Prologue

“Alan Francis Doyle, I need you here now!” Buffy said urgently, nearly frantic, into the phone to her beloved husband.

“Lass, I’m on my way. I’m comin’, just relax,” the dark haired Irishman with the piercing blue eyes said into his cell phone as he stripped off his white “Pediatrician’s Garb” to reveal a crisp white button down. “I’m puttin’ on my suit jacket now and I’ll be on my way.”

“Hurry, please, I’m nervous.”

Doyle smiled, she sounded more than nervous. She sounded downright terrified. “I would have been leavin’ sooner had Billy not decided to throw up everywhere.”

“Oh God! Did he throw up on you? Do you smell?”

He laughed into the phone, “No, lass, I don’t smell. He got it on the floor before we could get him to the bathroom.”

“Is he okay?”

“He’s fine, sweets.”

“Flu?”

“Ay, just like I had last week.”

He could practically hear Buffy smiling on the other end. “And I nursed you back to health didn’t I?” she said saucily, conjuring up all sorts of memories that would have had Doyle straining in his pants if he continued to travel down that path and reminisce.

“Ay you did, but let’s not talk about that now.”

Buffy laughed then, an angelic laugh that made his heart soar. “Okay. Just get here, I need you.”

“Then you’re going to have to let me go, sweets.”

“Okay, hurry.”

Clicking off his cell, he quickly closed down his office and grabbed his backpack filled with the essentials: book, stethoscope he always took with him, a change of clothes and his wedding ring. The idea of losing the silver ring with the inscription 'Gra geal mo chroi' meaning ‘Love of My Heart’ in Gaelic, made Doyle panicky. He was a superstitious man at times, even if Buffy did chide him for it, and he felt that it would not bode well for them to have one part of that set lost. So, he opted to put his ring in his backpack in a beaten up, faded and well used navy velvet box. He set it at the bottom of his bag where he’d know it would be protected and safe. The last thing he wanted was for it to get lost while he poked and prodded the wee tots that tramped in and out of his small office in Sunnydale General Hospital. Reaching down into the bag, he moved his hand around, feeling for it.

“Where the--?” he muttered, feeling his heart kick up at the idea that it might not be there. Frustrated because he was already late, he grabbed the bag and turned it upside down, dumping the belongings onto his desk. The velvet box tumbled out and he sighed in relief. Opening it, he slid it on and smiled. Buffy had the same ring; just a smaller, daintier version and he felt the bond of their union instantly. He knew right about now she was twisting her ring around on her finger nervously as she waited for him.

Stuffing his things back in his bag, he waved goodnight to his receptionist and nurse and trotted to his car. Hopefully he had enough time to make it to the florist before meeting up with the love of his life.

********
Buffy Summers - Doyle twisted her silver wedding ring around and around on her hand, and gnawed on her bottom lip. Raising her wrist, she looked at her watch. Five forty-five.

“Buffy, he’ll be here,” her best friend Anya Jenkins, told her reassuringly as she set out a platter of scallops wrapped in bacon at the refreshments table. “However, if my waiters do not get here, I will be serving their balls as hors d’ oeuvre’s.”

Buffy giggled despite the nervousness she felt and glanced one more time at her watch. Walking to the front of her mother’s art gallery, she pushed the curtain aside carefully, careful not to draw attention to the natives outside waiting patiently for the doors to open.

No sign of her husband.

She jumped a mile when Anya laid a hand on her shoulder and put pressure on it, giving her the signal to turn around.

Buffy swiveled and faced her. “What?”

Anya had that face, ‘that face’ meaning she was about to give her a pep talk slash lecture. “Buffy Summers – Doyle. You need to relax. This place looks fantastic. You have done a fantastic job of carrying on your mother’s legacy. You should be proud of yourself. Those people out there are going to be singing you praises for bringing this gallery back to life.”

Buffy nodded, swallowing despite how dry her throat felt. “I know, I just . . .”

“Stop being so nervous. And stop twisting that ring before you burn a hole in it. You know Doyle would freak if anything happened to either one of your rings.”

Buffy grinned. “I know.”

“Now take a deep breath—“

“I’m going to call him again,” Buffy said and started for the phone.

“Buffy—“

“I just want to see how close he is!” Buffy called out and went to the back to get her cell phone. Pressing in the redial, she put the phone to her ear and tapped her foot impatiently.

“Lass, I’m comin’,” Doyle said immediately.

“Doyle, there’s so many people outside and I need you here. I’m scared.”

“I know, and I’m almost there.”

“If you left when I last spoke with you, you should have been here already. What are you doing?”

“Lass—“

“Don’t ‘lass’ me. Doyle, what are you doing?” she demanded.

“You’re going to make me later than I already am,” he pointed out calmly.

“Oh don’t do that!”

“You know I hate talking on this blasted thing while driving,” he muttered and she could see him in her minds eye talking out the side of his mouth.

She smiled, “Suck it up. I want to hear your voice until you can be here in the flesh. You soothe me.”

“I’m sure I – shit!”

There was a horrible screeching sound in the background and Buffy’s eyes widened, “Doyle?” Silence. “Doyle?”

The phone made a clicking sound and she looked at it. “Call Ended” it flashed. She tried calling him again and it rang and rang. Again she tried. It rang and rang. Twisting her ring, Buffy rushed to the front a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Something was wrong; horribly wrong.

“Anya, I have to go—“

“You are not going—“

“Something’s wrong with Doyle. I was talking to him and he swore and the call ended.”

“Call him back!”

“I tried that! I’m going.”

“Buffy, I’m sure he’s fine, he probably disconnected to avoid an accident.”

“I want to make sure.”

“Buffy!” Anya shouted as Buffy ran to the back and ran out the back door to her car in search of her husband.

Chapter 1:

One year later

Buffy hadn’t meant to do it. Really, she hadn’t. She’d been doing some cleaning, mostly trying to unearth the grill she’d shoved in the basement for the barbecue she was having in the afternoon, and she’d had to take a trip up to the attic.

That was her first mistake.

It was while she was up there, lugging a box up and trying to spy a space to put it that it all went downhill. She tried not to look at the side of the attic or as Faith, Doyle’s stepsister called it --“Doyle’s Side”. She kept her eyes clear from that side, knowing that tears would inevitably follow. It was the whole reason why Anya had insisted she clean out his things and shove it up in the attic. She said she was tired of coming over and seeing Buffy a mass of tears with snot running out of her nose and not even having the presence of mind to grab a tissue.

“It’s not healthy for you, Buffy,” Anya told her sympathetically and yet firmly. “You go to bed with his things surrounding you, and you wake up with his things surrounding you. I understand you’re grieving, but it’s my job as your best friend to help you through it. And the first thing we’re doing is boxing it up and putting it away.”

It had helped, but only a little. Often times when grief became too much for her to bare and the ache of missing Doyle threatened to overcome her, she’d rush up to the attic and grab one of his shirts in a box and bury her face in it, trying desperately to find a trace of his scent, to feel him. As the months went by, she started to spend less time in the attic as the musky scent of the attic had started creeping into his belongings causing Buffy to stay away. She had started the healing process because of that.

So, as Buffy plopped the box down in a spot, she started heading for the drop down stairs that led up to the attic when her eye caught on something across the room. Their wedding album was open and on top of a box.

“Now, that’s not right. It’ll get ruined,” she muttered to herself and marched over, intent on taking the album and just shoving it in a box to be done with.

Until it flipped open and landed on them smiling at each other with their hands entwined and their noses practically touching in an Eskimo kiss. Her, all in white and lace, him in his tux . . . Unable to help herself, she reached out to stroke his image. Then she plopped herself down on the floor and started flipping through the pages.

And she started to weep. Even her crying, she noted, had changed. Before it would be huge sobs that wracked her body and hurt her ribcage, left her eyes dry and her body tired. Now, her cries were softer, gentler.

That made her start to sob. It meant she was forgetting and while Anya claimed she only wanted Buffy to ‘heal’, Buffy felt healing to Anya meant putting it completely behind her as if it had never happened. As if she’d never met Doyle.

She landed on a picture of herself, Doyle having manned the camera on that particular day of their honeymoon. She was sitting on a grassy knoll, in jeans, a t-shirt and sunglasses. She was propped up on her elbows, her legs stretched out before her, her ankles crossed. A storm was brewing in the background as clouds were darkening and rolling in. After he’d shot the picture, they’d made love, right there on the knoll just as the storm rolled fully in. It rained on them and Doyle had said the rain was blessing them.

