CHAPTER 11 -- Congratulations

Their bodies intertwined when they walked in the door. After their talk, Spike and Buffy had enjoyed the night out together, sharing each other’s meal and splitting a layered chocolate cake for desert.

He nudged her against the doorframe with his hips, his mouth never ceasing it’s assault on hers. He pulled back to study her face, his lips parted and panting. With a slow, deep grind of his hips both their eyes unfocused and drifted closed. Her leg lifted, hitching up her dress, dragging up and down his leg. Through the thin material of her dress, he teased her breasts, lightly outlining them with his fingertips, memorizing every curve -- categorizing every detail in his head to be remembered when she was out of his arms and in his brother’s bed. But now, right now, she was his. When he was done with her she wouldn’t be able to remember her own name, let alone the name of her steady beau.

“Bedroom,” she breathed. Spike nodded enthusiastically, grabbing her behind and lifting her off the floor, her legs wrapping around his waist.

He carried her up the stairs, pausing every few steps to push her against the cream colored wall, attacking her mouth and lifting her dress up even higher. They hushed their moans as they passed by the closed bedroom doors of the upstairs hallway. Reaching Spike’s bedroom, he slammed her against the door, and she giggled, shushing him. She reached behind them, twisting the doorknob. They stumbled across the room and he dropped her on the bed, landing on top of her, his mouth never leaving hers.

“Mmmmm . . . Spike . . .” she tried to push him off her, “The door.” Spike growled at the interruption and pushed off the bed, closing and locking the door before returning to Buffy.

She was sprawled out on his bed, her hair splayed across his sheets. She smiled at him, curling a strand of gold in her fingers and running a hand up and down her stomach.

He crawled up her body with the grace of a panther, lowering himself to playfully lick her neck. The giggle he was rewarded with encouraged him and he tongued her neck, collarbone, and earlobes more enthusiastically. She ran her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. Balancing himself on his knees, he kept at her neck while he drifted his hands to the hem of her dress. He grounding himself into her, then lifted up off her. Her hips raised in response, searching to reestablish the contact. This gave him the opportunity to lift the dress up and over her hips. Buffy continued a tantalizing wiggle against him as he worked the rest of her dress up and off. His jacket and shirt went next, followed by his pants, leaving Buffy in just her bra and panties.

Spike applied his tongue to one nipple, and when her body arched off the bed, he snuck his hand under her back and unclasped her bra. Spike brought the straps down her arms, but she clutched the front material to her breasts.

“Come on, baby, lemme see,” he nuzzled at her arms.

Buffy smiled, spreading her arms up and over her head. Rubbing his dick over the thin material of her cotton panties, he attacked her breasts.

“Spike,” she whimpered.

He slid up her body, his mouth close to her ear, “Shhhhhh, soon, my love, soon.” He slid her panties down her body, tossing them to the far end of the room. With any luck, she wouldn’t be able to find them later.

“I . . . have a request,” Buffy said between pants.

Spike never took his roaming eyes off her body, “Anything princess,” he answered.

She brought his face to look at hers, a mischievous smiles on her lips, “I wanna be on top.”

A slow smirk spread across his face and he rolled over, exposing every gorgeous naked inch of himself with abandon. She took a moment to appreciate the carve of his abs and hip bones before gamely throwing her leg over his hip.

She looked down at him with innocent eyes, “Ready?”

He smiled at her flirtation, “You know I am.”

With a deep sigh of satisfaction, she sunk down onto him. “God, Buffy,” he ground out, gripping her hips, keeping her steady as he collected himself.

But Buffy wasn’t moving anywhere as the position allowed him so much deeper than their first time in the kitchen and she sat still adjusting to his girth as he stretched places in her she’d never known existed. She experimentally squeezed her inner muscles and smiled at Spike’s groan. She did it again, harder this time, and got the same result. She giggled.

Spike quirked and eyebrow, “What?”

She placed pressure on her hands at his chest and smiled, “You’re basically at my mercy, aren’t you?”

His face grew serious. He reached up, twirling the end strands of her hair. He gazed into her eyes, “I’m always at your mercy,” he said softly. “‘Fraid I always will be.”

Buffy’s face sobered at his confession. The tension of his words overwhelming her, she raised up off him and slammed down hard, erasing both their minds of his words and any thoughts before or thereafter.

She continued to ride him and their moans and cries grew in volume and intensity.

“Come on baby. You’re so close, I can feel it. Come for me, ugh, yeah. Squeeze me baby, ride me hard.”

