“Buffy! I didn’t expect you today, how’s it going?”

Buffy smiled at Willow as she entered the gallery, “Good, thanks. How are you?”

“Made a big sale today from one of the town’s favorite artists and a new one came courting today.”

“Any good?”

“She left some prints, want to take a look?”

“Of course I do. Lead the way.”

An hour later, Buffy was munching on a cobb salad with Willow and discussing the new artist, Tara McClay, and her potential with the gallery. Buffy was all for her showcasing her work as she’d been blown away by the woman’s Gothic style work.

Willow cocked her head to the side, “Buffy, you seem different.”

Picking out a mandarin orange, Buffy popped it in her mouth. “Oh?”

“You seem . . . happy.”

Buffy smiled, “I think I am. Happy, that is. I’m almost afraid to say it out loud actually. I’m afraid it’ll all go ‘poof’ before my eyes.”

“Can I ask a question?”

“Sure.”

“Did you meet someone?”

Buffy took pause. If she said yes, the news would eventually get back to Anya. While Anya and Willow weren’t the best of friends, they did know each other and chatted once in a while. Buffy shook her head, hoping her silence gave nothing away and said simply, “No.”

“You sure?”

“Don’t you think I’d know?”

“I heard about Anya and Spike.”

“Oh, yeah, that was uh, unfortunate,” Buffy nodded.

“I hear Anya has been out on the prowl looking for a replacement. She’s been unsuccessful so far.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, “She’ll never find anyone that way. The girl needs to relax and take her time. She’s too . . . quick to jump in the next relationship.”

“If you can call them relationships,” Willow remarked dryly.

“Well,” Buffy said, clearing her throat. “Who am I to judge?”

“Who are any of us? But I am anyway and I really think she’d have a shot at a normal, healthy relationship if she would just stop. . . You know. . . “

“Slightly whoring herself out?” Buffy suggested timidly.

“Exactly!”

“I gave up a long time ago trying to tell Anya that. Now I just listen – sometimes – and nod my head.”

“I think she was really upset by the whole Spike thing.”

Buffy nearly choked on the walnut she was munching on. “Oh?”

“I think she really liked him. I think she really thought he could have been the one.”

“Really?” Buffy questioned curiously. “She never told me that.”

“I don’t think Anya likes to burden you with things like that,” Willow said carefully, studying her friend apprehensively.

“What do you mean?” Buffy demanded.

“I mean she doesn’t want to tell you too many things that are going on because she doesn’t want to add to your plate.”

“My plate?”

“You know with Doyle . . . she just doesn’t want to burden you.“

“So, she keeps things from me because she doesn’t want to burden me.”

“Right. And because she doesn’t think you’d be able to handle her problems on top of hers, ” Willow said regretfully.

“Why wouldn’t I be able to handle it? What’s to handle?” Buffy nearly slammed her fork down. “You know. . . I’m not this little weakling. I don’t need coddling. I mean, I know I was a mess for a really long time and I know I still have moments, but people don’t need to keep things from me. Is there anything else I’m not being told?”

“No,” Willow shook her head.

Buffy looked at her sternly.

“Well, uh, I was a little worried about the gallery last month. We weren’t making a lot of sales and the general consensus seemed we needed new art and artists and a show—“

“And I’m just hearing about this now?”

“I didn’t want to worry you, Buffy!”

Taking a deep breath, Buffy stood and gathered her salad container and chucked it forcefully into the garbage. She stood there; facing the trash can for a long time, rubbing the back of her neck with her fingertips. Her mind was a whirlwind and anger was bubbling inside her. She loved her friends, she did, she truly did, yet she wanted to wring their necks at the moment.

Spike never treated her with kid gloves. He was gentle with her, yes. He gave her time, yes, but he didn’t let her run and he sure as hell didn’t coddle her and hide things from her. Well, he hid the transplant from her, but that was his deal, and not because he didn’t think she could handle it.

This though, this was different. And the thing was . . . she let if happen. She knew in the back of her mind what was happening. She let them just take care of things for her and do things for her because it was easier. She’d allowed herself to fall into a pattern of letting others take care of her and not taking care of herself.

She made herself weak. Her grief at one time had trapped her, but then she continued to trap herself, and made herself into the Buffy they thought could not handle the simple things in life.

She was absolutely disgusted with herself. And now she understood why Spike became so annoyed with Anya when she handled Buffy with kid gloves and took control of her life. Buffy snorted, the person he should have been annoyed with was her because she let it happen. For far too long.

Whirling around, Buffy took a deep breath and leveled her gaze with Willow’s fearful one. “Let’s get some work done then. A show is in demand, then a show we’ll have. Grab a notebook, Wills. It’s time to brainstorm. And you might as well grab Tara’s number while you’re at it. She’s about to get her big break.”

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

Three hours later, a show was in the works for her mother’s gallery and Buffy felt, for the first time in a very long time, that she’d accomplished something. Felt that she was working towards something.

She couldn’t wait to tell Spike knowing he, out of everyone, would be so proud of her. And he’d understand why it felt so good which would just make it sweeter. Willow was in the mindset that she’d be doing this alone after today and would have to have the part time help chip in extra time.

“You’re not doing this alone, Wills. I’ll be back tomorrow to work on the lighting and layout,” Buffy assured her.

“Buffy, are you sure?”

“I think I’ve been away for far too long. With a lot of things apparently. So, yes, I’m sure. I’ll be by tomorrow and I’ll even treat for lunch again.”

Willow smiled and hugged her. “I’m glad you’re back.”

So am I, Buffy thought, so am I.

“I don’t miss to intrude on this incredibly girly moment, but B, you ready?”

Buffy laughed and detangled herself from Willow’s arms to face Faith. “You’re one to talk, Faithy. We’ve had quite a few ‘girly’ moments lately, don’t you think?”

Faith shrugged, grinning slightly, “I guess.”

“What are you two up to?” Willow asked, “Bonding time?”

Faith and Buffy shared a look.

“Something like that,” Faith murmured. Then, demandingly to Buffy, “You ready? I’m parked at a meter and I have no money.”

“What else is new?” Buffy muttered. “Yes, I have my car out back. Meet you at the florist down the street?”

Faith nodded, “Sure thing.”
 

Chapter 17:

“Lilies, Buffy? Don’t you think you should have gotten a manlier flower than lilies?” Faith complained as they trudged through the cemetery, heading toward Doyle’s grave site.

Buffy giggled, “Doyle liked lilies. He also liked roses, but I felt like going with the lily today. And a ‘manlier’ flower? Not sure if such a thing exists.”

Faith shrugged, “I don’t know. I got him a Guinness, that’s all I care about.”

Buffy laughed, “I’m sure he’ll love it.”

Seeing his gravesite in the distance, Buffy halted and took a deep breath. Tears automatically welled up in her eyes.

Faith wrapped an arm around her waist, “Sure you ready for this today?”

Buffy nodded. “I am. It just . . . it just hits me sometimes. Being here. It’s funny being here how it makes you think of the times they were alive. I can see him in my head, I can hear him. It’s odd. You come to a cemetery and you think you’re going to be thinking of them as worm food, but you don’t. Instead, you picture them alive.”

“I’d rather picture that anyway than the worm food.”

“Me too,” Buffy agreed.

Silently, they made their way to his site. Standing before it, Faith leaned the bottle of Guinness against his headstone, and Buffy placed the flowers down before it. Kneeling before the stone, Buffy reached out and traced his name on the stone. “Hi, baby,” she whispered.

“Hey butthead, how are ya?” Faith said, settling down, Indian style, next to Buffy.

Buffy smiled at her and turned back to the stone. “Doyle, I’m sorry I haven’t been by in a while. It got too hard to come here like I used to. I still talked to you, though, didn’t I? Caught you up on what was happening.” She took a deep breath. “I haven’t been doing much of that lately and I’m sorry.”

Faith reached over and took her hand in her own, giving it a squeeze.

“Today I visited the gallery,” Buffy continued. “I’m starting to go back. I have to. I realized today that I’ve let my friends coddle me much too much and it’s time to start getting back into the swing of things.
I know you remember how hard it was after my mom died and all that. Remember how I wouldn’t go near the gallery at all? You pushed me though. You wouldn’t let me not go. Well, you gave me the time I needed but you told me, quite sternly, that I needed to go back and do it not just for my mom, but for me. You told me I’d regret it if I didn’t go back.
I stopped going for a long time though, baby. I had to cause the night . . . you left, I – I thought the place was cursed somehow. I mean, my mom dies and I go to work again, getting things back on track and then there’s this big showing the same night you. . . Well, you know.” Wiping her tears with the back of her hand, Buffy continued. “So, I’m back to work and there’s a new artist that looks promising. I haven’t met her yet, but I will keep you posted. I’ll make sure she’s not a crazy loon,” she laughed lightly. “Her name is Tara, by the way. If you know of any other talents in the area, send them my way, Doyle. I want to make this a really great showing. Make it glorious for you and my mom. And me, of course. I think I need it, actually, I know I need it. It’s good to get back into it, ya know? Makes me feel all important and businesslike. I can almost hear you laughing at me right now.”