She’d chided him for being so superstitious.

They’d gone to Ireland on their honeymoon, back to his roots, to meet the extended family and for Buffy to familiarize herself with his world. Her husband had come to the States when he was, basically, a fetus. His father passed away when he was five and his mother had remarried and Faith was part of the package. His mother had moved back to Ireland just recently and Faith stayed in Sunnydale, often coming over and keeping Buffy company, the two of them having shared a lot of time together trying to cope with Doyle’s death.

“I miss you,” she whispered through snot and tears. Reaching into a nearby box she knew was filled with his shirts, she reached in and grabbed one out, burying her face in it and rocking back and forth. “I shouldn’t have made you talk to me. I shouldn’t have pushed you to rush. I shouldn’t have . . . “

Remembering what she found when she came upon the accident tore her to shreds. Doyle’s body, bloody and broken, trapped in his car, his wedding ring shining under a streetlight. He had twitched and she thought ‘He’s going to be okay, he’s going to be okay’.

But he wasn’t okay. Life support was not for Alan Francis Doyle and so she’d respected his wishes, though she railed and screamed, ranted and raved, and pulled the plug, giving away his organs, as he was an organ donor. Of course he was, she thought, he was a pediatrician for Christ’s Sake.

Buffy never heard the front door open, never heard footsteps coming up the stairs or the ‘Oh shit’ that came, muttered, through Anya’s mouth. It wasn’t until she was wrapped up in the woman’s arms that Buffy started and realized she was there. She held onto her friend and looked up, seeing a tall man with bleached blond hair, sharp cheekbones, and striking blue eyes filled with concern staring down at her.

She tried to reign in her sobs, pushing at Anya to release her.

“Buffy, what happened?”

Buffy shook her head, allowing Anya to take Doyle’s rumpled shirt from her grasp. “I came up here to put some boxes away –“

“Oh Buffy,” Anya said sympathetically.

“And I found our wedding album out on a box and I came over,” hiccup, “To put it away and. . . “ And her eyes welled with fresh tears.

“Come on, let’s get you up,” Anya said, jumping to her feet and holding out her hand. Buffy took it and wiped at her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I’m sorry you had to find me like this.” She turned to the blond man. “Hi.” she looked around her, feeling very suddenly lost. “Sorry,” she murmured.

“No, luv, it’s okay. Anya told me about your, uh . . .”

“Husband?” Buffy supplied. “It’s okay. You can say it. I don’t always fall apart at the mention of it.”

“Sometimes things like that can take you by surprise, right?” he supplied gently, the corners of his full mouth turning up.

Buffy nodded, “Quite.”

Their eyes met as an understanding that was beyond them passed between them before Buffy shook her head to clear it and stuck out her hand. “Buffy. You must be Spike.”

He took her hand in his warm one and squeezed it gently, giving it a gentle shake. “Nice to meet you,” he said, his voice deep, calming and gentle.

“My husband kept his accent long despite the fact that he grew up here. How long have you been here?” Buffy asked.

“He’s been here since he was ten,” Anya supplied and wrapped her arms about his waist, giving him a small hug before taking Buffy’s hand and guiding her toward the stairs. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Where’s the grill?”

“Basement.”

“I’ll get it,” Spike volunteered.

Buffy shot him a grateful smile and allowed Anya to lead her to her bedroom.

********
If there was one thing that annoyed Buffy while at the same time made her thankful, was the way Anya took care of her. Or rather, mothered her. She dragged Buffy in her room and shut the door, making her sit on her bed while she went to the bathroom to wet a washcloth. She came back with said washcloth and a brush. While Buffy wiped her face, Anya knelt behind her on the bed and brushed Buffy’s long golden locks. Buffy figured it had to be a throwback to the days when Buffy could barely manage to get out of bed to do anything save relieve herself. Anya had all but dragged her in the shower and practically force fed her in those days shortly after Doyle’s passing.

Buffy sat still and let Anya do her thing, feeling just plain tired. No wonder she would sleep so much in the beginning. Crying took a lot out of a person. That, of course along with the depression and grief. It took its toll that was for sure.

“He seems nice. Handsome,” Buffy said after a while, nodding slightly.

“He is nice. And sweet. And he’s not handsome. He’s bloody gorgeous,” Anya replied, tugging out a knot with the brush.

Buffy smiled. “Spoken like a Brit. He must be rubbing off on you.”

“So many things rub –“

Buffy held up a hand, “Stop right there, please.”

“Sorry. When you’re feeling better, I’ll be happy to tell you all about it.”

“Deal.”

“Now, let’s get you changed, shall we?”
 

Chapter Two


Spike never told Anya this, but he'd felt a pull towards Buffy Summers - Doyle from the moment Anya had told him about her. He knew something of loss and grief, in fact, he knew a lot about it having lost both his parents to carbon monoxide poisoning when he was fourteen. He'd been staying at a friend's house down the street that night and he'd come home the following afternoon to find both his parents dead in their bed, limbs wrapped around each other in their final rest.

Yeah, he knew something about grief.

It was why his heart constricted in his chest - something that under normal circumstances would have been cause for alarm seeing as how his heart was only a year old - at the sight of the pretty young woman sitting cross-legged on the floor of her attic, sobbing as if they'd just put her husband in the ground that day. He understood all too well how you could be fine one minute and then lose it the next.

Seemed his old heart was proof positive of that as well.

When she looked up at him, her green eyes brimming over with tears, he'd nearly gasped. He thought "My but she's so young to have been through so much." And beautiful. Buffy Summers-Doyle was beautiful.

Anya had warned him coming in that she was still very much the grieving widow and to be careful what he said around her. That had annoyed him. What was he? Some insensitive prat that would be prodding her with questions about her late husband? What would he say "So, Buffy, tell me about how you found his body at the accident. Or, what was it like to hear his voice on the phone as he was actually getting in the accident?" As if. He knew that while Anya could be a supportive bird, she could also be a clueless one as well.

Spike knew the last thing Buffy probably wanted was to be treated with kid gloves. The worst thing was to have people treat you as if you were fragile and would break at any moment even when you felt as though you would.
What Spike wanted to do when he saw her there, was gather her up in his own arms and tell her he understood and that it was okay to cry. You had to cry. You had to let the demons out somehow. Otherwise they stayed in you like caged animals, clawing for escape. People had a tendency though to make you stop when you started, and that was unfair. Catharsis was all part of the process.

She'd put on a brave face, Buffy did, as she stood and introduced herself, apologizing to him for having lost it. He didn't want her apologies for that. He wanted her to know he understood; and, he hoped he had. When their eyes had met he'd sent her the message, hoping she'd gotten it.

Now he stood outside, setting up the grill as his girlfriend 'got Buffy ready' for the barbecue. He checked his watch; he needed to take his meds soon. As a heart transplant survivor it was imperative to take your meds at the same time every day religiously. He did not want his body to reject the heart inside him. He had a life to live, goals to make, and a future to look forward to; he did not want to jeopardize any of that.

"Do you need some help?"

Looking over his shoulder he found a dusted off and free of tears Buffy standing on the deck before him. She had changed, no doubt Anya's doing, into khaki capri's and a simple green t-shirt, which made her eyes stand out brilliantly.

"I think I can figure it out," he told her, smiling.

"Anya's inside getting the food ready on trays and stuff. Everyone else should be arriving in a half hour or so." She came over to him, her eyes on the grill and frowned, "Now, you'd think I'd know how to use it considering how my husband loved to grill, but I'm clueless."

"Well, if he loved to grill then he did all the grilling didn't he?" Spike countered.

Buffy smiled, "Yes, but he did try and teach me. I was just never very good at it. Honestly, it intimidates me."

Spike chuckled, "Why?"

"Anything I don't know intimidates me."

"I hope I don't intimidate you."

She looked at him funny.

"Well, you don't know me," he explained.

She smiled, a genuine smile, and Spike was pleased to see it. "I know a little bit about you from Anya. But yes, you are still a little intimidating."

"So, you're shy huh?"

"Very. Doyle was - sorry," she said, shaking her head. "You probably don't need to listen to the widow go on and on about her late husband, do you?"

He placed a hand on her forearm in a manner that he hoped was comforting and not creepy. "I don't mind Buffy. You can tell me anything you want about him. He might be gone, but he's still alive in your heart where it counts. It helps to talk about those that have passed. It keeps them around. Helps you not to forget what they meant to you." He took his hand off her and waited to see what she'd do. He hoped she didn't cry, but understood if she had to.