“Spike,” her head lolled around her neck as she desperately rode him out.

Watching her face, he reached down with his thumb, pressing down on her clit and rubbing in a slow circle. She was so very close and just needed something to throw her over the edge. Spike wound his hand in her hair, bringing her down roughly to his lips. That did it. She broke away and came hard, collapsing on his chest, he hammered into her sopping pussy then stilled as he shot his cum deep into her hot channel.

Spike rolled them over on their sides. He ran his fingers through her sweaty hair, “My goddess,” he whispered to her. Her lips curled into a sated smile. He brushed feather light kisses onto her eyelids, “Come on, beautiful, open those eyes for me.” She blinked them open to his own blue orbs. “God how I love you,” he breathed.

They lay facing each other. Spike ran his fingers over her face, she ran her hands up and down his arms. One of her legs was thrown over his hip. She nestled her head under his chin and he inhaled deeply her fragrance.

They fell asleep curled up into each other’s arms.

_________________________________________


He woke up alone.

That afternoon, Buffy entered the front door from her afternoon of shopping. Removing herself from her light jacket, Marge was there to catch it as it fell off her shoulders. Buffy turned around with a smile, “Hey, Marge.”

Marge’s response was formal, “Ms. Summers,” she greeted back. The older woman’s face held none of the sparkle it had in the kitchen. Her mouth was set and jaw clamped. Buffy was about to ask what was wrong, when she caught Marge’s agitated glare in the direction of the main parlor.

Buffy turned to follow her gaze and was startled at what she saw.

There had to be fifty people in the room, at least. But Buffy didn’t know a single one of them. Why was there a party and she hadn’t heard about it? Granted, she didn’t even try to keep up with the business goings on of the Giles family, but she assumed Marge or someone would have mentioned it, or Buffy would have seen them making such a large meal.

Buffy received a slight shove from Marge. A look at the cook revealed nothing. Buffy took a few hesitant steps into the room. A banner reading, “Congratulations On Your Engagement” was hung over the fireplace. Everyone was in their black-tie party clothes. Not one of them acknowledged Buffy’s existence.

Angel’s face suddenly appeared before her. Buffy became less startled, glad to see a familiar person. Buffy looked around at her surroundings, “Who’s getting married?”

“You hopefully,” Angel replied.

“What?” she asked, her eyes wild. “Angel . . .” but she was interrupted by a tizzy of spoons against clanging glasses, led by Angel, gravitating everyone’s attention to the couple in the doorway.

In front of fifty-six of his father’s friends and business partners, Angel bent down on one knee and offered a velvet box to Buffy. He opened it to reveal a Tiffany Legacy diamond engagement ring. “Will you marry me?”

“Did she say ‘yes’?” someone from the crowd yelled. Everyone laughed.

“She’s be a fool not to,” another answered.

Angel laughed at their comments and slipped the ring on her finger. “Is that a yes then?” Buffy looked around the room cautiously and considered her options. She couldn’t say no in front of all these people. She agreed to move in with Angel and led him to believe she was nobody but his. She had a responsibility to him. She nodded her answer. Angel rose from the floor and hugged his future bride. In the background Buffy heard champagne corks and clinking glasses.

Buffy looked at her fiancée, “Angel, I need to talk to you,” but she was interrupted as Travers approached them.

“There are the two lovebirds.” The way he said it sounded doubtful and demeaning. His head lowered, looking at them like he was scolding two children, “I was wondering how much time we had until it reached this point,” he finished distastefully.

“Daddy . . .” a blonde woman in a revealing red sequined dress slipped her arm through Travers’s. She looked about the same age as Buffy.

Travers smiled at his darling offspring, “Darla, dear, I was just congratulating the happy couple on their engagement.”

Darla whipped her head, her eyes examining Buffy critically, “Hello,” she offered her hand in a way that insinuated that Buffy should kiss it, “You must be Buffy. I’m Darla,” she glanced at Angel, “One of the many he left in his wake on his road to you.”

“A move that shocked us all, you can imagine,” Travers commented. He looked past Buffy and Angel, “Speaking of things that disconcert me, here’s one now, William . . .” he grabbed Spike’s arm as he passed by, bring him into the conversation. “Don’t you want to congratulate your brother?”

Spike jaw twitched, his eyes boring into Buffy’s. “Hope your both very happy together,” he replied unemotionally. Buffy wasn’t sure what she wanted Spike to have said, but her stomach dropped at his reaction, felt as if she was slapped in the face.