She took pause, and Faith handed her some tissues to dab at her eyes.

“I miss you, Alan Francis Doyle,” she told him. “I miss you every day, that does not change, and I don’t think a day will go by where I don’t miss you.
Doyle, baby, I don’t know how to tell you this without just telling you. I was afraid to tell you and I didn’t know how, but your incredibly wise sister told me I should come here and tell you, so here I am.
I met someone. He’s incredibly kind and supportive. You’d like him. He doesn’t let me hide just like you wouldn’t let me. He’s a heart transplant survivor. Pretty amazing stuff huh? I figure the doctor in you would just love to hear that. I met him through Anya. She was dating him actually and he and I just kind of connected in a way that he didn’t connect with Anya. I know, it sounds so 90210 don’t it? I can be Brenda and she can be Kelly, how about that?” She laughed, and she swore she could hear Doyle laughing right along with her. “It’s a little torrid, baby, I won’t lie to you. Mainly because Anya doesn’t know yet. He did break up with her for me though. He hasn’t said it yet, but I think he’s in love with me. Funny how that doesn’t freak me out to say it out loud, but if he should actually say it . . . “ she laughed again, “all bets are off. I think you’d really like him Doyle. He works on cars, he restores them. Hey, he even helped me get a new car. Remember my Chevy? I know you remember because you tried so hard to get me to upgrade, and I told you I would not until it crapped out on me. Well, it did. Spike – that’s his name – don’t laugh! His real name is William. Anyway, he took me to get a new car. And he mowed the lawn and trimmed the hedges and helped me paint the fence.
He makes me smile, Doyle. He makes me feel good about myself again.” She took a deep breath, her tears coming faster now. “He’s not you, and he’ll never be you, and I meant what I said--” Her voice cracked with emotion. “--I love you, and I always will. And I know that you don’t want me to be unhappy. At least, that’s what Faith tells me. So I’ve been seeing William – Spike – and I wanted to let you know. He wants to meet you, but I’m not ready for that yet. Are you? I just. . . I needed to tell you. You were always there for the big moments in my life, Doyle, and so I don’t want to keep you out of the loop now.” A sob shuddered through her, “I miss you so much, baby.”

“It’d probably help to let you know butthead,” Faith began as she wrapped an arm around Buffy, “That I approve of this guy. You know that I wouldn’t just let anyone come sniffing around Buffy. I did my sisterly duty as I was supposed to and screened him for you. Made sure he was up to par. I gotta tell you big brother, this guy really does care about her. I can see it. From what I’ve seen, he’s been good for her. He makes her smile, just like she said. He’s willing to fight for her, I can tell you that. Bro, he’s the long haul guy. Just like you. And, just to let you know, I ragged on him for the nickname for you.”

Buffy started to laugh through her tears and swatted Faith, whom she noticed, had tears streaming down her cheeks as well.

“You mind if I take a few and chat with him?” Faith asked her.

“Not at all, Faithy.”

“So, Doyle, let me tell you about this guy I met last week. . . “

Sitting back, stretching her legs out in front of her and leaning back on her elbows, Buffy listened to Faith talk to her brother. She jumped in now and again, asking questions and offering her advice where needed. She felt a sense of peace wash over her. She felt Doyle there, with them. She could almost hear him talking with them, listening to them and offering his silent support and love. She felt the weight begin to lift and she knew in that moment, that Doyle was shining down on her, telling her she had his blessing.

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

Spike knocked lightly on Buffy’s door, hoping she was all right as he hadn’t heard from her all day.

Faith greeted him at the door, placing a finger over her lips, giving him the signal to be quiet.

“She okay?” he whispered.

Faith nodded, “She’s okay. We went to see Doyle today.”

“How’d it go?”

“It went well. Emotional, ya know?”

Spike nodded, “I told your sister – in – law I’d really like to meet him one day. She showed me his picture last night. Handsome guy.”

Faith nodded, sadness flitting across her features for a quick second before she smiled at him wanly. “He was a really great guy. He was a great big brother to me. It didn’t matter to him at all that we weren’t blood. And Buffy, well, she’s always treated me like the little sister she never had.”

“She steal your clothes too?” Spike teased.

Faith chuckled, “No, not that. She wouldn’t be caught dead wearing what I wear.”

“Where is she now?”

“Sleeping on the couch. After the cemetery we went out to eat and came home to watch a movie. She fell asleep halfway through. Aside from the cemetery, she had a big day.”

“Oh?”

Faith smiled. “I’ll let you tell her. In fact, I’ll leave you to her.”

“You don’t have to go on my account—“

“I’m not. I’m going on mine. I’m wiped too. Plus, if you end up getting groiny on the couch, I don’t want to see it.”

Spike laughed, thanked Faith and sauntered into the living room to see his girl asleep on the couch. He smiled tenderly, his heart swelling with affection at the sight. She was on her side, her long legs stretched out, and her head was on a pillow, her hands curled underneath it.

Coming over to her, he kneeled next to her and brushed her hair from her face. Her eyes fluttered open.

“Spike?” she whispered groggily.

“It’s me, luv. Just sleep baby. I wanted to see how you were is all.”

She smiled sleepily and rubbed her feet together. “I’m good. Just tired. I had a big day today.”

“You don’t have to tell me now, baby. I’ll let you get your rest—“

“No, stay,” she said and reached out taking his hand. “Will you stay with me?”

His heart leapt to his throat. “Y-you want me to stay with you?”

She nodded, “Take the cushions off from the back so you have room.”

“Baby—“

“Please?”

He nodded dumbly and took down the blanket, laying it on her, and then moved the cushions so that he could comfortably lie behind her and not be cramped.

Settling in behind her, he wrapped his arms around her, his front to her back and she turned into him.

“Do you have your meds with you?” she asked him.

“Always have them with me.”

“Okay. Good night, Spike.”

“Good night, Buffy. I can’t tell you what it means to me that you want me here like this.”

She smiled with her eyes closed and patted his hand. “We’ll talk in the morning and you can tell me all about it.”

He chuckled, snuggled her closer and fell fast asleep, into the best sleep he’d probably ever had.

Chapter 18:

Spike awoke to Buffy trying to quietly and gently slip out of his grasp. “What are you doing?” he demanded and she let out a yelp, falling on her bottom to the floor between the couch and coffee table.

He peered over at her. “Well, that’s what you get for sneaking off.”

She glared up at him and then started to laugh, a deep belly laugh. He noted he’d never heard her laugh quite like that.

He liked it.

She sprawled herself out on her back, her laughs slowly dying to giggles. Swiftly, he slid down, placing his arms on either side of her head and grinned down at her.

Her giggles died and she let out a soft sigh, “Good morning.”

“Mornin’ luv. Sleep all right?”

“I did. Did you?”

“Best sleep I’ve ever had.”

“Yeah, right.”

“No, really, it was. Would I lie to you?”

“We slept on the couch, Spike. You weren’t cramped?”

“Nope. Were you?”

“Nope. I was all warm and snuggly and. . . . “ she smiled, “I liked you being here.”

Dipping his head to her neck, he buried his face there and collapsed lightly on top of her. “Jesus,” he swore.

“Uh oh. Did I do it again?”

“Do what again?” he asked against her throat, his hands skirting down her body, tugging her legs to wrap around him.

“Almost make you cry.”

He grinned against the column of her throat that he was peppering kisses across. “Not that time, but . . . You made me feel special.”

“Because you are.”

He looked up at her this time, his expression tender. “You almost made me want to cry just then.”

She smiled broadly.

“Minx, trying to get me to cry!” and he started tickling her sides.

She giggled, trying to fend him off. “I’m not trying to make you cry. I just like to know that I have an effect on you. That I touch you.”

He gazed down at her solemnly, “You touch me more than you realize, Buffy.”

She smiled sweetly at him and hugged him to her. “Currently not enough, though.”

“Mmmm. . . I wanted to hear about your day yesterday ---“

“So you don’t want to get laid right now?”

He laughed, making her laugh with him. “Yes, I do want to get laid right now. I was trying to be all supportive.”

“Then shut up and make love to me.”

He smiled down at her, wondering if she was aware that she’d said ‘made love’ instead of ‘sex’. Up until that point, she’d always referred to them as ‘having sex’ and he’d always referred to it as ‘making love’.

He decided not to draw attention to it and instead make love to his girl. He started by tugging on her shirt, and she helped him to discard it. That, somehow, gave her license to try and remove his. He took her hands in his and kissed them. “Not yet.”