She bit her bottom lip and nodded, "Yes, you're exactly right. That's why I . . . That's why I lost it today. I was afraid that I would forget. It'd been so long since I'd allowed myself to go up there with his things."

"You won't forget, Buffy. You loved him."

She nodded slowly, looking down. Looking back up at him she asked, "Have you ever lost someone?"

He nodded, taking a deep breath, "Yeah, my parents when I was fourteen."

Her eyes widened, "Oh God, what happened?"

"Carbon monoxide poisoning."

"I'm so sorry to hear that."

He gave her a soft, understanding smile, "Thanks."

"I lost my mom just before I married Doyle."

Now his eyes widened. "What happened?"

"Aneurysm. My aunt found her on the couch with her eyes open."

"Jesus, Buffy, I'm sorry."

"Part of life, right? That's what everyone likes to tell me."

He shook his head, "Fuck that. I hate being told that. It doesn't make you feel any better, just makes you angrier."

She nodded, "My personal favorite is 'they're in a better place'."

He nodded earnestly, "You want to tell them 'I don't want them in a better place, I want them with me!'"

She laughed, a true laugh, and Spike beamed at the sound.

She dug her hands in her pockets, "Well, I should help Anya. Thanks, Spike."

He grinned, "Anytime."

"I'll be sure to tell Anya I approve," she teased cheekily and he chuckled.

************
Buffy listened on as her little group of friends chatted and joked and coupled off - Anya leaning her head on Spike's shoulder and their friend Xander holding Willow's hand. It was at gatherings like this that Doyle would tell them an Irish limerick and take the stage so to speak. And she was his biggest fan. Seeing her friends all coupled off made her realize how very alone she felt.

Looking down at her watch, she frowned. Faith should have been there a half hour ago. She hoped her 'little sister' hadn't forgotten. Or, that she hadn't gotten-stop, Buffy. Stop that train of thought right now. Life would not be that cruel.

Ha. Yeah, it would.

Getting up, she discreetly made her way into the house to call Faith. Reaching for the phone she jumped a mile when she heard "Buffy?" behind her.

She spun to see Spike standing there, looking at her with concern. "You all right?" he asked her.

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine. My sister - in - law was supposed to have been here a half hour ago and I was just getting a little worried."

He nodded, "Gotcha."

"Why? Did I look upset?" she asked, frowning. She had gotten better at letting every emotion pass on her face. At least, she thought she had.

"A little," he said truthfully.

"Oh," she said, not sure what to make of that.

"I don't think anyone else noticed."

"But you did?" she asked curiously.

He shrugged, "I was paying attention."

She wasn't sure what to make of that, but then she didn't have to ask why he was paying attention because a loud female voice boomed into the kitchen, "Hey B, who's the hottie?"

Buffy smiled. Faith had arrived.
 

Chapter Three

“About time you showed up,” Buffy scolded Faith lightly as she smiled at the buxom brunette with the ruby red lips. “I was getting worried.”

Faith came into the kitchen with a little shrug, “I got tied up at work. You could have called.”

“I was just about to call your house.”

“No, B, my cell.”

Buffy shook her head, “You know how I feel about those things.”

“Buffy . . . “ Faith started and then stopped, peering at Spike. “Hi. Who are you?”

Spike cleared his throat, “I’m Spike, Anya’s boyfriend.”

“Spike?” Faith snorted. “Please tell me that’s not your real name.”

He scowled slightly at her, which caused Buffy to smile softly. She’d been wondering about his nickname as well but hadn’t felt quite comfortable enough to ask him about it. Anya, God love her, had never asked. She’d just been stuck on the fact that it was kinky and sexy and had proceeded to color Buffy a picture of what he could ‘spike’ her with. Buffy had asked her to please stop as hearing about Anya’s sexcapades were oftentimes too much for her. Especially since Buffy herself wasn’t getting any and probably wouldn’t for a very long time.

“No, my real name is William. William Gardner. I’ve had my nickname since I was born. Actually, since I was a fetus.”

Leaning her hip against the kitchen counter, Faith eyed him, “Really?”

He smiled sheepishly at Buffy. “My Aunt Jenny used to tease my Mum when my Mum was trying to pick out names for me that she was just going to call me Spike. No one knew why, it was just a name that popped out. She teased my Mum relentlessly about it so when I was born she was the only one that would call me that. Much to my mother’s chagrin—“

“Your mom’s what?” Faith said, knitting her brows together.

“Disappointment; distress,” Buffy supplied.

Spike grinned at her, “Thanks, pet.”

Buffy shrugged, “Anytime. So, the name stuck for a long time huh?”

Spike nodded, “It did. Mostly because when I was in school I got bullied a lot for being something of a nerd. By high school I was pretty fed up with it so I kind of changed my persona one summer. Took kickboxing and learned how to defend myself. After I got teased as soon as school started, I kicked the guy’s ass. I started calling myself Spike from then on. Put fear in the hearts of the little kiddies,” he said with a smirk.

Buffy giggled. “Spike the Big Bad, I get it.”

He smiled warmly at her and nodded, “Thanks pet. I like that.”

“So was the hair part of the ‘change’? Cause no way is that natural,” Faith drawled.

He chuckled, “Yeah that was part of it.”

Faith shrugged, “All right. I hate to break this party up and all, but I’m starving. Food left?”

Buffy nodded, “Yep, all on the deck with everyone.”

“Shit, Xander didn’t eat all the hamburgers did he?” Faith whined.

“I’ll grill up some more for you, Faith,” Spike volunteered.

Faith eyed him suspiciously, “Thanks.”

“Thank you Spike, you don’t have to –“ Buffy started.

“Nonsense, I want to. Plus I could go for a burger as well. Hey, kitten, can you show me where the bathroom is? Just dawned on me I haven’t used it since I got here.”

Buffy jumped into action, “Oh sure, of course. Follow me. “

Faith watched them leave and narrowed her eyes. “Kitten?” she said softly to the empty kitchen.

************

“Buffy, luv?” Spike asked just before Buffy could walk away and leave him to the bathroom.

“Yeah?” she asked, turning around.

“You still won’t use a cell phone?”

Buffy looked down, “No, I won’t. After . . . after that night, I threw mine against a tree, repeatedly, making sure it completely fell apart. And I hate calling anyone on theirs. The idea that . . . “ She shook her head, “I just can’t make myself do it.”

“Buffy, it was a drunk driver that hit Doyle,” Spike reminded her softly. As if he had any right to remind her. He didn’t. So why was he?

“Yeah, but if I hadn’t been talking to him on his cell, he would have been able to focus better on what was going on. He,” she broke off, her voice clogged with emotion, “he hated talking on those things in the car.”

Spike reached out and touched her shoulder, glided his hand down her arm to her hand and took it in his own, giving it a squeeze. “It’s not your fault, Buffy.”

“So I’ve been told. Repeatedly,” she said, slightly bitter. “Doesn’t help my conscience much.”

Spike nodded, “Until you can reconcile yourself with it, hearing it won’t make it better.”

“Exactly.”

“I had the same problem with my parents. I sometimes think if I hadn’t begged to go visit my friends, maybe it wouldn’t have happened. Like somehow fate was changed by my leaving.”

Buffy cocked her head to the side, “Like a wrinkle in time? Like somehow the act of your leaving caused something to shift and set a ball in motion that otherwise wouldn’t have happened?”

“Exactly,” Spike breathed, amazed by the petite woman in front of him. She understood. She knew. Maybe he could tell her about the transplant . . . God, no. He hadn’t even told Anya about that. Thankfully, she allowed him to keep his shirt on during sex. And she’d never asked. How was it that she never asked? Just said “That’s kinky” and moved on. Buffy though, she would ask—whoa there, Spike. Not good to be thinking of Buffy in terms of making love to her. She’s your girlfriend’s best friend, he scolded himself. He shouldn’t even have to tell himself that. He should just know, and his traitorous mind shouldn’t have even gone there to have to scold himself. Going around in circles now mate, he thought.

“I do the same thing,” Buffy admitted softly. “I wonder if there was something I could have done differently. Not just that day but everything leading up to it.”

“Does it keep you up at night, wondering what you could have done?”

Relief flooded her eyes, “Yes,” she whispered.

Their eyes met and held and Spike thought for the second time that day – So young and so beautiful to have such tragedy.

Clearing her throat and disengaging her hand from his grasp she shook her head and gestured to the soft yellow colored bathroom. “I’m going to check on my guests.”