Darla slid her arm around Spike’s, “William, can you show a girl a good time?” She asked, glancing at Angel.

Spike considered the couple in front of them quickly, his face unreadable, “Sure thing, luv.” He led her off into the crowd. Buffy could see him hand her a champagne flute.

Buffy was soon pushed out of the way as more people crowded Angel to offer their congratulations. Being rejected from her own engagement party, Buffy wandered into the kitchen, deserted as all the workers were out serving food in the main room. She gasped as a hand wrapped around her upper arm and yanked into a food closet.

She whipped around as the door closed behind them. It was Spike. The unemotional show he had put on at the party was gone, replaced by eyes that held dark circles and a desolate face with raw longing. “You can’t marry him.” A tear ran down his face. “Please, sweetheart, don’t.” Spike’s voice trailed to a whisper, “They’ll break you.”

Buffy’s heart broke at his despairing plea. She took his face in her hands, forcing him to look into her eyes, “No they won’t,” she said determinedly. “They won’t break me because you have me.” Her own voice strained, “I’m strong if your with me.”

“Mine,” he whispered.

“Yours,” she answered.

He kissed her desperately. She wound her hands into his hair, clutching him to her. He fumbled quickly with the buttons of her blouse. Her body responded to his possessiveness as her panties grew wet for him.

He pushed her jeans off her hips without even lowering the zipper. He was all the way inside her with one thrust. He calmed instantly at the feeling of her surrounding him. Her head fell back against the wall, reaching under his shirt, clinging to him, when he began thrusting. They quickly came together with soft cries.

They stood, foreheads resting against each other’s, catching their breaths. Buffy’s mind fumbled, trying to remember where this all had started. Was it the day he got off his bike and walked in the door? Or was it the night with the cooks in the kitchen? Somewhere along the line, the track she was on got off it’s set course. At times it was fine with her, the unexpected turn her life had taken. But as she contemplated Spike’s passion and confessions, she couldn’t see the end result of their coupling. And that scared her. With Angel, she knew exactly who she was with him and how life was going to turn out -- the white picket fence and the 2.5 kids, this she knew for certain. But with Spike, the future was hazy.

She interrupted the thick silence, adjusting her clothes, not looking at Spike, “Better get back out there. Angel will be looking for me.” She began working on the buttons of her shirt.

Spike was silent for a moment, but he stilled her hands’ movements, “Do me a favor, luv?” Buffy looked into his face and nodded in consent. His eyes turned stone, his voice lowered to a deep growl that scared her and gave her chills. He grabbed her left hand roughly, lifting the engagement ring up to her, “Take the rock off when we fuck. Scratches the hell out of my back.” With that he stormed out of the closet, leaving her alone.

TBC

CHAPTER 12 -- Everything

Author's Note: Thank you, thank you to every single person that review, I'm very grateful. And just so you know, I'm not big with the never-ending angst, so if you're a little irked about last chapter and this one, just hold on, next update will let up some of that "Ahhhhhhhh! Stupid Buffy!" feelings you may have.

Oh -- Question: I read a fanfic I absolutly adored, then I lost it and can't find it again. I swear it was called "Curiosity" (but that maybe wrong) It was about Buffy losing her husband (Angel) and now she's been working for Spike, who seems to have a new fiancee every week. She has a crazy need to have a baby, and he needs someone to pose as his girlfriend in a family wedding. Spuffy results. I can't remember who wrote it, what site I found it on, and what book it was based on. If anyone can help me, my sanity would thank you for it. If you have any idea, please leave a review with any info you may have on it. I'll update crazy early if I get an answer! Thank you!

Buffy left her bedroom before six o’clock the next morning. Rubbing her eyes and sighing she started down the hallway. She planned on catching a quick breakfast downstairs before heading out to explore the city a little more. The sound of footsteps from the other end of the hall caught her attention. It was too early for almost anyone else in the house to be awake. Buffy knew for a fact that the kitchen crew didn’t start breakfast until a quarter to seven.

She turned to see Spike at the end of the hall closing his bedroom door behind him. Not noticing her, he fumbled with the keys in his hand, his head down as he began walking down and hall. Sensing someone openly watching him, he glanced up and halted. They stood staring at each other. Spike took a hesitant step forward, looking to be about to say something, his eyes soft and imploring, words of forgiveness on his lips. But it was a mere second before the beautiful eyes Buffy had dreamed of the night before hardened for her again in cold hatred. She gasped at the disgusted look on his face.