“Spike, please?”

“Not yet. Soon.”

She held his gaze for a long moment, a determined look in her eye that he’d never seen before. He liked it. A lot.

“I promise,” he told her. “Soon.”

She sighed, “Okay. Kiss me?”

“Happily,” he murmured and kissed her deeply.

She moaned into the kiss and slid her hands down his shirt covered back, placing her hands on the waistband of his jeans. “Want them off,” she whispered.

He grinned, “You are a minx.”

She grinned cheekily. “And bossy. Take them off!”

He laughed and adjusted himself on his side, reaching for the snap. She batted his hands away and moved so that she was on her knees. He looked at her, “You want to do it?”

She nodded, “I want to do it. Lie back.”

He groaned, his head thudding to the oriental rug. “Fuck, Buffy, what are you doing to me?”

“I thought we covered that,” she murmured and unsnapped his jeans, slowly sliding down his zipper. “But in case you weren’t paying attention, we are about to ‘do it’.”

He grinned with his eyes closed. “’Do it’ huh?”

“Yep. You know . . . fornicate. Have sex. Make love.”

He smiled, “I like that.”

“Which part?”

“Make love,” his eyes popped open and met her green ones. “Make love to me?”

“About to,” she purred and tugged his jeans down his legs and then off. “I love that you go commando,” she noted.

“Me too.”

She leaned over him and fisted his erection, swirling her tongue around the tip and then suckling it into her mouth, moaning. The vibrations sent Spike’s hips bucking up. “God, Buffy . . . “

“Mmmm?” she moaned again and took more of him in her mouth.
“Buffy, baby, oh God. . . “ he babbled, his head on the rug, lolling back and forth.

Sliding her hand up and down his shaft, she sucked up and down, as much as she could, moaning every now and then.

“Buffy, please, baby, come up here.”

Still gliding her hand up and down him, she looked up. “Don’t you want to cum?”

“I want to cum inside you.”

“Well, you can’t. You have to wear a condom. Remind me to make an appointment for the gyno today.”

“Buffy, Christ, I have no condoms on me.”

She smiled, “You underestimate me. Reach into the coffee table drawer.”

Reaching over, he pulled the drawer open and found some packets of condoms inside. He looked at her in mock surprise. “Buffy, so scandalous!”

She smirked and took him in her mouth again, causing him to gasp. Taking her off him, he hauled her up and kissed her hard.

“You like it when I’m scandalous, then?” she asked innocently.

“Fucking love it!”

She smiled, “Thought so.” And she tore open the package, arranged herself so that she sat astride his thighs and slid the condom down on him.

He grinned, reached out and tugged on her pants. “Now I want yours off.”

Smiling, she climbed to her feet and slipped off her pants slowly and he was sure she was giving him a show. Idly, he stroked himself as he watched her, drinking her in, thinking she was the sexiest woman he’d ever laid eyes on.

When she slid her thong down, he licked his lips, sat up, and kissed her mound. Now it was her turn to gasp.

Grinning, he slid a finger along her slit and licked the juice off his finger. Then, he opened her, flicking his tongue on her clit.

“Spike,” she breathed.

“Mmmm?” he moaned and slid his finger inside her.

“Oh God.”

“Bloody right.” He sucked her clit into his mouth until her legs started to tremble. He let go, licking his lips and lay back, pulling her by the hips with him. “I want you to ride me, Buffy.”

Her eyes were dazed, filled with lust, her lashes hooded. She nodded and straddled him; lifting her hips she grasped his cock and positioned her pussy on top of him, sliding down slowly.

His eyes rolled back at the sensation of being fully sheathed inside her. “So, good…so good, Buffy. Ahhh. . . “

“Yes,” she hissed and lifted up slowly and then slid down slowly again.

His eyes popped open, his eyes like blue fire. “You feel amazin’. So wet and hot . . . so tight and . . .” he took her hips and guided her up and down.

“And?” she prompted.

He smirked, “My girl likes dirty talk does she?”

She nodded, gulping.

Sitting up, he halted her movements, but kept her on him as he twisted so that his back was against the couch. Placing his hands on her hips, he slid his hands up her soft back and pressed her forward so he could plunder her mouth with his. She started to move on him again, moaning into his kiss.

Dotting kisses across her jaw and up to her ear, he bit her lobe and whispered. “Want you to ride me to a bloody gallop, Buffy. Feel your sweet, hot pussy all around me. Want you to cover my cock in your juice.”

She started going faster, bouncing up and down him.

“That’s right, Buffy, ride me. Do you like my cock inside you? Like to feel it all the way inside you?” he was gasping now, so incredibly close to letting go himself. Needing her with him, he reached between them and started to rub her clit. “That’s it baby. That’s it. Ride me, take me all in . . . . Fuck me, Buffy, fuck me hard.”

That did it. Her walls squeezed the life out of him and she screamed his name, cumming hard and all around him as he requested. He came with her, roaring her name and biting down on her shoulder as she dug her nails in his shoulders, still moving up and down him, riding out her orgasm.

He pressed her to him, holding her tight against him, panting from the intense pleasure she’d just given him. A light sheen of sweat covered her and he knew he was covered in the same. Lifting her head to his, he kissed her languidly. He smiled, probably like a bloody fool, at her.

She smiled and buried her face in his neck, letting out a puff of air, causing him to shiver. Stroking her back, he said tentatively. “Buffy?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Sure.”

He thought about making her look at him, but in the end, he had more guts to say it if she didn’t look at him. “I’ve been feeling this way for a while now so I don’t want you to think I’m sayin’ it cause you just made me see the bloody Milky Way.”

She giggled, “I know you don’t just say things, Spike.”

“Do you know what I’m going to say?” he asked cautiously, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“I think so.”

“Buffy,” he started and then paused.

“It’s okay,” she told him and picked her head up, gazing at him, “I think I’m ready to hear it. I didn’t think I would be but –“

“I love you, Buffy. I’m in love with you.”

She smiled, “Tha—“

“Don’t thank me,” he said hoarsely. “Don’t thank me for that.”

She nodded, “Okay.”

“And I’ll wait, Buffy. I’ll wait forever if I have to, to hear you say it back. Or not at all. Even if you can’t say it back, just letting me love you is enough.”

“Spike—“

He pressed his lips to hers. “Ssshhh. No pressure.”

“Can I thank you for that?” she asked timidly.

He nodded, “Yes. That’s acceptable.”

Wrapping her arms around him, she hugged him tight. “Thank you for being so wonderful and special.”

And he nearly did cry that time.

Chapter 19:

“So tell me about your day yesterday, pet,” Spike said as he held Buffy in his arms, her still straddling him, him still inside her.

Just the way nature intended, he thought.

Resting her head back on his shoulder she relayed her day starting at her gallery visit.

“And you know what I thought?” she said, finishing her tale, “I thought about how you would get so upset with Anya for coddling me and ‘taking over’ for me instead of letting me do it. And I thought ‘Spike would be proud of me. He’d be happy to know that I’m taking charge and going to back to work.’”

He smiled, squeezing her tighter against him. Pressing a kiss to her shoulder he felt his heart swell with the love he felt for her. She thought of him. In that moment, she thought of him.

“I am proud of you, kitten. Very proud of you. How did you feel?”

“Empowered.”

“I’m glad. You’re not weak, you know. You’re not.”

She nodded, “I know. Well, I’m learning I’m not anyway.” Her head popped up and she stared at him, a soft, lazy smile playing across her lips.

Unable to resist, he kissed her. “I love you kitten. Love you so bloody much,” he muttered against her lips before claiming them again.

“Have you been in love before, Spike?”

“Nope. You’re the first.” And the last, he added in his head.

“How is that possible? There had to be a first love somewhere for you.”

“I’ve been in lust, but never in love. I’ve mistaken the two before, but after knowing what it’s like to love you, I know it was just lust then. It never felt like this.”

“And what does ‘this’ feel like?” she asked, grinning, tracing his cheekbones with her fingertip.

He reveled in how comfortable she felt to touch him at whim. It filled him with sense of contentment and belonging, made him realize how much of that was lacking in other relationships.

He smiled tenderly at her and kissed her fingertip when she traced his mouth. “Well,” he began, “I never felt as if my day were incomplete if I had not seen the object of my affection. If I don’t see you by the afternoon, I start going a little crazy. You’re on my mind constantly, Buffy,” he told her huskily, giving her an Eskimo kiss. “All I think of is you. I worry about you, wonder what you’re doing, and how you’re doing. If anyone upsets you, I want to throttle them for hurting my girl. I see you and I have to touch you and if I don’t, I feel as if I’m going to explode. I touch you and I still feel as if I’ll explode with wanting you and needing you. Just the sound of your voice can make my day and the sight of you brings me to my knees.”