He nodded, suddenly feeling his throat clogged with some kind of emotion he couldn’t put a name to. All he knew was that he felt something for Buffy; felt her to be a kindred spirit. Anya was a caring woman, pretty and kind and -- again Spike, he thought scornfully, stop comparing the two women!

Yet he couldn’t help himself from saying before she walked away from him completely, “When I get outside, I’ll teach you how to use the grill. Sound good?”

Buffy broke into a wide smile, “Perfect.”
 

Chapter Four

“Guess what Buffster? It’s time for a new car,” Xander said cheerfully to a perplexed Buffy later.

Buffy was not taking kindly to his chipper tone and scowled at him and then at her now dead, beloved, white Chevy.

After Faith had eaten her fill of burgers she’d asked Buffy if she had ice cream for dessert. Having been completely out, the idea caught fire and everyone decided to go out as a group to get it.

Buffy had offered to drive Anya, Spike and Faith only to find her car dead.

Spike lifted the hood and started poking around, telling Buffy to get in and try starting it. Only nothing worked.

He’d shut the hood and proclaimed it gone.

“That’s just great,” Buffy muttered irritably. “I don’t know anything about getting a new car. I never know what to ask, what to do. . . “ She sighed, frustrated and glared at her car. She’d had the thing longer than she’d been married to Doyle for crying out loud.

“We’ll go next weekend—“ Anya started to offer but Buffy cut her off with a snap.

“I don’t want to wait until next weekend. I’ll take the bus into town.”

“I’ll help you get one if you want,” Spike jumped in.

Buffy looked up, startled, at Spike. “What?”

“I’ll help. I know about cars.”

Anya nodded enthusiastically, “He really does. He loves to restore old cars, put them back together and make them all shiny and new. People hire him for it. You’d be surprised how lucrative it can really be and how much some of these rich bastards are willing to pay to have someone restore their vintage cars for them. You’ve seen the DeSoto,” and she gestured to Spike’s old, but surprisingly new looking, black car. “He’ll take you out Buffy,” Anya chirped and slung her arm through Spike’s. “He’s so nice, isn’t he?”

“You don’t have to do that Spike,” Buffy told him kindly, “Really, you don’t. I mean, I should learn how to do it on my own—“

“Well, think of it as a learning experience then. I’ll go with you this time so that next time, you’ll know how to do it.”

It was a great offer and it’d help a lot. The idea of going out to be eaten alive by car salesmen petrified her. Didn’t they eat clueless women like her for breakfast, lunch and dinner?

“Okay, thank you,” Buffy agreed. “I can pay you—“

“Don’t you dare,” Spike nearly growled. “I’m not taking your money for that. You’re Anya’s best bird so that makes you all right in my book. I’m helping you because I want to.”

Buffy smiled, “Thanks.”

“Well, I say we climb in that DeSoto of his and find out just how good he is,” Faith said cheekily. “What do you say B?”

Buffy laughed, “It’s up to Spike, not me.”

“Let’s go,” Spike grinned.

Putting her head on Buffy’s shoulder and wrapping an arm about her waist, Faith leaned slightly in to Buffy as they walked to Spike’s car. “Love you B.”

Buffy smiled, “Love you too, Faithy,” she said, calling her the special name her husband used to call his younger stepsister.

***********

Spike jogged up to Buffy’s front door the next morning, whistling. His fist hadn’t even made contact with the door when the door flew open.

Buffy stood there, all ready to go, in pink capri’s and some kind of flowered, ruffly top, with light make up and pretty pink gloss on her lips. Her hair was pulled back into a low ponytail. She smiled up at him, “Hi, I saw you coming up the walk. You ready?”

He nodded, smiling down at her, gosh but she could pass for a sixteen year old. “How old are you exactly, pet?”

“Twenty-eight, same as Anya, why?”

“No reason,” he said non-chalantly.

“How old are you?” she asked, narrowing her eyes up at him.

“Twenty-two.”

Buffy gasped, “Still a baby!” she teased.

Spike laughed. “Come on old lady; let me help you to the car. Or would you prefer your cane?”

Swatting him playfully, Buffy laughed and locked up the house. “Make sure you tell me when you’re tired and need to take your afternoon nap,” she teased back.

Spike laughed and opened his car door for her, “Mi’lady.”

“Such a gentleman. Anya must adore that,” Buffy said, beaming up at him from the passenger seat.

He shut the door, wondering if he’d ever held the door open for Anya. He didn’t think he had. Interesting.

***************

After teasing one another over kids menu’s and senior citizen’s menu’s, Buffy and Spike relaxed into a pleasant lunch after some heavy car shopping.

“I always thought it was easy; you go to one place, you pick your car, and you’re done,” Buffy told Spike, popping a fry in her mouth.

“It can be like that if you’re really lucky. But it’s good to shop around and get an idea. You don’t want to get swindled and you want to get the best deal. How are you paying for this anyway?”

Buffy blushed and Spike thought how adorable that was. “Some money I put away for a rainy day.”

“Gotcha. Can I ask you a question, Buffy?”

“Sure.”

“Anya told me you still have your mother’s gallery. What do you do with it?”

“I have employee’s that take care of it for me. I stop by once in a while to see how it’s doing, put my two cents in and help manage where I can, but mostly they do everything. I just enjoy the fruits of their labors so to speak. Though I do pay them handsomely. I’d be lost without them. Willow is one of them that work for me.”

“Do you ever desire to do more?”

She looked down, chewing thoughtfully. Swallowing she shrugged, “Sometimes. I’ve started going in a lot more than I used to. After Doyle, I couldn’t bear to go in there at all. I – “ She shook her head, “You don’t want to—what about you? Do you do something other than refurbish old cars?”

Spike couldn’t help it, he reached across the table and took her hand in his, “Buffy you can tell me,” he said softly.

She moved her hand away, “I know, I just don’t want to right now, okay?”

He nodded, “Anything you want.”

She regarded him silently for a long time and he watched her, watching him. “What is it about you?” she finally said. “I only met you yesterday and I feel like –“

“You can tell me anything?”

“Yeah. What is it?”

“I reckon it comes from a place of understanding. Of having been there, in more ways than one. I’m a good listener.”

“You really are,” she said, almost sounding awed by it.

“So are you, you know. You’re the same for me. You get it, you get what I say.”

“Doesn’t Anya?”

“She does, but, she’s never had to deal with loss herself. In that I mean, she’s lost someone through another – like Doyle through you. She grieved for him, yes, but she’s never felt it as acutely as you do. I s’pose that’s where my understanding comes from.”

“She’s a good listener too, you know,” Buffy pointed out, “She really is. She was there for me through some horribly dark times. I might not be here if it wasn’t for her.”

“I don’t think that’s true at all,” Spike mused.

“No?”

“No, not at all. I think you’re a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for. You never truly know your own strength until you’re forced to use it. I think you’ve used it, just haven’t been aware of it. You’re not here because of Anya, Buffy. You’re here because of you.”

Silence, then, “So what is it you do besides refurbish cars?”

Spike chuckled, “I got the hint there, luv. Okay, well, I don’t do much. I uh- my uncle who took me in after my parents passed, got sick quite suddenly a couple years ago while I was going to school, and I left school to take care of him and help my aunt out for a bit. Decided life was too short to be doing something I didn’t enjoy – like teaching history as my father had done—so I started doing the refurbishing as a fun thing to get paid for once in a while.”

“Do you have – I mean, do you have--?”

“Money?”

“Yes, from my inheritance. Though, aside from fixing up old cars, I help out at garages and such, repairing cars, buying cars at auctions and selling them to some garages to sell.”

“Wow. You love cars, huh?”

“It relaxes me,” he smiled. “What do you do to relax?”

“Paint. Just like my mom.”

“Have any pieces up at that gallery of yours?”

“Oh God, no. Not good like that.”

He cocked his head to the side, “I bet you are.”

She blushed again and he warmed at the sight. “No, I’m not,” she said firmly this time. “So, is your aunt the aunt that nicknamed you Spike?”

He grinned “Sure is.”

“Is your uncle okay now?”

“My Uncle Giles? Yeah, he’s fine now.”

“What was it?”

Yeah, Spike, what was it? “He had a heart transplant,” he lied.

Buffy gasped, “Wow. That’s. . . that’s amazing. And he’s okay now?”

“Healthy as a horse.”

“Wow,” she shook her head in wonder, “just wow.”

He warmed at the thought of Buffy responding that way when – no, if-- he told her that it was really him. It had always been a touchy subject for him, his transplant. He felt . . impaired somehow because of it. Not to mention self conscious of the huge scar across his chest and the Gortex in the wall of his chest. Not that she’d ever see the Gortex—here we go again, eh mate? Nothing said Buffy was ever going to see your chest at all.