He shook his head and continuing toward the staircase. He wore his long leather jacket, helmet tucked under one arm and a duffel bag in the other. He looked exactly the same as the first time Buffy saw him. She closed her eyes, composing herself for a moment, before continuing her own trek downstairs.

Although the staircase leading to the first floor was wide enough to allow a herd of elephants down it, Buffy and Spike stopped abruptly as they both touched the banister at the same time.

“After you, Princess,” Spike ground out.

Buffy kept her eyes on the ground, not letting herself look into those dagger eyes that scared her, “No,” she said quietly, “You go ahead.”

“I wouldn’t want to keep you from your betrothed,” he replied, making a gesture for her to descend.

Buffy whipped around, looking at him with hurt eyes, “Why are you talking to me this way? You never talked to me like you do everyone else.”

Spike let out a bark of laughter, “Excuse me, luv. I thought you were someone else then. Now I know better.” He flung himself past her down the stairs.

“This place is not what you think it is,” he spoke as she followed him. “You’ll marry him, shoot out a few puppies, and then ten, maybe twenty years from now, you’ll look at your life and wonder what the hell happened? What happened to what you wanted? You’re desires, your interests? You might think your relationship with Angel is a two-person deal, but it’s not. You’ll be a trophy wife, make no mistake. It’ll be about you furthering his career and his desire for the bitch goddess success.”

“It’s not like that with me,” she shook her head, ignoring all the evidence that proved otherwise.

Halfway down the staircase he turned, pinning her with his gaze. The hatred was gone, replaced by gut-wrenching pain, “You’ve already sacrificed your childhood home, your mother’s memory, your love of art . . . .” He tilted his head, “When does your compromising end and his begin?”

Buffy opened her mouth -- she wanted to tell him that she was sorry while tears poured down her face. She wanted to apologize for everything getting so fucked up. She wanted him to hold her, tell her they’d fix everything, put things to the way they should have been. But all the things she tried to convey were interrupted when a young woman, one of Giles’ many secretaries, passed them on the stairs. The spell was broken and the couple quickly cleared their faces of any ruminants of the emotional conversation they were immersed in just seconds earlier.

“Oh, Buffy,” the woman spoke, oblivious to the tension in the room, “Congratulations on your engagement! I heard all about it! You’re so lucky to have found Angel, he’s a wonderful man!” Buffy’s face remained emotionless. “Can I see the ring?” Buffy furrowed her brow at the woman, glancing a quick view of Spike before mutely thrusting out her hand.

Buffy’s eyes began to water as the woman gushed over the ring, the secretary’s face nothing but smiles. It was wrong -- the whole situation. It shouldn’t be Angel’s ring she was looking at. The woman continued to praise Buffy’s fiancée. If the secretary loved him so much, why didn’t she marry him? Or perhaps one of the other ten thousand women on the grounds. Buffy was more than certain Darla Travers would be more than willing to take her place.

The secretary sighed wistfully, letting go of Buffy’s hand, “I better get going -- gotta type up those contracts!” She smiled brightly at them both and walked down the stairs, disappearing into a downstairs office.

Spike rolled his eyes, pushing away from the wall he was leaning against, and trotting down the stairs.

“Spike, wait!” Buffy called, clamoring down the stairs after him.

Spike turned back to face her, “Buffy, why won’t you let me go?” His eyes were pleading, and his question meant more than just the physical freedom he asked for. For the first time she noticed the black circles under his eyes, their color dull. Buffy couldn’t remember him looking that worn when he had first arrived.

“I’m not ready for you not to be here,” she replied softly.

His reaction was not what she expected. His eyes narrowed, “So that’s how you want it? My dick and his money? Sorry, luv, it doesn’t work that way.”

“Spike . . .”

Spike shook his head, “I’m not your whipping boy anymore. You’re going to have to find another whelp to scratch your itches.”

He continued to storm through the foyer, Buffy on his heels. She followed him outside onto the porch, where she stayed while he continued to his motorcycle parked in front of the house.

“Where are you going?” she exclaimed.

“To clear my head.” He mounted his bike, shoving on his helmet, and drove off down the driveway.

Buffy closed her eyes and took a deep breath, shuffling back into the house and into the kitchen.

To her surprise, the cooks were all in full force, scrambling expertly around the kitchen cracking eggs, frying bacon, and pouring tall glasses of orange juice. But their usual cackles of laughter and constant chatter was not present this morning. Buffy barely noticed as she slumped into a chair.