Burying her face in his neck she implored him, “Oh, please stop.”

He tensed, “Why? Did I say something wrong?”

She ran her hand down his arm, soothing him, “No, Spike. You said everything right. It just . . . It—“

“Touched you?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Buffy, how many times – I mean, before Doyle—“

“He was my first,” she said softly.

“In, um, everything?” he asked timidly.

“No. Some stupid boy in high school was my first then. But like you, I’d never been in love until Doyle.”

He didn’t really want to bring Doyle up while they were still intimately joined and he got the distinct feeling that she felt the same.

“Spike?”

“Yes, luv?”

“When will you take off your shirt?”

“Buffy,” he sighed.

She looked up at him, her green eyes imploring. “Please? With all that I share with you, I want you to feel that you can share with me too.”

”I share more with you than anyone, Buffy,” he told her.

“Please, let me see it.”

“Why?”

“Because I feel that you don’t fully trust me. Or yourself. Which, I know, pot calling the kettle black – but you and I, we’ve come a long way, haven’t we? I mean, we’re there for each other to support each other, right?”

He nodded.

“Then let me show you that it’s not something to be ashamed of.”

“Buffy—“

“Please?”

Sighing heavily, he gazed at her, saw her determination mixed with need. It meant a lot to her and who was he to deny the woman he loved anything? He felt the need in him to share it with her, to show her once and for all and to see it in her face if she still thought him ‘beautiful’ or if she thought him broken and disfigured.

“Trust me,” she whispered.

He kissed her with desperation, almost as if it would be the last time and he scolded himself for even letting it pass through his mind. Buffy was not shallow. She wouldn’t leave him over a scar. That was absurd. So, with that thought in his mind, he lifted his shirt and watched her face intently. He closed his eyes and tossed his shirt to the side, afraid to open them despite the scolding he’d given himself.

“Spike, open your eyes,” she whispered.

He opened them slowly and found her smiling up at him. “Watch me,” she told him. He watched in fascination as she traced his scar with his fingertips and dotted kisses --kisses-- on his scar. The scar that he thought made him so different from everyone, and not so much special. Not special the way Buffy made him feel. She thought him special not just because of his transplant, but in addition to it.

Looking upon her kissing his scar, his eyes welled up in tears. “Buffy,” he gasped.

She looked up at him and said the one word that made him lose it. “Beautiful.”

The tears fell and he could not stop them. The thought passed through his mind that his tears were a cleansing. A cleansing of his old thought patterns and feelings on that scar and all that it represented to him.

Now, she was kissing his tears away and he broke into a sob, unable to stop himself. He crushed her to him, reveling in the feel of her breasts squashed against his bare chest. God, he’d been missing so much.

“It took you,” he told her through his tears. “It took you.”

She held him as he wept, whispering to him, telling him how beautiful he was.

Cradling her face in his hands, he kissed her hungrily, desperately needing her again, needing to express his love for her in the age old dance.

She moved with him slowly, languidly; the both of them drawing out their pleasure. He pressed her into the floor and she ran her hands down his bare back and up his chest, tracing his abs and pecs, feeling every muscle move and tremble under her touch and their movements.

Their orgasms came on with a vengeance, but somehow taking them by surprise just the same and Spike couldn’t help the outpouring of his love, murmuring to her in bliss how he loved her, cherished, needed her and wanted her for always. She murmured, ‘yes, yes, yes,’ and he knew not to take them quite to heart, but couldn’t stop himself from doing so at the same time. They lay on the floor, entwined and sated, wrapped up in each other.

Which was why neither one noticed Anya staring down at them, her mouth open in shock.

Chapter Twenty


“What the – how did—why -- What the hell are you doing?” Anya shrieked.

Buffy’s eyes widened and she looked up at William whose eyes were also wide. They were frozen, unable to move. Then, like chickens with their heads cut off, they scrambled to gather their clothes.

Anya stood there, gaping at them. “You—you—“ she pointed at them, her voice pitched high.

“Anya, would you stop? Only dogs can hear you right now,” Spike told her, reaching for and then tugging on his pants quickly, and snapping up.

“You—you have your shirt off – what is that?” she said pointing at his scar.

Quickly, he tugged on his shirt, ignoring her. Buffy, having dressed in record time, stood in front of him. “Anya, listen—“

“Listen? You want me to listen?” she laughed maniacally and glared at her icily. “You whore!” she slapped Buffy across the face, startling Buffy, who stood there, with her eyes wide and her hand on her cheek. Her cheek felt warm. That was going to leave a mark.

“Don’t you dare hit her!” Spike bellowed.

“Don’t you tell me what to do, you bastard,” Anya snarled, focusing her ire to Spike now. She pointed at him, “This why you broke up with me isn’t it? God! I should have known. The way you always wanted to spend time with her, come over here to see her. And here I thought you were just being nice to her for me. So, what was it? Needed some fresh blood? Figured the needy widow was the way to go?”

“She’s not needy!” Spike shouted, “And if she is, then she isn’t anymore needy than I am, Anya.”

“We didn’t plan on it, Anya. It just sort of happened,” Buffy said softly.

“How fucking trite is that? ‘It just sort of happened?’” Anya glared at her.

“Anya, I know you’re upset right now and I didn’t mean for you to find out this way—“ Buffy started to reach for her and Anya slapped her hand away.

“Don’t touch me! How could you do this to me? I’m supposed to be your best friend. I was there for you when your husband died – What would he say huh? What would Doyle say if he knew how you’re fucking my boyfriend!”

“I’m not your boyfriend, Anya,” Spike said deeply. “If you could just listen—“

“No. I don’t want to listen—“

“Anya please,” Buffy begged, her eyes welling up in tears. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you. I didn’t plan for this to happen.”

“But it didn’t stop you from doing it, did it? You just . . . what was it, Buffy?”

“We understand each other—“ Buffy started.

Anya laughed again. “Oh please!” Meeting her eyes, she said in a low tone, “The only thing he had to understand was how fucking pathetic you were. Are, actually. Poor little Buffy who can’t take care of herself. Poor little Buffy who cries all day and has no one to love her. Not anymore anyway. Look at you! Did you cry for him, Buffy? Did you sob your little eyes out so he’d feel sorry for you? Is that how you did it? Maybe I should try that in the future. I’ll just tell them I’m a grieving, helpless widow and turn on the water works. How could you do this Buffy? God, what would Doyle say? He’d say you were disgusting, that’s what he’d say.”

Buffy’s bottom lip trembled and her tears spilled over.

“That’s it, cry!” Anya shouted, her eyes wild with sick delight.

Spike stepped forward, “Stop it right now, Anya. I think it’d be best if you left.”

“Oh, and you’ve got him whipped too. How sweet.” She shook her head and let out an utterance of disgust. “You two deserve each other.” She started on her way out and then stopped and spun around. “I just need to know. When? When you came over here to do her ‘hedges’?”

“After we broke up, Anya,” Spike told her. “Now go.”

“I don’t believe you. And you don’t get to tell me what to do! Seeing as how I’m the one that was lied to –“

“Get out!” Spike shouted so loudly at her, that Buffy jumped from her stupor.

Without another word, Anya stomped out, slamming the door behind her so hard, the house shook.

“Buffy?” Spike whispered, “Buffy, look at me,” he demanded gently, standing in front of her.

She looked up at him, “I did a bad thing,” she murmured.

“Buffy,” he shook his head, “No, baby, you –“

“No, I did. I really did. I hurt her. I didn’t want to hurt her, but I did. I should have stopped. I should have . . . . I should have stopped. I should have tried to get you back with her instead of . . . instead of having sex with you on a car! Oh God!” She walked away from him, shaking her head. “She’s never going to forgive me now. Never.” She spun to him. “I told you, I told you this would happen!”

Spike stood there, staring at her, letting her rant and trying not to yell at her that they were happy before Anya walked in. That she had been happy for the past few days and to remember the connection they’d felt to each other – the connection that Anya had basically torn to shreds; the connection that Anya had single-handedly made seem tawdry and wrong. How could it be wrong? He was in love! How could that be wrong?

“What did Doyle say yesterday, Buffy?” he blurted out.

She paused in her ranting. “What?”

“What did he say when you told him about us?”

She swallowed, “He—he was happy for me.”

“You felt it then? That he felt happy for you—“

“I felt him give us his blessing” she murmured. “I know it sounds crazy—“

“It doesn’t sound crazy. I talk to my parents all the time.”

She looked at him, startled. “You do?”

He nodded, “I always feel better after I talk to them, too. It doesn’t sound crazy to think that our loved ones are still there in some capacity; that they pay attention to what we’re going through, and take the time to listen when we need them to listen, and give us advice when we need to the advice. I told them about you; told them before I showed you their picture.”

“You did?”

He nodded.