“So, you ready to go out and do this again?” he blurted out, ready to get off this topic and train of thought.

Buffy nodded, smiling. “Let’s get to it.”

*******

“You hate it,” Buffy said, grinning from ear to ear as she slid a finger down the smooth surface of her lime green Volkswagon bug.

He chuckled, “Well, it’s kind of girly for me.”

She shrugged, “You don’t have to drive it, remember?”

He nodded, “That is true. But I can tell you’re very happy with it.”

“I love it!” And she flung herself in his arms in gratitude. “Thank you!” She held onto him longer than she needed to and thought, Wow, he’s strong. Solid. Her mind registered: Safe; secure. Feeling a tingle of something kindle inside of her at the feel of being in his arms, she released him quickly. “I think I’ve held you hostage long enough. You can go now if you want.”

She marveled in wonder at the look of hurt that passed over his face.

“No, kitten. I’m gonna stay until you’re all set on the road. Going to the RMV and all that is no fun; I’ll keep you company.”

Now she marveled at the relief she felt at his words and readily agreed.
 

Chapter Five



Anya was waiting for them on the porch when Buffy, followed by Spike, pulled into her driveway. Excitedly, she waved to her friend as soon as she jumped out. “Look what I got!”



Anya smiled and made her way over to Buffy who was gesturing to her car like Vanna White. “Very nice Buffy. It’s so you.”



“Isn’t it though? I love. And it’s all thanks to your boyfriend,” Buffy gushed.



Spike chuckled as he sauntered up to the pair, “Not so much me as Buffy. She caught on fast and knocked the guy down a few hundred on the car.”



Anya looked at Buffy, impressed, “Very nice. Go Buffy. Do you feel empowered now?”



“I do. Let me take you guys out for dinner, please? As a thank you. I insist.”



Anya laughed, “Why are you thanking me?”



“Cause you lent out Spike to me for the day.”



“Oi, what am I? A servant? I told you, it was no problem and you didn’t have to pay me-“



“Listen bleach boy, I want to, so accept my gratitude in the form of dinner all right?” Buffy said firmly, with a slight teasing tone.



He nodded and smiled at her tenderly. “Okay.”



Buffy beamed up at him, getting lost in those blue eyes of his. So like Doyle’s and yet somehow different. She’d thought when she’d first noticed his baby blue’s that it would be hard to look at him and not think of Doyle, but she only looked in Spike’s eyes and thought ‘Spike’.



“So,” Anya said, jarring Buffy out her stare fest with Spike, “Where are you taking us?”



“How about Chinese?”



*****************



Lying on his back and staring up the ceiling with Anya sleeping peacefully next to him, Spike found his mind drifting.



To Buffy.



Anya had commented that night at dinner how nice it was to see Buffy laughing and smiling so much; that it had been a long time since she’d seen it.



Spike hoped it had something to do with him. He hoped, but he wasn’t betting on it. He opted not to ponder why he was hoping it was him that was the cause of her smiling and frequent laughing. And it was with that hoping he was doing, that his mind rested on something unsettling.



Buffy needed her hedges trimmed badly.



She had commented that night that she’d been putting it off and putting it off and then kept forgetting about it. Her white picket fence needed some painting done to it too, something else she’d neglected and then put off.



With his mind made up, Spike planned to pay Buffy a visit tomorrow and help her do all those things she’d been neglecting. He’d just nonchalantly run it by Anya in the morning and he knew she’d think he was being wonderfully sweet again. Especially when he told her while they were having sex. She gave into anything then.



*********



Buffy opened the door, surprised to see Spike standing on her doorstep. “Spike, what are you doing here?”



He grinned, taking off his sunglasses, “What kind of welcome is that?”



“I didn’t expect to see you – did you forget something?”



He shook his head, “Nope. I decided to trim your hedges and paint your fence.”



She shook her head, “No, Spike. I can’t ask you to do that.”



“You didn’t ask me, I offered.”



“Well, I can’t let you offer – are you pouting?”



“Yeah, I am. Is it working?” he grinned unrepentantly.



She laughed, “Is that how you get your way with Anya?”



He shrugged, “Sometimes. Come on, kitten, let me help.”



“Spike,” she said on a sigh, “I don’t know.”



“Really, it’s a benefit to you to say yes.”



“Yeah, but—“



“No buts.”



“My but you’re stubborn,” she said, raising a brow.



He pointed at himself, “Me? Have you listened to you? You’re arguing with me while I’m standing out here in the blistering heat.”



She laughed again, “Blistering? You’re standing under the awning. And it’s far from blistering. It’s a cool seventy-five.”



“I’m from the Mother Land, pet. This is blistering.”



“Then it must be too hot for you to do all that yard work—“



“Okay, okay. I lied. It’s not blistering, but I could really go for that lemonade you made for the party. Got any?”



Regarding him for a minute with a slight ‘You’re a pain, you know that?’ face, she stepped aside and let him in.



**************



Buffy Summers-Doyle was absolutely adorable with paint splattered across her cheek. So adorable in fact, he couldn’t help but lean over with a big grin on his face and tap her nose with the tip of his paint brush, leaving a little white dot on the tip of her nose.



“Hey!” she giggled, “What was that for?”



“Because you’re adorable,” he blurted out. Her eyes widened at the same time his did after that comment flew out of his mouth and he rushed to gloss that over. “I just meant that I think you are cute. I thought Willow was a cute bird too, but it doesn’t mean that I’m going to leave Anya, because she’s the one I’m with and –“



“Spike.”



“Yeah?”



“It’s okay. No reason to make a big deal out of it. I’d like to think we’re friends, you and I.”



“Definitely friends,” he agreed. Though God woman, I can’t stop missing those curves underneath those baggy, paint splattered overalls.



“Did Anya know you were coming over today?” she asked lightly, the slight lilt to her voice letting him know she was slightly concerned about it. She focused on the fence before her, painting with long strokes up and down as she gripped the brush in her fist.



“She did,” he said, gulping slightly. His traitorous mind was going in overdrive with the words ‘long strokes’ playing out in his mind in connection with ‘Buffy’.



“Maybe when she’s done with work she can come over and I can treat you to dinner again?”



“Maybe I could – I mean, we, as in Anya and I, could treat you to dinner.”



She looked at him slightly perplexed, “Why? You trimmed the hedges, mowed my lawn and now you’re helping me paint—“



“You made me lunch,” he told her huskily, getting lost in the green of her eyes. The thought, she’s an angel came unbidden in his mind. My angel.



“That hardly seems adequate enough for all you’ve done for me over the past two days.”



“Then I will let you make it up to me.”



“How?”



“You can come with me tomorrow.”



“Where?” she asked hesitantly.



“I need to pick up some things for a 55’ Chevy I’m redoing for a ‘client’. It’s always so tedious to actually have to order parts and such, so maybe you could keep me company.”



“Spike, I don’t know. I mean, we’re friends and all, but don’t you think Anya would be weirded out by us spending all this time together? She’s my best friend and I don’t want her to get the wrong idea.”



“Buffy,” he said shifting so he could look at her fully, “There is no wrong idea to get here. Especially since you’re aware of the ‘wrong idea’ that could be gotten. Neither one of us would do anything to hurt Anya, right?”



“Right,” she nodded definitively, chewing on her bottom lips.



God, he wanted to take that lip between his own lips . . . “Right. So, hey, we’ll run it by Anya if you feel better about it, okay?”



“Yes, please.”



“Okay, then that’s what we’ll do,” he said, turning back to the fence.



“Spike—“ she started and then stopped abruptly.



“Yeah?”



“Thank you.”



“You don’t have to—“



“I know, but I want to. You’ve been so nice to me. Just please tell me it’s not pity you’re feeling for me?”



He turned back to her, shaking his head, “No, kitten, no. God, no, that’s not it at all. I—“



She pressed a finger to his mouth and he resisted the urge to suck it in his mouth. “That’s all I need to know,” she whispered, meeting his eyes for a brief moment before turning back to the fence and resuming painting.



Spike too, turned back to the fence and thought, I’m drowning.
 

Chapter Six

Buffy sat on her bed long after Spike had left and she had showered. Reaching over on her nightstand, she took the picture of Doyle and placed it in her lap, studying it.

Her eyes welled up in tears. Guilty tears. Guilt over finding Spike attractive, for feeling drawn to him. She felt guilt over Anya for that, but mostly for Doyle. She felt as if she were betraying him and that sat in her gut like lead.