Marge nodded to Sue, who threw a plate of sausage down on the counter in front of Buffy, never laying eyes on her. At the clanging of the plate, Buffy glanced up, startled. She took in the ladies in the room, each one’s movements strained. Not one of them would make eye contact with her.

Realization dawned on Buffy, “You heard us, didn’t you?”

Sarah continued to violently beat the pancake batter, “Heard what? The fucking or the argument?”

Buffy’s jaw dropped, “How dare you! I made no promises! To him or you!”

“I can’t look at you right now,” Sarah dropped the bowl she was holding onto the counter and marched out of the room.

Marge glanced to where the cook had disappeared, then turned to address Buffy, “You have to excuse her, she thought you were different.”

“I am!” Buffy exclaimed.

“No. No your not,” Marge insisted. She wiped her hands on a dish towel, “You disappointed us Buffy.” Buffy moved to object, “You disappointed us because you proved to be human.” The rage that had been building up inside Buffy instantly deflated. “Don’t misunderstand, we feel very protective of William. For years he has been our world. And we put everyone he chooses to be in company with through a very difficult standard test. But there’s something about you Buffy, that we found so very perfect for William that we put you on a sort of romantic pedestal.” She examined Buffy thoughtfully, “I think it was your strength. I’m not going to lie to you, we did hope something would happen between you two. But then somewhere things went wrong, didn’t they? Real life got in the way. I suppose it was inevitable.”

“Oh God, I can’t do this,” Buffy wound her fingers tightly through her hair.

“So, Buffy, life has thrown you a curve. Question is, what are you going to do?”

Buffy sighed and began rattling off the arguments for both sides, sounding like she had done it thousands of times before, “Angel finally let me into his life -- I can’t betray him. He was the first man I’ve ever loved and he supported me in the most difficult time in my life. It’s not just a twisted sense of duty that caused me to say yes to Angel’s purposal. I love him, and I thought what I had with him was it.”

“And William?”

“I can’t ignore what I feel for him. I thought what I had with Angel was it -- the love that lasts forever. But the emotion and the . . .” she blushed slightly, “passion with Spike, is something I didn’t know existed. But if I throw away everything that is dependable and stable and my relationship with Spike implodes, then what?” Buffy sighed, standing up from the kitchen seat.

“Oh, Buffy, I almost forgot.” Buffy turned around and looked at Marge questioningly, “I think you left something here a couple nights ago.” On her fingertips dangled Buffy’s underwear. Buffy turned a flaming shade of red, snatching them away. “And anytime you would like to use the kitchen to . . . Ah . . . Spend some time with William, the two of you have my blessing.”

TBC

CHAPTER 13 -- Tangled

Author's Note: Thank you sooooooo very much to everyone who tracked down Palerider's "Curiosity" for me! Demona424 found it at http://forever.hybrid-genesis.com/fictions/finished/palerider_curiosity.html if anyone's interested!

Buffy didn’t sleep well that night. She had tossed and turned, stirring at every sound coming from downstairs, wondering whether it was Spike. Of course, it hadn’t been. She had finally fell asleep next to the rock that was her fiancée around four in the morning. Buffy wasn’t sure Spike ever came home. Not knowing he was in the house, near her, made her uneasy. She had tried everything -- a walk around the neighborhood, a visit to a local cafe, she had even tried to read a book from the Giles’ vast library. She had picked up a book a poetry by an author that she vaguely remembered being mentioned in high school. Flipping through the pages, she had come across a poem that sounded very familiar. It was one Spike had recited from memory to her late one night in bed. In a frustrated huff, Buffy slammed the book and set it far away from herself, trying to force away her Spike-filled thoughts with it.

She couldn’t even go in the kitchen -- not anymore. Not with the looks she got that pressured her and ran the guilt she had even deeper. She had to stop herself a number of times from seeking out the kitchen staff, asking if they knew when Spike was coming back.

Wandering through the upstairs hallway, she heard voices coming from Giles’ office. The door was slightly ajar and Buffy strolled towards the hushed sounds, she peered through the crack in the door. Seated at the desk was Angel, gathered around him was Travers and Giles. All three were staring at some papers on the desk in front of them and didn’t see Buffy standing outside the door.

Angel addressed the two men, mid-conversation, “I understand that . . . but what if we moved back the sign-over?”

Travers balked at the idea, “Moved back the sign-over, are you mad?”

Giles cleaned his glasses, “Maybe Liam has a point. If we had the wedding first it would give him a more substantial background when the firm is given to him. Family man and blooming businessman. We can have the wedding at the country club. That’s where your mother and I got married, it would give the message of tradition. That would mollify the fears of the older Senior Partners and it would simply look trendy to the younger generation.”