“What did – what did they say? What did you tell them?”

“That I met this amazing woman and I felt things for her that I had never felt before. Told them how you lost your husband and how you were Anya’s best friend. Told them how Anya was the girl I was dating, but that I couldn’t stop thinking about you and feeling things for you.”

“I –I told Doyle how you were Anya’s boyfriend when I met you.”

“What do you think he thinks, Buffy? Do you think he shares Anya’s opinions?”

“Which ones?”

“All of them.”

“No.”

“Do you believe them?”

“That you’re just using me because I’m a ‘sure thing’?”

He nodded.

“No,” she whispered.

“Do you know what my parents told me to do?”

She cocked her head to the side in question.

“They told me to break up with Anya.”

“Doyle wasn’t so forthcoming with the advice,” Buffy said dryly, looking away from him.

“We were happy before she came in,” he pointed out softly.

“But she came in.” She looked back at him, “You were right. I should have told her.”

“And she probably would have said the same ugly things.”

“Yes, that’s true. Though, walking in while we’re in the afterglow was probably not the best thing for her to see. “

“I agree, but – Buffy, you really need to lock that door.”

She started to giggle and he could tell she didn’t really want to, probably because she felt she had no right to, but she gave in and giggled anyway.

“She has a key.”

Taking a deep breath, he rubbed the back of his head, “Something tells me you’re gonna either have to get that key, or you might want to look into getting your locks changed. She’s got a volatile temper, in case you weren’t aware.”

“She’s been my best friend for years now, I’m aware of her temper. She once threatened Doyle with a kitchen knife after we had an argument once. She actually pointed it on him and told him to never make me cry again. He was duly frightened.”

“Not at all psychotic,” Spike said, monotone.

“Is it . . . is it wrong that I’m getting angry?” she asked, uncertain.

“As long as it’s not at me.”

“No, at what she said. About me.” A beat. “Do you think it’s possible to get your tear ducts removed?”

Now he couldn’t help it, Spike started to laugh out loud. “I don’t think so, pet.”

“I’m a crybaby,” she whispered, scowling at the floor.

“Why are you listening to her?” he asked on a sigh. “I thought we agreed to not believe what she said.”

“But I cry a lot!”

“Hello, have you been here the last couple days? Woman, you’ve made me cry too!”

“Because I cry so much, it was bound to rub off on you!”

“I disagree. There’s been a lot of emotional stuff going on in here—“

“Yeah, because the cry baby can’t handle anything!” she exclaimed, throwing up her arms. “You say ‘hi’ and I sob. Someone says ‘Doyle’ and I’m a mess. I literally do cry at the drop of a hat.” She pointed at him, “So don’t you dare say you cry just as much as I do. You don’t cry like I do.” She pointed at herself. “I should be dried up by now!”

They stared at each other, gasping for air from all the shouting, and then burst into laughter.

“Are we really arguing over crying?” she asked through her laughter.

He nodded, “I think we are.”

“Now I’m crying because I’m laughing so hard. I can’t win!”

Spike laughed harder. When they’d calmed, Spike looked up at her, “Buffy?”

“Mmmm?”

“You’re not going to dump me, are you?”

She met his eyes. “I’m not going to lie to you, Spike. I feel guilt. Lots of it. But . . . “ she shook her head helplessly, “I can’t stop wanting to be with you.”

“Can you come here then? Cause you haven’t been in my arms since—“ he never got to finish the sentence because Buffy had rushed into his arms, nearly knocking them both over with the force of her lunge.

He held her tightly. “She was wrong about many things, Buffy, but one in particular.”

She looked up at him, “Which one?” she asked, puzzled.

“She said you had no one to love you.”

Buffy smiled.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“Spike?”

“Mmmm?”

“I’m a little worried about Hurricane Anya.”

“Afraid of what she’ll do?”

“Yes,” she said against his chest. “Do you think in time she’d . . . forgive me?”

“I don’t know, Buffy, I just don’t know.”

“Maybe I’ll give it a few days and then try talking to her.”

“Can you make sure you’re away from sharp objects, please?”

“Maybe in public?”

“So she can publicly humiliate you? Why don’t you wait for a bit, eh? I’m sure she’s on the horn now to Jerry Springer—“

Buffy swatted him and laughed, “You’re evil!”

“The baddest baby,” he said and leered at her, tucking his tongue behind his front teeth.

“Well, I plan on talking to her. I’ve got to work it out somehow.”

“And if you can’t?”

She looked up at him sadly. “Then I lost my best friend.”

Chapter Twenty One

Buffy warily walked into the gallery. Knowing Anya’s penchant for telling everybody and their mother when someone had wronged her, she wouldn’t have been surprised at all if the girl had stopped by to tell Willow. The woman was like the Town Crier.

Willow was out back when Buffy entered and came darting out as soon as Buffy entered. Willow stared at her. “Hi.”

“Anya’s been by, huh?” Buffy mused with a nod of her head.

“She called.”

“Hate me?”

“No, Buffy—“

“Don’t pretend just because you work for me. Be honest. I’m not going to fire you or anything. You are my friend Wills. Tell me, honestly.”

Willow took a deep breath and then burst out with “Buffy, I can’t believe you did that!”

Buffy sighed, “It’s not – okay, it kind of is like that, but at the same time, it’s not.”

“What happened exactly? Can you tell me?”

“I can. What’s Anya’s version?”

“That you guys had been carrying on while she and Spike were still together.”

“Spike told her that wasn’t the case,” Buffy muttered.

“She didn’t believe him.”

“Obviously.”

Willow shrugged, “Just telling you what she told me.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound angry – I have no right to be angry, do I? Well, that’s not entirely true. You should have heard what she threw in my face!”

Willow stared at her, blinking.

“This is so high school,” Buffy sighed. “Do I take the high road and bear it in silence, or do I justify my actions?” she muttered to herself.

“Well, seeing as how I am your friend, I think you can be ‘high school’ with me.”

Buffy nodded, “Can we sit?”

“Sure. How about the floor? I brought in muffins, donuts and coffee. You want?”

“Yes.”

Willow giggled, “Which do you want?”

“All of the above. I’ll help.”

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

“So, you guys did kiss while he was with Anya?” Willow asked, studying Buffy thoughtfully.

“Yes, we did, but I stopped it – well, the first time. The second time he kind of took me by surprise.”

“Then you kissed him and admitted you had feelings for him.”

“Yes,” Buffy said nodding and took the top half of her muffin off.

“And then you felt guilty about Doyle and Anya and told him it had to end when he came by later that night.”

“Right.”

Willow sighed, “Buffy. . . I’m not going to lie to you. It’s on the border of being sneaky and backstabbing. I mean, the corpse of their relationship wasn’t even cold before you and he—“

“Yeah,” Buffy jumped in, cutting her off, “I know. But, it’s not like I set out to have feelings for him, Wills. I didn’t want to. Mainly because of Doyle, but also because of my loyalty to Anya.”

“Why didn’t you tell her when it started then? Just said ‘hey, I kind of got a thing for Spike, could I ask him out?’”

“I didn’t think of that. I should have talked to you first!”

“Buffy, I’ve been around you for some time now. I’ve seen you be pretty much miserable for a year now. Yesterday, I noticed you’d changed. If Spike is the guy that has made you glow like you are, then who am I to say anything? I can see how Anya is upset, but then again, she told you her ego was hurt more than she really was.”

“That could have been a cover to hide her true feelings,” Buffy murmured. “You told me she thought he could have been ‘The One.’”

“Yeah, but this is Anya. You know she romanticizes relationships when they’re over, and she doesn’t have a replacement right away,” Willow pointed out.

“That is very true.”

“And really, it could be her pride that’s more bruised right now more than anything.”

“She has every right to be mad at me for keeping it from her. And even for feeling that I betrayed her. Even if they were broken up – argh!”

“Shades of gray are a real pain in the ass huh?”

Buffy nodded emphatically, “Yes. Very much so. I’m kind of the ‘other woman’ aren’t I?”

“Not so much. Well, you were when you were kissing him while they were together.”

“Not so much with the helping there, Wills.”

“Sorry. But, Buffy, the things Anya said to you was low. Even for her. I mean . . . Bringing Doyle into it and basically mocking you for crying over him all this time? She was there, she knew what your relationship with Doyle was like, she knew Doyle and she knew how much you loved him. To say those things about you and him was wrong. It was cruel. You have every right to be upset about that.”

“I do have the right, and I am angry with her, but . . . would I have been so kind if the tables were turned? I don’t know.”

“Buffy, if the tables were turned, I know you would not use someone’s pain like that and mock them with it. That was low.”

“Anya goes for the jugular. She’s always been that way.”

“Buffy, stop defending her!” Willow admonished her.