Tracing the lines of Doyle’s face, huge drops of tears fell on the glossy, glass surface and her vision blurred completely until she couldn’t make out his face.

“I’ll always remember you, baby. I wouldn’t ever betray you,” she whispered through her salty tears, catching some in her mouth. “He’s kind, honey, he really is,” she told the picture, “He’s been so kind to me and understanding. It’s so nice to talk to someone that understands and has been there, ya know? But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you, baby. I miss you every day. Every single day and that won’t change.”

For the second time that week, she sobbed hard. She felt something inside her shifting and it scared her, scared her because she was afraid to let that shift take over; she was afraid of what it meant.

Afraid she was betraying Doyle and leaving him behind. She couldn’t ever leave him behind like that.

“Gra geal mo chroi,” she whispered, “Love of my heart.” Laying down on her bed, she held his picture to her chest and cried until she had no more energy to cry. When she was done, she reached over and grabbed the phone.

“Faithy? What are you doing tomorrow? . . . Can you come with me and Spike to run some errands? . . . Don’t ask, Faithy. Not now.”

**********

“You’ve sure taken a vested interest in Buffy,” Anya mused as she watched Spike make their dinner.

He shrugged in a manner he hoped was blasé. “Have I?”

Anya rolled her eyes, “Oh come on. You took her car shopping; you trimmed her hedges, mowed her lawn, and helped paint her fence.” She came over to him and placed a hand on his back, causing him to look at her. “Am I losing you?”

His heart leapt to his throat, an uncomfortable feeling, “No, why would you say that?”

She laughed airily, “I’m just kidding.” She wrapped her arms around him from behind and Spike focused on the cabinet in front of him, staring at it, boring a hole in it. “I feel sorry for her, don’t you?”

“Sorry for her? Why do you—why do you say that?” he asked tightly.

“Her loss. She’s in so much pain, I mean, trust me, she’s gotten a lot better than she used to be, but she’s still hurting. And Buffy’s so loyal, I wonder if she’ll ever move on or stay alone.”

That angered Spike and he jerked away, causing Anya to release him. He whipped around and looked at her. “That was a little cold, Anyanka,” he said, trying to keep his anger to a simmer.

“Wh—what do you—“

“She might still be hurting, yes, but it takes time. It’s not like she’ll be better overnight. And she doesn’t need pitying or molly coddling. Trust me, she doesn’t want or need to be pitied.”

Anya’s expression softened, “Your parents, right?”

No, not just my parents, not just my bloody parents! He was screaming in his head at her. But he couldn’t give too much away, if he did, he wouldn’t be able to spend any more time with Buffy. Alone. So, he nodded and let her rush to him, holding onto him and whispering soothing, yet meaningless –at least to him-- words of comfort.

*********
Spike was disappointed. The last thing he expected to see when he pulled into Buffy’s driveway was Faith’s car. His heart plummeted at the sight. Did that mean Buffy wasn’t coming out with him today after all?

Forcing himself to exude a cheerful exterior, he jogged up to the door and wasn’t the least bit surprised when Faith flung the door open to greet him. “Hey.”

“Hi, Faith, how are you?”

There was a harder edge about her today, she seemed almost confrontational.

She snapped the gum she was chewing, “Fine, and you?”

“Good,” he said slowly, “Can I come in? Where’s Buffy?”

“I’m here!” he heard her shout from upstairs, “Just putting in my earrings. You don’t mind if Faith joins us do you?”

Act normal, Spike. “No, not at all. That sounds like fun.”

Faith stepped aside and Spike entered, smiling at the brunette who was eyeing him warily.

“Come here,” Faith said, grabbing his arm and all but dragging him in the kitchen.

“What?” Spike asked, slightly annoyed.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“What are you talking about?”

“What are you doing with my sister in law?”

“What are you even talking –“

“Faith? Spike?” Buffy called out, her voice closer.

Faith pointed a finger in his face and leaned her curvy body into his, “I’m onto you.”

He wanted to snarl at her, but couldn’t. Not then. When they got a moment alone, she’d be meeting the ‘Big Bad’.

********

Despite the fact that Buffy took the back seat, leaving Faith to sit up front with him, and despite the fact that Buffy seemed to avoid making eye contact with him and having any alone time with him at all, the day went fine.

When they arrived back to her house, he got the message loud and clear that it was time for him to go. Mainly from Faith; from Buffy he just felt a general sense of uncomfortableness radiating from her. He desperately wanted to ask her why, but she wasn’t giving him that opportunity. He was finding it rather frustrating. He felt like a kid on a date, Faith being the chaperone.

“I’ll walk him out,” Faith told Buffy. “I’m heading out anyway. Okay, B?”

“Of course, honey. Thanks for coming out with us today,” Buffy said, hugging Faith. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Once the door was shut and they were a few feet away, Spike hissed “You want to tell me what exactly it is you’re ‘on’ to?”

“You’re after Buffy,” she said simply.

“Are you completely off your bird? I’m with Anya!”

“Cut the shit, Spikey. I see the way you look at her, the way you call her ‘kitten’ and ‘pet’ and ‘love’. Don’t fucking give me the innocent shit. I perfected it so I can see right through it.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. I like Buffy, I truly like her—“

“Yeah, and she just lost her husband. My brother. Anya is her best friend, and she is Anya’s. Don’t presume to think you know anything about Buffy. You don’t. Leave her be.”

Spike’s eyes narrowed, “She say something to you? Is she uncomfortable with me around?”

If Spike hadn’t been studying Faith closely, he would have missed the hesistant look that floated across her features. Thankfully, he was studying Faith and hadn’t missed it.

“Maybe you should stop fighting her battles,” Spike snapped.

“She asked me to come today. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

“She tell you why?”

“No, and she doesn’t have to.”

Spike held up his hands in surrender. “Fine, I’m backing off. Watch me back off,” and he marched to his car.

He drove to the end of the street and turned around, saw Faith’s car was gone, and pulled back in Buffy’s driveway.
 

Chapter Seven



“Spike? Did you forget—“ Buffy began, startled by seeing him back.



His jaw was clenching and his eyes were like ice. He was angry, apparently. He pushed past her. “Why did you ask Faith to come with us today?”



She opened her mouth but no sound came out. She tried several times to say something, but couldn’t find the words.



That’s when it happened. When he reached for her and hauled her into his arms, wrapping his arms around her like bands and, as if in slow motion, she watched his lips descend to hers.


To quote Xander, Ye Gods!



His lips were hot, firm, and yet soft and full. It’d been so long since she’d been touched, kissed, held . . . oh God, she wanted to weep from the feeling of his arms around her, of his lips on hers, of his sudden hardness pulsing against her stomach. He wound his hands in her hair and tilted her head, deepening the kiss, his hot tongue gliding along the seam of her mouth, demanding entrance. She opened her mouth with a moan and fell into the kiss all over again. His tongue battled hers, and she tasted him. Spicy from the wings he’d had earlier, sweet from the Coke and something uniquely him. My God, he was devouring her.



This is not Doyle! her mind screamed. And what of Anya?



That was like a bucket of cold water and she shoved him off her. He reeled back, startled, panting.



She wiped at her mouth, “What are you doing?” she gasped.



“I can’t – God, Buffy, I’m sorry.” He reached for her and she stepped back, shaking her head.



“Why did you do that?”



“I don’t – I don’t know.”



“Obviously, you do. Don’t play innocent with me! Why did you storm in here and do that?”



“I – I have feelings for you, Buffy. And God help me, I can’t stop them,” he confessed hoarsely.



She swallowed hard, “You can’t have feelings for me.”



“I do, I can’t stop—“



“You have to! You’re with Anya, who just happens to be my best friend. And, Doyle – I can’t,” she shook her head. “I think you should leave. We’ll pretend this never happened.”



“Buffy, wait, please—“



“Why were you so angry with me when you came in?” she demanded.



“Faith, she told me—“



“Told you what exactly?”



“That you asked her to come with us today. Why Buffy? Why did you do that?”



Tears came unbidden to her eyes, and she gestured between them. “Because of this,” she whispered.



His eyes widened, “Buffy, you feel it too, don’t you? I knew you—“



“Spike, stop! This is crazy. You need to go. You need to go and you need to not come back unless you’re with Anya and I just, I just think you should stay away for a while.”



His head dropped in shame and he nodded, “I’m sorry,” he whispered.



When she had shut the door and locked it after him, she slid to the floor and cried.



