Don't underestimate me," she muttered.

"I don't. I think you underestimate you," he told her honestly.

"Spike, can we save the psychoanalyzing for another time?"

"Sure pet. Thank you. "

She knit her brows together. "For?"

"For calling me Spike."

Chapter Seven

She was funny. The girl had a wicked wit and it left Spike laughing out loud. Her smile warmed him, made him feel like spreading the wings he'd had to check on his way down to Earth and waving them around out of sheer joy. Her laughter sounded like a chorus of Angels—and he'd heard them first hand.

He'd given her a hard time today, so he was glad to see her unwind. Even if
most of her giggles had more to do with the wine and less with the
company. It felt good nonetheless to see her smiling and laughing. He'd
steered clear of all topics pertaining to business or anything that could be
construed as prying. He kept to safe topics—movies, Tom Cruise and Katie
Holmes, then those segued into embarrassing moments stories which Spike
had to edit a great deal to hide where he came from and his identity.

She'd helped him make dinner, and he was amazed by how much of a
perfectionist Buffy Summers was. She wanted to do everything right and
saw any setback as a failure on her part. These little things were windows
into her and Spike took any scrap he could get. It wasn't like she was
handing out the information. When he'd complimented her on how great
everything turned out, she'd modestly told him it was all because of him.
He'd done most of the cooking, she'd said.

"You helped though," he told her. You put the marinade together for the
steaks."

"You told me what the ingredients were. I just followed direction. I never
could have done it without you."

"Buffy, stop."

She took a sip of her wine. "What?"

"I pay you a compliment and you take it back. You don't accept it. I say
you did more than just helping. Anyone can follow a cook book, but it
doesn't mean they get it right and that it makes them a good cook. If that
were the case then there would be chefs all over the place. I was your
cookbook and you did the work. Accept the compliment."

"All right, if it means that much to you, I accept the compliment."

"It does mean a lot to me and it should to you too Buffy."

"Can we let the compliment thing go now?" she asked, almost meekly,
which surprised him. Buffy meek? He'd known her less than 24 hours and
he knew that wasn't a facet of Buffy Summers. It intrigued him.

"You're like an onion," he blurted out, studying her.

She blinked. "A what?"

"An onion. You've got all these layers to you. I unpeel one, but there's
another one just underneath. And sometimes they contradict the piece I
just pulled back. So I just keep peeling and peeling until I get to the core of
you."

"And sometimes, like an onion, I make you cry," she joked and then
laughed at her own joke. Spike couldn't help but laugh along with her.

Standing suddenly, he grabbed her wine glass from her hand and set it
down. He took her hand in his and helped her stand.

"What?" she asked, confused as he led her to the middle of his living room.

"Want to dance with you," he told her softly and studied his stereo system
before attempting to turn it on. He didn't want Buffy to think he'd never

used it before. That might look a little fishy. He dove in and hoped for the
best. Clicking it on, a soft slow tune wafted out of it. Not clichéd at all, he
chuckled to himself. Leave it to Eros to have the channels preset to love
rock.

He turned to find Buffy standing awkwardly in the middle of his floor
where he'd left her, staring at him uncertainly.

He kept his eyes trained on her, despite the fact that she looked away from

him and fidgeted with her hands. He took him in his gently and brought
them up to his shoulders so they rested there.

"Look at me, Buffy," he softly demanded her.

Slowly, her eyes met his and he smiled. He wrapped his arms about her
waist and pulled her closer to him so that her body was flush against his.
Now, he knew he found Buffy gorgeous and that he was intrigued by her
more than any women he'd ever encountered and large part of that was
due to the fact that she was unlike any other woman he'd met. He wanted
to help her business, yes, but he also wanted her to find happiness. He
wanted the lady to be happy and he felt that once she was, the business
would soar again. Having her body against his was doing things to him that
he hadn't expected. The surge of desire he felt within him, the urge to
protect her and at the same time possess her was almost overwhelming. Bending his head, he moistened his lips, wanting to claim her lips with his own, but the fear in her eyes stopped him.

It was too soon.

So, instead he dropped his head so that his cheek was next to hers and he
could feel her breath on his neck. His heart was thudding rapidly in his
chest and he wondered if she could feel it. What he was feeling being this
close to her was not supposed to happen. He should have known when he
saw her though. He should have prepared himself for the possibility of
feeling this tingling through his body and this hum coursing through him
where her body met his. As soon as he'd laid eyes on her he knew he'd
found his own Helen of Troy.

"Spike?"

"Hmmm?" he hummed, closing his eyes and taking in her scent.

"What are you doing?"

"Dancing with you luv," he murmured, unable to resist the allure of
running his fingers through her silky strands.

"Why?"

He smiled, "Because I wanted to."

"Oh."

Silence fell and as time passed, the more she relaxed. He held her closer
when he felt the tension leave her. He inhaled deeply her scent and closed
his eyes, feeling light-headed.

"When was the last time someone held you like this?" he murmured,
running his fingers down her back.

She froze instantly and pushed away from him. "What is this? Are you
looking for a piece? Am I convenient or is this your way of ‘helping me'?
OR, do you think if you seduce me, I'll just let you run the place?" she
shook her head. "You're unbelievable," she muttered and walked away, in
search of her purse.

He was horrified that she could even think those things. "No, Buffy, wait!"
he ran to her and stopped her, holding onto her hands in a death grip. "I
brought you here so we could get to know each other better. I meant what
I said, I wanted to take care of you tonight. I saw you sitting there and I
just wanted to . . . "

She cocked her head to the side. "Wanted to what?"

"Nothing."

"Tell me."

He shook his head, "No."

"You've told me everything else under the sun and now you can't answer a
simple question?"

"I wanted to hold you!" he blurted out, frustrated.

Her eyes widened and she took a step back, much to his chagrin.

"Oh," she said softly. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I'm not sure exactly, but it felt like the thing to say."

"You shouldn't say you're sorry unless you're really sorry."

"It's a woman thing," she shrugged.

"I don't understand it."

"Neither do I. You know how many times a day I apologize for something
I could really care less about?" she asked, smiling.

"Don't bother on my account."

"Oh trust me, that bus stops right here."

He eyed her, pleased to find her smiling and obviously teasing. That was
definitely a step in the right direction. He just wasn't sure for what direction
anymore.

He smiled back at her. "Buffy, I'll only ever be completely honest with you.
There are no secrets I'll keep from you about anything." Save one, he
added in his mind, mentally crossing his fingers.

"Yeah, you've got that whole brutally honest thing going on."

"You don't like it?"

"Jury's out still."

"Then I'll just have to stick around until they make up their mind."

She smiled. "I should go now Spike."

He nodded, not wanting her to go, but knowing if she stayed, he'd be
unable to control his urges around her. "I had a good time tonight Buffy.
And you know what? It was because of you."

"This where I take the compliment?" she teased.

"Yes."

"Taken."

"Finally."