Buffy held up her hands in surrender, “I’m sorry, I can’t help it! I keep going back and forth. One minute I’m so angry and hurt by what she said I could strangle her, and the next minute, I feel like the shit and feel that I deserve all she threw at me.” She took a deep breath. “I think my brain is maxed out on this for now. I’d really like a distraction right about now. Maybe work on something that has more black and white than gray?”

Willow smirked, “This your subtle way of telling me it’s time to get back to work?”

Buffy beamed, “Yup.”

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

“I’m not imagining it, Spike. It really did happen,” Buffy told him earnestly later that day. Currently she was sitting Indian style in front of him on her oriental rug – or, as she called it ‘the scene of the crime’ – and Spike sat behind her, against the couch, and was giving her shoulders a massage.

“So, you think that Anya’s spread the word all over town like rapid fire already? That she even hit the grocery store and that’s why . . . ?”

“Miss Leary.”

“Miss Leary ‘tsked’ you?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “She looked at me and tsked me!”

“Sure it wasn’t the box of condoms she saw in your basket she was tsking and not Anya having blabbed all over town?”

“Oh, well, I didn’t think of that,” Buffy said, her shoulders sagging from that new, and very comforting, idea. Then she tensed again. “Well, now when Anya gets to her, she’ll be tsking me for buying the condoms to do Anya’s boyfriend!”

“Ex boyfriend,” he whispered in her ear.

Shivering in response, she nodded, “Yes, that’s right. Ex.”

“Remember that, please. I’m sure Anya will twist that around to her benefit. Seems she already did with Willow.”

Buffy yawned, “I’m going to take the high road with everyone else. I’m not going to go blabbing my side. They can say what they want, I don’t care.”

He chuckled. “Yes you do.”

She swatted his leg. “Hush up, you.”

Wrapping his arms around her, he nuzzled her neck. “We’ll face them together. I could give a rat’s ass what they say about us, Buffy. And I’ll tell them that Anya is a spoiled rotten brat who is just pissed that she didn’t get her way.”

“No, please don’t. Let me try to work this out on my own. Please?”

He sighed, “Okay. For you.”

“Thank you. I’ve had a lot of people come to my rescue, Spike. I think I need to do this battle on my own. Let me defend you. How’s that sound?”

Nipping at her neck, he murmured, “Bloody perfect. Hey, I’ve got a question.”

“What?”

“Can I sleep over again?”

She giggled, “Oh so sly, Mr. Gardner.”

“That’s my middle name, baby. So, can I?”

“Yes, you can.”

“So . . . bedroom?”

“Uh, I, um, sure. How about the guest room?” she asked, tensing up.

He furrowed his brow for a minute, pondering that. Then, it dawned on him. “Oh, I get it.”

“Yeah, I’m just . . . I’m not ready for that yet. My bedroom is . . . “

“Your bedroom with Doyle.”

“Right. Baby steps, okay?” she asked timidly.

“I understand, baby. It’s okay,” and to emphasize that he adjusted her so that she was across his lap. Leaning in, he kissed her sweetly. “Got any of those condoms upstairs by any chance?”

She laughed, “Not yet, but something tells me I will now.”

“Gonna have condoms in every bloody room,” he growled and nibbled her bottom lip. “Come on, luv. Want to make love to you before you pass out on me.”

“So romantic,” she mock swooned.

He grinned, “Just you wait, Buffy. Haven’t even brought out the big guns yet.”

She glanced down at his crotch, “I don’t know about that.”

“Minx.”

“Yep, I am,” she beamed and climbed off his lap. “Catch me if you can!” and she bounded up the stairs, Spike hot on her heels.

Chapter 22:

“I’m going to need a caterer for the showing,” Buffy mused to Spike the following morning as they lay in the guest room, limbs tangled.

Brushing her hair through his fingers he murmured, “Mmm… does this mean you have to speak with Anya?”

She nodded.

“Or get another caterer?”

“Well, it’s kind of a catch-22, I’m thinking,” she said, looking up into his cerulean orbs and finding herself getting lost.

He grinned slightly, “Damned if you do and damned if you don’t?”

“Right. On the one hand she’ll be pissed and thinking I’m running off with my tail between my legs if I don’t ask her to do it, on the other hand she’s probably going to think I’m a loon for asking her.”

“Do you care?”

“About which one?”

“Either.”

She frowned slightly, “I know you don’t.”

“Well, no.”

“But yeah, I do. I mean . . . Yes, I am angry with her for the things she said, but Spike . . . she lashed out. She was angry with me and I got her where it hurt—“

“That being me?”

“Right.”

“I beg to differ.”

She looked at him incredulously, “How can you beg to differ that one?”

“Because Anya is egotistical. She has to be the center of attention and she has to be the one everyone loves and adores. She has to be looked up to and believes she’s a Goddess and we should all worship her—“

“So, what is it you’re trying to say?” Buffy asked, puzzled.

He tweaked her nose, “If you let me finish. . . “

She laughed, “Sorry. Go ahead.”

He smiled lovingly at her, “It was her pride that was hurt more. Somewhere in her mind she was hoping that I was regretting breaking up with her and pining away for her. To find out that not only was I not thinking of her and I’d moved on—“

“With the widow,” Buffy supplied softly.

“However,” he continued, “I also think she is jealous about me concerning you.”

She was thoroughly confused now. “Isn’t that what we just said?”

“No. Let me explain that better,” he chuckled.

She smiled brightly, “Please do.”

“After Doyle died, she was the one you depended on. You needed her and Anya thrives on being needed and depended on. It gives her a boost and not all of the things she does is out of the kindness of her heart when it comes to her ‘giving’—“

She drew back some, “Are you saying that she got a boost from my misery because I depended on her?”

“Yes. She was the sage guru. The one you went to for answers; for everything, right?”

“Yeah,” Buffy said slowly, not liking where this was going.

“The whole debacle with Riley and always trying to control you in some manner—“

She opened her mouth to debate that and he cut her off with his finger pressed to her lips.

“Hold on, let me finish. Whether it was justified or not, or needed or not, which I realize a lot of the time it was – Anya built it up in her mind that you cannot function without her. She treats you more like a child at times than a grown woman that just needs a little understanding and support. Just like you said she does with the—“

“With the coddling,” Buffy murmured, nodding in agreement.

“Right. So now, she sees you don’t need her as much anymore – or at all—“

“She was –is—my best friend, Spike.”

He pouted, “Can’t I be your best friend? You’re mine.”

She smiled gently, “Thank you. You are my friend, yes, but women best friends are few and far—“

“Your male best friend then?”

She laughed and kissed him quickly before turning serious again. “So you think that part of the reason she’s so upset is because I found someone else to – to – lean on?”

“Buffy, you don’t just ‘lean’ on me,” he told her firmly. “And if you do, then it’s all part of the package and I lean on you just as much. But it’s not about that. We’re not about that.”

She smiled, “I know,” and she smoothed a hand down the side of his face.

“Do you? Cause, Buffy . . . you’re not as weak as you think you are.”

“So you keep saying.”

“And I will keep saying until you believe me. Until you see it for yourself.”

“I do feel better than I have in a long time.” She smirked, “But I thought maybe that had to do with the fantastic sex.”

He grinned, “Fantastic, huh?”

She laughed and burrowed into him, nestling her head under his chin and wrapping her arms around him.

“You feel better,” he told her huskily, pecking the top of her head, “Because you’re getting your feet on the ground. You feel stronger, don’t you?”

“Much.”

“And I had nothing to do with it—“

Her head popped up, nearly clocking him in the chin and he reared back a bit. “No,” she reprimanded him. “You had a lot to do with that.”

“The gallery was all you, baby.”

“But . . . you did have something to do with it. Anya has tried to get me to go back, she really has and I didn’t want any part of it. It took a spark – you helped give me something back that I was lacking and didn’t know what it was—“

“Love,” he whispered, placing his brow against hers.

“Anya loves—loved—me—“

“She’s also a selfish bint who would have turned around and said ‘Aren’t you glad I made you go back? You wouldn’t have been able to do it without me.’”

“Well, that’s pushing it, she wouldn’t have said that last part—“

“Okay, fine, maybe not flat out said it, but would have alluded to it; would have still found a way to make you feel that you couldn’t have done it without her. I never told you to go back Buffy. You did that all on your own. You saw the need to go back and take charge. You saw it all on your own.”

“Well, you alluded to the fact that she coddled me and tried to control me,” Buffy reasoned.

“But you never believed me. I didn’t do anything except love you, Buffy.”

“Well, then,” she took a deep, shuddering breath, “That’s what I needed, isn’t it?”

“When people are truly on your side, it’s amazing what you can do, but Buffy, you would have done it anyway. I know, eventually, you would have.”

She gave him a watery smile, “You have a lot of faith in me, huh?”