****************



In her dreams, she was spinning in Spike’s arms, her head thrown back, smiling up at the sky. Spike was grinning down at her, happiness apparent on his handsome features.



Up in the sky, Doyle’s face, resplendent like the moon, shone down on them.



*****************************



It’d been several days since the earth shattering, life altering kiss they’d shared. Spike snorted, life altering. There was a good word. He leaned over the Chevy he was working on and his watch went off.



Time for the meds. The meds that kept his heart in his chest and the meds that countered the side effects of those drugs. It was a process, but honestly, he’d gotten pretty used to it. He wanted to live, ergo; he did what he had to do to make sure his body did not reject the heart living inside him. So, he took his scheduled trips to the doctor, took his temp and blood pressure every day, and kept a log on everything.



He knew how it felt to have the rug ripped out from under you. How your life was going along just fine one minute, and then it fell apart the next. He’d been as healthy as a horse, or so he thought, and then one day, his heart was giving out on him due to dilated cardiomyopathy. Basically, his heart had enlarged and just wasn’t pumping as hard anymore.



It made him think back to all the things he could have done differently to take care of himself, the parties and wild child lifestyle that could have been avoided. However, he was told, it was something that built over time and it would have happened either way.



Then there was the treatments, and spending all the time at the hospital. God, it felt like forever. Then came the news that the best thing that could be done was for him to have a new heart. And one night, lying in a hospital bed, he was told his new heart was on its way. After that, it was all a matter of adjusting to a routine and living with the fear for many months after that his body could reject the heart inside him.



Thankfully, he’d gone without incident.



He supposed he felt impaired somehow because of the huge scar on his chest, a constant reminder of his heart problems, a constant reminder that he’d been literally fighting for his life because something in him had failed.



Failure had always been a touchy subject with him after his parents died. Probably because he’d felt for so long that he’d failed them by not being with them. To what, Spike? He asked himself. To maybe, possibly die along with them?



His aunt and uncle told him how lucky he was after the transplant, and that he should be happy for the things he had and he was; he was thrilled to be alive. The euphoria he felt when he came out of surgery was indescribable.



He was just afraid he’d receive the look of pity he’d seen so many times when his parents had died and when he was sick. He wasn’t much for drawing attention to himself. He bore things on his own, kept them in. Except when it came to sharing with Buffy it seemed.



Truth be told, he was also vain concerning the huge scar the transplant had left. He was afraid of the rejection he’d receive if a woman – Anya – saw the scar. She was all about ‘pretty things’ and what if she thought him hideous? What if she molly coddled him the way she did Buffy? He knew how to take care of himself just fine; he didn’t need her to do it. Or anyone for that matter. He didn’t want to be treated with kid gloves, even he contradicted himself and treated himself with kid gloves by feeling ‘impaired’.



“You make sense, mate,” he muttered as he swallowed down his pills.



So, he sometimes missed his wild, teenage ways. Like now, when he was missing Buffy and feeling guilt over Anya, over pushing Buffy to admit something was there between them, for pushing himself on her—he wanted a drink. But he wouldn’t indulge.



The phone ringing took him out of his deep thoughts. Picking it up, he said “Hello?”



“Hi honey, it’s me.”



“Hey Ahn,” he muttered.



“Are you very busy?” she chirped.



“Yeah, kinda, what’s up?”



“Well, I have an idea and I need you for it.”



“I already don’t like the sound of this.”



“I want to introduce Buffy to someone.”



“Who?” he barked into the phone.



“His name is Riley. He just lost his wife, Samantha, a year ago. I figure it’d give her someone to relate to. Aren’t you proud of me? I took your advice!”



Spike bit his tongue. He wanted to shout at her and tell her that he was doing just fine relating to her and that Buffy would whole-heartedly reject this idea. She’d see ‘Set Up’ all over it and go running for the hills.



“Anya –“ Spike began.



“So, come by after you’re all clean and get me. No later than five. I’m not going to give Buffy a chance to back out. I’m bringing him with us.”



“Anyanka Jenkins—“



“Bye honey!”



Spike flung his phone, breaking it as it hit the wall. “Fuck!”



************



Spike was gritting his teeth as he followed Anya and Whitebread, his nickname for Riley Finn, up the walk to Buffy’s door.



He’d gotten to Anya’s after he’d showered to rail at her for setting up her friend in this manner, but he found he couldn’t since the man she was setting Buffy up with was already there and they were waiting for him, patiently.



He was an all right looking bloke, sandy brown hair, kind eyes, he didn’t have an oppressive presence, but he rubbed Spike the wrong way.



Because he was meant to be Buffy’s date that evening.



He didn’t engage the man in much conversation if only because Anya seemed to dominate all the talking. That was fine, he thought, I’ll just bide my time.



When Buffy opened the door to let them in, he saw the surprise pass over her features at the introduction of Riley. He studied her for signs of distress. At the first sign, he was bagging this whole thing and sending Riley packing. No offence to the man, but Jesus. .. Buffy was -- no Spike, he thought, Buffy is not yours.



His girl -- dammit -- Buffy rolled with the punches though. She smiled politely at Riley and took his arm when he offered it and allowed him to lead her to the car.



Anya went on and on in the car, highlighting all of Riley’s good –but in Spike’s opinion, boring—features. He was an army recruit, he was first of his class in college, and he could hop up and down on one foot blindfolded with his arms tied behind his back. Okay, so that was what he added in his head, imitating Anya’s feminine high pitched voice, but with the rap sheet Anya had on the guy, Spike wanted to ask if she could do a Powerpoint presentation on him.



Buffy just smiled, a fake smile, couldn’t Anya see that it was a fake smile? How was she missing it? He’d known Buffy for a hell of a lot shorter time and he could see the smile was fake!



At dinner, at of course the poshest restaurant Anya could choose, Spike sat directly across from Buffy, studying her. “So, Buffy, how are you? Haven’t seen you in a few days,” he said casually.



Buffy looked up at him, but without meeting his eyes. “I’m good, thanks. You?”



“Bloody wonderful,” he said, not able to keep the sarcasm out completely. She kicked him under the table.



He tried to keep his surprise at that down. Grinning to himself, he ran his shoe covered foot up her leg, delighting in her gasp of surprise before she moved away from his reach.



“You okay, Buffy?” Anya asked.



“Just the, uh, prices,” Buffy covered.



“Don’t worry, Elizabeth, I’ll take care of it,” Riley assured her.



“It’s Buffy, mate,” Spike corrected him.



“Well, I feel that I shouldn’t call her by her nickname unless she says it’s all right,” Riley explained politely.



Spike rolled his eyes behind his menu.



“You can call me Buffy, Riley, it’s all right. Everyone does. I barely recognize ‘Elizabeth’. It sounds so stuffy, don’t you think?”



“I think it’s a perfectly beautiful and respectful name,” Riley told her sounding like a sodding schoolmaster.



Spike wanted to throttle him. Even more when he laid a hand on Buffy’s arm to show her something on the menu. He didn’t need to put his grubby paws on her, he could have just pointed. He felt a growl itching to surface. Buffy’s head shot up as if she sensed it and gave him a warning glare. He smirked back at her. Closing the menu, she told Riley what she wanted and excused herself to the bathroom. Spike waited for a hint from her, all he needed was a look, and he was going to follow shortly after.



Only she didn’t even glance in his direction. Hell, I’m going anyway, he thought. “Buffy, I’ll go with you. You’ve been here before, right? Maybe you could show me where the restrooms are?”



She looked trapped, “Uh, I – yeah. Of course.”



Bloody bint practically ran to the bathrooms, rushing ahead of him to get to the ladies. With a growl, Spike reached out and grabbed her arm, hauling her back to him and pushing her inside the men’s room.


“Spike!” she exclaimed in protest.



He brought her against him and kissed her, hard. He want to possess her, wanted to mark her as his, wanted Riley and every sodding wanker that passed by her to know that she was his. His.



She struggled against him for a minute and he held her tighter against him, not giving her room to move, letting her know he meant to have this and have it, he would.



Finally, she relented, melting against him.



He parted slowly, knowing it wasn’t wise to deny himself air for very long. “Buffy,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers. “Open your eyes and look at me, luv.”



She shook her head and single tear dropped from her closed eyes. He cupped her cheek and wiped it away with his thumb, “Buffy, baby, please. Please look at me. Why won’t you look at me?”



“I’m betraying him,” she whispered.



He knew she didn’t mean Riley. Doyle. Of course, Doyle. God, how insensitive could he be? This wasn’t easy for her and not just because of her loyalty to Anya, but Doyle, her husband. Her latehusband.