Travers slapped a hand down onto Angel’s shoulder, “Yes, but what if this marriage isn’t what the boy truly wants. Think about it -- you’ll have a multi-million dollar company at your fingertips. You’ll be the bachelor of the century! You’ll have planes, sailboats, and trips to Martha’s Vineyard in your future. If this marriage fails, the entire country will hear all about it.” He gave Angel a grave look, “Hand over the company before you hand over your freedom.”

Angel turned to his father, “That does make sense, dad.”

Giles sighed, “What ever you like, Liam. It’s your life, no one else’s.”

“What about mine?” The three men looked startled towards the doorway. Buffy stood, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed.

“Buffy,” Angel greeted as if he was not just planning their future without her, “How long have you been standing there?” Nervousness tinged his last sentence.

“Long enough,” she answered, strolling into the room, dangerously calm.

His voice dropped, strained, “You should have said something.”

“Oh, I think you were planning my wedding just fine without me,” she replied.

“Buffy I . . .”

She interrupted him, “Did you know that ever since I was a little girl,” she toyed with some books sitting in a pile on a table in the middle of the room, “I’ve dreamed of being married in the church my grandmother was married in.” She continued to pace around the room, “It’s a gorgeous chapel. Stained glass windows and an aisle a mile long. I always thought daisies would make a wonderful spring wedding flower. But, you probably already arranged for roses, they would better ’give a message of tradition,’” she looked pointedly at Giles as she repeated his words. He had the decency to look at the floor.

Travers, the only one in the room who truly recognized the fury boiling underneath Buffy’s cool exterior, gave Angel a warning glance, “Perhaps you should tell your girl here, to keep out of business she knows nothing about.”

Buffy ignored Travers and sent her glare to her betrothed, “Angel, I need to see you now -- alone -- without your handlers.”

Angel clasped his hands in front of him, “Buffy, whatever you can say to me you can say in front of them.”

Buffy’s front of confidence and assuredness faltered slightly at the intense stares of the three men in front of her. “Fine,” she took a breath, “Angel when you asked me to move in with you, you said your father would be so busy he wouldn’t even know I was here. The problem is so were you. You haven’t acknowledge my existence since we got here.”

“But the party . . .” he began, but was interrupted.

Buffy’s voice dripped with sarcasm, “Yes, the party. You were very attentive at the party -- springing such a life altering question on me with a room crowded with your friends in it. I didn’t know a single person in that room! Hell, they were celebrating my engagement before I was! You probably had a fucking board meeting concerning our marriage and how it would affect the company. Everyone here is more concerned about how you asking me to marry you would affect the company more than how it would affect me and you.”

Angel addressed her as he would a business partner, “Well, Buffy, excuse me for not spending time with you.” His voice lowered, “I thought by brother was more than covering as the welcome wagon,” he spat.

Buffy raised her head, “You’re right. I was spending practically every minute with Spike. He cared enough. He cared about me.”

Travers seemed unfazed at the turn of events, “Well that’s all very romantic of you Buffy, but what do you expect him to do? Drop his birthright for you? Give up everything he’s worked his entire life for to make you happy?”

“Spike would,” she counter with absolute certainty.

Travers scoffed, “That’s hardly comparable. What that boy does cannot stand up to the responsibility that Angel has accepted. I don’t know what your storybooks have taught you, but a relationship is about compromise. As an attorney’s wife, high on the totem pole of society, there are sacrifices you are going to have to make.”

Buffy shook her head, “I’ve compromised long enough. I was told there was a shitty side to Wolfram and Hart -- I’ll have to tell Spike that he was right.”

Giles, Angel, and Travers looked at her queerly. Angel gave her a little smirk, “Spike? Buffy, Spike left last night.”

“Yeah, I know, he went to clear his head . . .”

Giles interrupted, “No, Buffy, you misunderstand. William left . . . indefinitely.”

Buffy’s eyes darted around the three men in front of her, “What? Why?”

Travers rocked back on his heels, “The problem child of the Giles estate has found himself, as we all have found him, unworthy of this firm. He ripped up the papers giving him half the company and rode off on that disgusting bike of his.” Travers looked amused, “So, I suppose in a way, he did give up his birthright for you . . . to get away from you.” He laughed.

Buffy felt as if she’d been punched in the gut. She had never felt so alone in all her life. She had always had someone with her, to hold her hand -- first her mother, then Angel, and most recently Spike. Now, she truly felt the full weight of her mother’s death and how utterly stupid it was to base her entire life around the relationship with Angel.