He nodded, “You bet I do. I give as good as I get, Buffy, trust me. This,” he gestured to his bare chest, “Is all because of you.”

“Well, it’s all for me,” she reasoned.

He smiled, “That’s true, it is. All that I am is for you.”

“The true test is being able to take your shirt off in front of others when, say, we go to the beach.”

He sighed, “Baby steps, Buffy. Remember?”

She grinned cheekily, “Of course I do. Same goes for me.”

“The important thing here is—“

“Wait,” she held up a hand, “I know this. The important thing here is that we do it all together, right?”

He narrowed his eyes, “You mocking me, little girl?”

She laughed, “I think I’m the older one here, pal. You’re the ‘little boy’.”

He tackled her, nestling himself between her legs and rubbing himself against her. “What’s this about ‘little’?” he growled.

Giggling, she leaned up and kissed him, wrapping her arms and legs around him. “You’re definitely the Big Bad, Spikey.”

He grinned, “I ever tell you how much I love that?”

“I think, however, that ninety percent is about you and ten percent is about me.”

He blinked, “You jumped there, kitten. Thought we were done with Anya.”

She shrugged, “Sometimes my train of thought in inconsistent. Can you keep up?” she asked innocently, teasing him.

Nudging his erection against her, he elicited a gasp. “I don’t know,” he drawled, “Can you?”

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

Buffy insisted on taking a shower by herself, and Spike knew that no matter how innocent he tried to act, his girl saw right through him. She knew he’d use showering together as a way to ‘fornicate’ some more.

He knew it might sound crazy, but as much as he loved making love to her, he also enjoyed the moments like this morning, when all they did was lay together and talk. It was a meeting of the mind, the heart and their souls. She was more than just his lover, more than just his best friend; she was his partner and his equal.

She was . . . everything. Everything he never knew he needed—and wanted. All in one tiny package. She was more woman than she gave herself credit for and he couldn’t wait for her to figure it out and showcase it just a little bit more. She brought him to his knees already, when she felt ‘whole’ again, completely, she was sure to have a willing slave in him.

Listening to the shower still going, Spike eyed the bedroom door -- her bedroom door. When they’d come up the night before it had been slightly ajar and he could only get a glimpse of frilly curtains and yellow undertones.

It was a source of mystery to him. It was ‘The Room’. The room that ultimately would one day breech their relationship to more – it would make them a solid couple. It would make her his completely. He knew that a part of her would always love Doyle, and he’d be lying if he said he was completely okay with that – and she knew as much too – but she would be even more his than she was now.

She would love him back and she’d say it, too. She’d also be able to say that he was her best friend; just as she was his.

Creeping down the hallway, Spike couldn’t help but be drawn to the door that led to ‘The Room’. His heart was thump, thump, thumping in his chest as he pushed lightly on the door and it swung just a smidge more open. He stood there, in the doorway, the door halfway open and he felt as if he were trespassing; as if somehow, he were betraying her by standing there with the pretense of going in.

He drew back, heading back to the guest room.

It wasn’t time yet. When she was ready, then he would be. That’s when they’d go in together.

Chapter 23:
 

Buffy walked up to the door of Anya’s catering and deli business with determined steps, her head held high. It belied the fact that her heart was hammering in her chest, and she was so nervous about facing her one time best friend, that she felt as if she were going to throw up.

Pushing the door open, she found Anya’s deli staff completing orders of customers, helping some select sandwiches and various desserts.

Looking up from behind the glass counter, Ryan, Anya’s assistant waved to her. “She’s out back,” he told her.

She smiled, mouthed ‘thanks’ and marched out back. Swinging the door open, she found Anya screaming at an employee, a new one apparently, as she didn’t recognize him. He stared at Anya in a mixture of fear and – lust? Interesting.

Anya’s head snapped to Buffy when she heard the door swing closed and she glared at Buffy. “What do you want?”

“I – I have a business proposition for you,” Buffy stammered.

Anya turned back to her employee, “You may leave now, Justin.”

He nodded, smirked at her slightly, and then walked away.

“Bad day?” Buffy asked, once Justin was out the door.

Anya took a deep breath and turned to her, “He’s new and cocky. Thinks he knows everything and well, he doesn’t. I just had to set him straight.”

“I think he likes you.”

Anya narrowed her eyes at Buffy, “Trying to make yourself feel better for stealing my boyfriend?”

“I didn’t – Okay, I realize it looks that way, but it didn’t happen that way, Anya.”

“So you didn’t jump in the sack with him right after he dumped me?” Anya asked sarcastically.

“Anya, I want to work through this somehow, do you think we could—that you could listen to me?”

Anya looked away.

“You’re my best friend,” Buffy began, “You have been with me through the worst time of my life and you helped me. You supported me and picked me up when I couldn’t pick myself up. I know that if it were me, I would be beside myself in anger—“

“Doyle kissed me once.”

Buffy felt a dagger go through her heart and a ringing started in her ears. “What?”

“I lied about that, of course, but it hurts doesn’t it?”

Buffy was trying desperately to gain her equilibrium back after that, telling herself that she deserved that. Anya was lashing out, wanting to inflict the pain and betrayal she felt by Buffy’s hand. So, Buffy gathered herself, going against her instincts that told her to lash back at the woman, and put her in her place. High ground, Buffy, she told herself; be the better person.

“Yes,” Buffy said slowly, “That did hurt.”

Anya shook her head and looked down. “Why is it I feel the need to apologize for that after what you did?” she whispered. She looked back up at Buffy, her eyes watering with tears. “I just – Buffy, why my boyfriend? How could you do that to me?”

“It wasn’t because he was yours, Anya. Hell, if that were the case I could have tried with any one of the thousand I’d met before him.” Okay, so maybe she was making a jab there, but really, she couldn’t help it. She thought it and, like diarrhea of the mouth, it came out. It wasn’t like it wasn’t true.

“So then what is it? Help me to understand.”

Buffy took a deep breath, “He – he understands me—“

“Buffy, I understand you, do you want to fuck me too?”

Buffy winced at the crude language used to describe her and Spike and making love. “No, it’s not about that. And you do understand, to a point. You understand because you knew Doyle and you experienced some measure of grief when he died because he was your friend too. But . . . you don’t – you’ve never really lost anyone incredibly close to you. You don’t know the thoughts that go through your head when you have – the guilt, the anger at the world, the feeling that your heart is being ripped out of your chest, and wanting to crawl out of your skin to just be able to do something instead of sitting there and remembering and wallowing . . . You’ve never had to go through that. Spike did and he talked to me about, Anya. It wasn’t as if I met him and I thought, ‘I’m going to steal him because I really like him’. He let me be free in talking about what I went through, what I was still going through and he even lets me talk about what I am still going through.” She took another breath, needing her strength to say this bit, “Anya, you just wanted me shove it away and move on as if it never happened. You got me to put all those mementos of Doyle up in the attic – all those things that I had to remember him by. Those ‘things’ were part of my life with him and I realize that I couldn’t have held onto them forever and that eventually, they did have to go, but . . . I wasn’t ready to put all that away, and you made me feel as if it were some kind of sin if I felt I needed to be close to those things that were all I had left of him.
Spike got it in a way that you couldn’t – and not just you. No one else fully got it. They just wanted me better but they didn’t want me to necessarily go through the process. And Spike was able to relate to me in that manner. He understood how it felt lose someone – two someone’s in his case – and I felt a connection there. When I realized that I was feeling something for him, I stayed away. For you. For Doyle.” Buffy pondered at that point if it was a good idea to tell Anya about the dinner with Riley fiasco and how she and Spike had kissed in the bathroom. No, that would do no good. It’d only further hurt Anya more and, since the woman already suspected that something had happened before Spike had broken up with her, that would just give her more reason to hate her. Perhaps some things were better left unsaid and just implied.

“And then he broke up with me?” Anya murmured.

“Yes.”

“Because he felt the same way.”

“Yes.”

“Are you – are you over Doyle?”

Buffy shook her head, “I don’t think I’ll ever be truly over Doyle.”

“Has he told you he loves you?”

“Yes.”

Anya looked up at her, “Are you using him to just heal, Buffy?”

“No, Anya, I’m not. Honestly, I’m a little afraid that the more I feel for Spike, the less I’ll feel for Doyle and, somehow, that will make Doyle disappear. I try not to think about that which, ultimately, I’m sure will catch up with me.”

“I’m still hurt,” Anya admitted softly.

“I know. Anya, please, can we work on this? I want to; I don’t want to lose you.”

Anya took a deep, shuddering breath and Buffy knew she was fighting tears. “Okay,” she finally said, “I want to try too. I can’t promise . . . anything right now.”

Buffy nodded, “Okay, I understand. But we try, right?”

Anya nodded once, briskly, “We try.”