“I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m sorry, please Buffy. Forgive me, please, don’t hate me, I couldn’t bear it—“



She surprised him by kissing him quickly, but soundly. She finally opened her eyes, her beautiful green eyes swimming in tears, “I don’t hate you. It would be easier if I did, but I don’t.”



“What does that mean, Buffy?” he rasped.



She shook her head, “I don’t know.”



“I won’t force you for anything –“



“You can’t force me at all -- ”



“I won’t, I won’t,” he breathed and kissed her again, slowly and softly this time. He just held her then, held her in his arms and tried not to let her tears over Doyle bother him.

Chapter Eight

Shame filled Buffy when she sat down across from Spike back at dinner. He'd gone ahead of her and told her to wait for a few minutes to gather herself and to make sure it didn't look odd them being gone so long.

Looking over at Anya, who smiled at her, Buffy wanted to die. She wanted to crawl under the table and die. What kind of person had she become? What was happening to her?

Looking discreetly at Spike, she studied him briefly. He was just a baby. Maybe six years wasn't a lot, but he was still just a baby. She'd been married, she'd had a whole other life. A life very different than the one she was currently leading with having make out sessions in the men's bathroom with her best friend's boyfriend. This was not her, this was someone else.

She was loyal, always had been. In her five years of marriage to Doyle she had never once looked at another man with the intent of doing anything with them. She'd never understood it, especially after her father had left when she was still a child to take up with his several years younger girlfriend. Her mother had been devastated, but had also thought that she had it coming to her. After all Joyce Summers had taken up with Hank Summers when Hank had already been married.

What was it her mother used to say when Buffy's father left? 'If they'll do it with you, they'll do it to you.'

Where are you going with this, Buffy? she thought. It's not like you're planning to be with Spike. You had two indiscretions with him that you need to put a stop to. No matter how good it felt, no matter if being in his company makes you feel lighter and happier than you have in months. He's Anya's boyfriend and you are not that type of woman!

Doyle would be disgusted with her.

Suddenly, she felt trapped. Trapped and alone and suffocated. She had to get out of there, and she had to get out now. Do not pass go; do not collect two hundred dollars. She didn't even care at this point about upsetting the people around her, she felt as if the walls were closing in on her and she could not, in good conscience, sit here knowing what she'd done behind Anya's back and pretend that she was okay with it.

And then the food came over. Oh God, I need to go, this man next to me, this stranger is buying me dinner and I'm sitting across from the man whose tongue I just had in my mouth while he sits next to the woman he fucks on a nightly basis. I need to go.

She stood on shaky legs and focused in on Anya, "Ahn, can I talk to you?"

Anya immediately sensed something was wrong and nodded quickly, following Buffy to the lobby.

"I can't do this," Buffy blurted out and tears started to roll down her cheeks. She was so close to the door, to escaping that she felt relief flood her and the tears came from relief. From almost being able to escape.

"Buffy, what--?"

"Just get my stuff, please, I don't want to cause a scene. I need to go," Buffy pleaded with her. "Please Anya. I don't ask for very much of you but I am asking you this. Please get my things and let me go."

"Buffy, how are you going to get home?"

"A cab. I'll call a cab."

"Nonsense, I can have Spike-"

"No!"

"Okay, okay honey, calm down. I'll get your stuff and make your excuses. Why don't you go to the desk and call a cab okay?"

Buffy nodded and walked, trembling, to the desk with a mixture of anxiety and relief coursing through her. The hostess smiled as she approached.

"Everything all right, miss?"

"Can I just use the phone, please?"

"Of course!"

Dialing information and then calling a cab, Buffy waited for Anya to return. Peering discreetly into the restaurant she spied Spike standing up, looking ready to bolt from the table. God no, Buffy pleaded, please do not come out here. He sat back down, due to what looked like Anya's intense demand, scowling. She let out a breath of relief and watched Anya march to her with purse in hand.

"Buffy-"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"But-"

"Not now, Anya."

"Can I come over later?"

"I just want to be alone, Ahn."

"Buffy!"

Embracing her friend, Buffy held her tight, "I'm sorry," she whispered. "Forgive me." And she ran out the door, needing escape desperately.

**************

Spike himself was running the gamut of emotions. He was worried about Buffy; that was number one. Then he felt guilt for having snogged her in the bathroom, for having forced her to snog him. He felt guilt over Anya and guilt over not respecting and realizing what Buffy must be going through. It was one thing to admit she had feelings for him too, but quite another to be okay with it concerning not only Anya, but Doyle as well. Of course she felt as if she were betraying him, of course she was afraid of moving on for that very reason! And how did he feel about that? Jealous. Jealous over someone he'd never meet, over someone who had died tragically, over someone who Buffy had met before him.

You stupid, fucking sod, he scolded himself. You selfish prat. Ignorant fool!

Then, then watching her, seeing the play of emotions on her beautiful face and knowing he couldn't do anything to soothe her, it killed him. And she'd left. He could see her guilt over Anya, over Doyle, and her fear of her feelings for him. He'd wanted to go to her, to talk it out, but she clearly needed to get away from him.

He felt useless, powerless and feeling that way made him angry. He was mad at Anya for having set up this little dinner; mad for meeting her first when he should have met Buffy first. For the first time since he'd been given a new heart, he wanted something more than just life itself. He wanted life to share with Buffy.

Oh God. He was falling with the speed of a plummeting plane.

He had to fix this, he just didn't know how. He'd do whatever Buffy told him to do. He only wanted to make her happy after all.

************

Buffy sat in her living room in the dark, sipping a glass of wine. The TV was on, but so low it might as well have been muted. She wasn't even looking at it for all the good it did to have it on. She just couldn't bring herself to turn it off. She felt by sitting in complete darkness it would be like submitting completely to the despair she felt.

The ringing of her doorbell startled her and she nearly dropped some of the red wine on herself. "Dammit," she hissed. Settling her glass down, she got up and peered through the window. She saw nothing as a tree blocked her view of the driveway. Damn tree. She was going to have that removed.

Going to the door, she called out "Who is it?"

"It's Spike."

"Go away."

"No, Buffy, I can't do that."

"Yes, actually, you can. You put one foot in front of the other and you walk to your car."

"Buffy, please, let me in."

"No. I'm not letting you in here ever again without Anya. Maybe not even then. I might tell her that I hate you."

"You don't mean that."

"Which part?"

"The part where you hate me."

She pursed her lips together and glared at the door.

"Buffy, I'm not going anywhere until you let me in. I'll stay out here all sodding night if I have to."

"Does Anya know you're here?"

"Yes."

"You're lying."

"Well, yeah. Buffy, let me in!"

"No!"

"If you don't let me in so we can sodding talking about this, I will . . . "

"Will what?" she challenged and narrowed her eyes at the door.

"I'll climb this tree out here and hop up on the landing and right into your bedroom. And don't think I won't-"

She flung the door open, glaring at him icily. And then, then she was in his arms.

"You make me so crazy? I’m so crazy about you, Buffy," he murmured, peppering her face with kisses. "Buffy, I was so worried about you and I came here to talk, just talk, and I see you and I can't help myself. I just want to hold you and protect you from all the bad things in the world. You fit in my arms like no other-"

She shoved him away from her. "You need to stop."

He hung his head, "I'm sorry."

"We don't have anything to talk about Spike. This," she gestured between them, "cannot happen. You're with Anya-"

"I'll break up with her."

She let out a bitter laugh. "So, what? We can date? No. That's horrible! She's my best friend. What am I supposed to say if you do that? 'Oh, yeah, I'm dating Spike now by the way Ahn, thanks so much for dating him first and bringing him by for me'! Are you crazy?"

"Probably."

"No. Forget it. You're staying with her, you understand me?"

"I don't love her, Buffy!"

"You're not in love with me either! You're fucking twenty two, you're just looking to . . . to stick your dick someplace!"

His jaw was clenching, and his eyes narrowed, "How dare you say that to me after everything we've talked about. About all the stuff I've told you that I've never told Anya."

“Why not tell the grieving widow? She’s gotta be hard up for sex, right?”

“Let me tell you something, sweetheart," he drawled, "The last person I'd choose is a hard up grieving widow. Especially if they're this hard to get in the sack."

Rage, pure unadulterated rage coursed through her and Buffy marched up to him, drew her hand back and slapped him loudly across the face. "Get out."

He straightened, glaring at her, "Gladly," and marched out.
 

Next