That day when Spike rode off on his bike was not a “I need to clear my head” leave, but a “I need to clear myself from you forever” leave.

He said the family would destroy her. And he was right.

He was right. And he was gone.

TBC

CHAPTER 14 -- Must Get Out (Several Miles From The Sun)

One month later . . .

Buffy weeded her way through the smoky crowd, her steps consistent with the downbeat of the base. Bodies crowded the entire floor, grinding against each other to the beat of the music. Her steps were purposeful and any man that attempted to approach her quickly retreated.

She smiled when she peered through the crowd and spotted two familiar heads. Over at the table they had sat at the night Spike brought her there was Xander and Willow. As she approached the table, the song ended, plunging the crowd into a light buzz of conversation.

“Hey guys,” she said quietly, just loud enough to be heard over the noise of the Bronze.

Willow and Xander whipped around, both startled to see her. The straw Willow was sipping her fruity drink from fell out of her mouth.

“Buffy?” Willow asked. Buffy gave a nervous smile in response.

Xander glanced warily around the club, “Hey, Buff, not that we’re not glad to see you but . . . What are you doing here?”

A painful expression crossed over her features, “Where’s Spike?” Buffy prodded gently.

“Um, Buffy . . .” Willow started.

Buffy interrupted her, “Please, Will, I need to see him.” She scanned the club, “Is he here? Did he move to another city? I know he would have told you guys if he had.”

The two glanced nervously at each other, a raging debate in both their eyes -- the redhead more sympathetic to Buffy’s cause, but Xander overprotective of his friend.

Buffy turned her gaze to the brunette, “Please Xander,” her eyes begged, trying to convince him.

“Buff, you came in here, used him, and broke his heart. How do you expect us to treat you?”

“I understand what your doing. You’re protecting him. But Xander, you have to believe me when I tell you I’m different. I made a mistake -- a huge, heartbreaking mistake. I knew how Spike felt about me and I hurt him. I knew how I felt about him and didn’t tell him. And I’m so sorry.” Buffy’s voice cracked, “Please, you have to tell me.”

“Buffy, I’d be lying if I said his heart healed overnight, but he’s just starting to move on with his life. He started his own law practice in . . .” Xander froze at his slipup.

Buffy’s eyes bulged, “Where? Here?”

“I won’t let you hurt him again,” Xander replied, set on not seeing his friend go through the lowest point in his life again.

“I know, and I’m sorry . . . . He told me . . . I didn’t know . . .” She rambled as she began to break down.

“Here, Red, the wankers ran out of vodka, so you got a Rum and Coke.”

Buffy gasp at the deep rumble of the accent she hadn’t heard in a month, her eyes instantly watering. She whipped her head around, her hair flailing behind her.

He broke through the crowd, twisting his body around a couple who failed to get out of his way, a drink balancing in each hand, his eyes on the ground so not to trip.

“How can you run a bloody bar without . . .” he glanced up for the first time.

As their eyes connected the band started up again. Pure shock set over his face. Gazing into those azure eyes she’d been dreaming about for the past month, the loud music was nothing but dull buzz to her.

“Hi,” she gave him a watery smile, the word coming out as nothing more than a sigh.

“Buffy,” he breathed. Willow reached over the table and gently extracted the drinks from Spike’s fingers before he dropped them.

When a minute past and he hadn’t made a move or said anything, “I saved the house,” Buffy blurted.

He looked confused, “You what?”

“My mom’s house . . . it’s mine again.” Spike gave her no reaction and Buffy continued nervously, “I work at the gallery now. I . . . I own it actually. Well, not all of it,” she continued to ramble, “Not yet anyway. I’m not ready to run the entire place . . . but I’m learning.” Her voice became firm, “And I will own it one day, when I get enough money I’ll buy the other half.”

She took steps towards him, “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“You hair’s longer,” he remarked.

Buffy smiled at the random notice, “I remembered how much you liked it.” He reached out a hesitant hand, lightly brushing the golden strands. He’d know she hadn’t married Angel. After he left he had obsessed over the society pages, until one day when he had seen the ad announcing Angel’s marriage . . . to Darla Travers.

The shaking hand he had barely touching her face wasn’t enough. Buffy took a step closer, nuzzling her cheek into his hand, wrapping her hands around his outstretched one.

Feeling her warm skin under his fingertips, seeing her bright smile, the smell of vanilla overtaking him, was all too much. He shot his hand out, wrapping it around her waist, and pulled her flush against him, taking her lips to his.