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

“Well,” Dr, Mackenzie, Spike’s specialist, said moving the stethoscope off Spike’s chest, “Everything sounds fine, everything looks fine.”

Spike slipped his shirt back on, “I feel good, so that makes sense.”

Dr. Mackenzie sat down in his chair, picking up Spike’s journal. “You’re taking your meds on time, getting enough rest; your blood pressure is good . . .” He looked up and studied Spike, his eyes gray eyes, that coincidently matched his hair, were twinkling. “And, you seem in good spirits. I haven’t seen you smiling like this since, well, since just after your transplant.”

Spike grinned, “What are you saying, doc? I’ve been a sullen wanker all this time?”

Dr. Mackenzie chuckled, “Well, I wouldn’t go that far. So, who is she?”

Spike laughed, “Well, you cut right the quick don’t you?”

The older man shrugged his broad shoulders and sat back, “I’m a doctor, it’s my job to be observant.”

“I thought it was your job to diagnose and treat?” Spike teased.

“Well, I’ve observed you today Spike, I’m diagnosing you with being in love, and my treatment is to continue on that path. It looks good on you.”

“Don’t have to worry about that, doc. I plan on continuing it. And, in that end, I’ve got to ask you a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Well, not to sound like a complete ponce, but in the spirit of being in love as I am, I’m feeling the need to contact my donor family and thank them.”

Dr. Mackenzie’s eyebrows rose in surprise, “Really? You hadn’t wanted to do that before.”

“Yeah, I know, I kind of felt then that I didn’t want to thank them for their loss and my gain.”

“And now you feel differently?”

“I do,” he nodded, “I feel that maybe it’d give them hope. Maybe that way they could see that their loved one lived on in some way, and the happiness that he or she gave to them, gave happiness to someone else. I don’t want to write a sonnet about it or anything, I just want to express to them that it gave me a new life and that I cherish life that much more now.”

“Impressive. This girl has done wonders for you.”

Spike grinned mischievously, “How do you know it’s a girl?”

Dr. Mackenzie flushed and started stuttering and Spike laughed. “It’s a girl, doc. A very special girl. In fact, I’m convinced she’s an angel put on this Earth for me.”

The older doctor smiled warmly. “That’s how every man feels about the woman he loves.”

“I reckon they do. So, can you tell me what I need to do to contact the family?”

Chapter 24:

Time passed by, not slowly, not quickly, but just right. Anya and Buffy worked on mending their friendship, though it was not easy – largely because Anya did not make it easy. There were times when Buffy was ready to throw in the towel and just give up, lamenting to Spike that maybe this was the infamous impasse that some friendships had to go through; that her and Anya had reached their crossroads and had to go their separate paths.

Upon telling Faith about what Anya had said about Doyle, her ‘sister’ had flat out warned Buffy not to put her in the same room as Anya anytime soon as she was liable to knock her ‘flat on her ass.’

“Personally, I wouldn’t object,” Spike had told her.

“Why is it that you’re so against her? You dated her, remember?”

He snorted at the implication. “If you can even call it that. “

“So then what is it that has you all anti-Anya?”

“I suppose,” he told her, pulling her into his arms, “That it has to do with the things she said to you. How she used Doyle against you the way she did. Plus, the way she treated you before that – making you out to be some kind of simpleton when you most clearly are not. I don’t like the way she’s treating you now, and there’s this general sense of mistrust I feel about her being around.”

“Oh? Mistrust that she’ll . . . ?”

“I don’t know yet, I haven’t figured it out. That’s why she makes me so uneasy. Anya, in the little time that I spent with her, doesn’t seem the type to necessarily let something go. Like, if she found a way to do a sneak attack to exact her revenge, she’d take it.”

Buffy looked up at him, speculative. “You think she’s just waiting for a chance to strike? Like a cobra?”

He pecked her nose, smiling at her, “Yes.”

Snuggling into him she said, “Nah. I don’t think so. I think she’d just walk away from me.”

“Oh, kitten, that’s one of the things I love most about you. Your inherent trust in others.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing. I trust you, just think where you’d be if I didn’t.”

He chuckled, “Can’t dispute logic like that.”

Plans for the gallery showing were going smoothly and rapidly – at least in Buffy’s eyes. She was in part ready and in part extremely terrified. Bad luck seemed to follow large openings at her mother’s gallery. She was hoping, no, praying, that whatever horrible thing had to happen to somehow counteract the moment of the gallery opening, it’d happen before and not during or just before.

It seemed moments like that, the bad and tragic ones, happened without rhyme or reason though. She remembered Doyle quoting his favorite author, Oscar Wilde, once and saying that “It often happens that the real tragedies of life occur in such an inartistic manner that they hurt us by their crude violence, their absolute incoherence, their absurd want of meaning, their entire lack of style.” She remembered giggling at how true that was, and how sad.

And so, one day, as she was rifling through her mail, thinking about her plans for the day – follow up on the food with Anya, follow up with Tara on her pieces and accompany Spike to a doctor’s appointment – that she came across an envelope. An envelope with her name and address typed on the front, but no return address. Curious she opened it and imbibed the words printed out on the plain white paper:

Hi. You don’t know who I am, and I don’t know who you are. I kind of wanted to keep it that way. If I knew exactly who you were, I know I’d want to track you down and see you in person, largely, I think, to see if you were all right.

There is no easy way to say who I am; my name does not matter in such a case. In fact, after learning what it is I have, my name is of no consequence at all and will not be remembered. All you will remember is that I was the recipient of a heart; a heart that was donated to me by your loved one.

I really don’t think there was an easy way to say it, and I want to apologize profusely for how abrasive that may have sounded.

The purpose of this letter was not to hurt you, or make you upset, but instead to thank you, to thank your loved one. I was dying, slowly, before I received my new heart. My future was, for all intents and purposes, grim. I had none, basically. And now . . . now I have a new life.

Nothing can compare to what it’s like to suddenly feel as if you have a whole new life before you. That you have a ‘do over’. With that do over, you want to do right by yourself, by your loved ones, and by the one that gave you that new life.

I know that without the heart that I was given, I would not be in the place I am now: the place of peace, happiness, and of being in love for the first time in my life.

My intent with this letter was not to bring pain to you. It was instead to give you thanks and to perhaps give you hope and assurance that in another, your loved one lives on.

Blessing and Thanks.

If Buffy had to note when the tears started, it was right after she read that someone out there, had Doyle’s heart. The tears fell and stained the letter she held loosely in her hand. It wet the paper in her hand.

She thought of Doyle, living on in another. The thought didn’t comfort her as the person who wrote the letter wished. It instead made her think that somewhere out there was part of her husband and she had no idea where. And it wasn’t the same as having his kidney or liver . . . it was his heart and that was different. It was just different. It was Doyle’s kind, loving and considerate heart.

She wanted to know the recipient’s name, she wanted to see him or her. Wanted to touch the place that held her husband’s heart. What she would do after that, she did not know, only that she felt she’d know if she got the chance to simply do it.

Her next thought was of Spike. She wondered if he’d ever contacted the family of his donor and, despite how happy she was that he was alive and had a new life, she wanted to warn him the pain it could cause that family.

She felt numb, which belied the tears falling freely down her face. In her heart she knew that this was the reason why Doyle donated his organs. He wanted to be able to help others, and what better way to help someone than by giving them a heart; a new life?

“Buffy?”

Her head jerked to the sound of Spike’s voice coming in, and she hastily wiped at her tears, stuffing the letter in the envelope. “I’m in here!”

She didn’t look at him, not immediately. She wanted to gain some semblance of control; didn’t want to worry him and wasn’t ready to delve into this new development. She wanted to find a way to come to terms with it on her own before she shared.

However, she should have known the kind of man Spike was. The kind of man that was so in tune and devoted to her, that he knew at once, just by stepping into the kitchen, that something was wrong.

“What’s wrong?” he asked immediately.

She shuffled her mail, “Nothing.”

He grabbed her arm and turned her toward him. She looked down. “I was just having a moment.”

“What happened?”

She shook her head, “Spike, don’t—“

“Dammit, Buffy, tell me what’s wrong!”

Bottom lip quivering, she reached for the letter and handed it to him. She watched with watery eyes as he tore the envelope open and then watched as he paled before her.

“Oh God,” he whispered and dropped the letter, stumbling back, his eyes wide with horror.

She knew he’d feel something about it, but not to that extent. “Spike?”

He shut his eyes, and she noticed he was breathing heavy, and sweating. “Buffy,” he whispered brokenly, “I’m so sorry.”

Something was starting to click inside her head, pieces were clicking in her brain and she stared at him. “Spike.”

He opened his eyes then, stared at her with pain evident in his eyes, so clearly evident it was as if someone had come in and stabbed him in the back as she stood before him. His eyes filled with tears, “It’s me,” he croaked out. “I have Doyle’s heart.”

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