Buffy smiled against his mouth, winding her arms tightly around his neck. With a swipe of his tongue, she let him in to explore her, kissing her more thoroughly than he ever had.

Spike pulled back, breathless, “God how I never stopped loving you.”

Buffy gave him a bright smile, giving his lips a chaste kiss before traveling up his jaw, “Love you,” she sighed contentedly in his ear. She pulled back as much as she could from his tight grip, “Let’s go away, anywhere but here, please. I’m over L.A.”

Spike smiled, running his hands over her features before intertwining them into her tresses, “Me too, luv.”

TBC

EPILOGUE -- She Will Be Loved

Author’s Note: Well, this is it! I’m glad I got it done just in time -- I’ll be leaving for school at the end of the week and hoped to wrap up this story. Thank you to every single review -- I’m so happy with the response that I got! Now, with two stories down, I’ll be purely focused on “Game of Love” (BIG Thank You to everyone who’s voting for “Game of Love” on Spuffy Archives!) Hope you like the ending -- happy reading!

The energetic pounding of tennis shoes up the porch of the house on Revelo Drive echoed down the driveway.

“Mia, my love, please don’t run up the stairs. It makes me nervous,” called her mother from the car, hands juggling the tall paper bags overflowing with groceries.

“OK, Mommy,” the blonde haired toddler answered, continuing her sprint.

“Mia!” Her mother scolded.

“But I gotta show Daddy!” the little girl called back, standing on tiptoes to reach the front door handle, flinging the door open wide and bounding inside.

“Daddy! Daddy!” she yelled, failing to use her “indoor” voice.

Her father turned the corner from the kitchen. Curled against his shoulder was a napping six month old in a blue Snoopy sleeper his Uncle Xander had bought him. The baby had a head of wispy blonde curls -- yet more evidence that he was a small replica of his daddy. The little girl’s father crouched down in front of her, “Yes, poppet?” He lovingly brushed some unruly bangs from her green eyes.

“Look what I made for you!” The four year old thrust a piece of flimsy paper at her father. On it was a series of mixed paint colors, some of them running together. Four peach circles, slightly off center of the page, stood for the head of each member of their family. Four uneven lines deviating off each “face” acted as extremities -- two arms and two leg each. Although the figure on the left looked to have a leg coming out of his or her ear.

He smiled at his little princess, “It’s the most beautiful piece of art I’ve ever seen.”

At her father’s praise, the little girl shyly tugged at her pigtail and twisted in her purple overalls, “You always say that.”

Spike smiled down at his little girl, placing a kiss on the top of her head. “Because it’s always true.” Seeing that his wife had not immediately followed their daughter into the house, he glanced out the front door. “We’ll go help Mommy get the groceries out of the car, yeah?”

His little girl dutifully took off down the stairs, wanting to be the most helpful to her mother. He settled the baby into his car seat sitting on the coffee table, leaving the front door open behind him in case he woke up, and went outside into the afternoon sun.

His wife and daughter had a sort of relay system going. Buffy would hand a light bag to her daughter, and Mia would race into the house with it, plopping it onto the kitchen table and quickly sorting through it to find any goodies her mother may have bought, particularly Gushers. Finding nothing but vegetables and some sort of meat, Mia would run back outside to grab another bag.

Stepping behind his wife, who was bent over the trunk unaware he was there, he took a moment to admire the view she presented him with, before taking his wife around the waist, pulling her flush against him. She smiled, turning her head and leaning back for a kiss.

“How was your day, sweetheart?” he asked, playfully swatting her on the backside.

She thrust a bag heavy with milk and fruit at him, giving him a sweet kiss and slammed the trunk, “We got in that Edwin Austin Abbey painting that I was waiting for. And I pretty much have everything set up for the children’s art show on Thursday. How’d the trial go today?” She asked following him into the house and around the corner to the kitchen.

He placed his bag on the table before relieving Buffy of hers, “Mr. Mayfield was found guilty on all accounts.”

Buffy smiled, hugging her husband, “Congratulations, baby.”

“Mommy! The baby’s up!” Mia was bent over the coffee table, lightly poking at her baby brother. The baby reached out, wrapping his tiny fist around his sister thumb. Mia giggled and kissed her brother, then ran out of the room.

Buffy scooped up her youngest, cradling him in her arms, cooing at him and running her fingertips over his face. The baby scrunched up his nose in response to the tickling touch, burring his head into his mother’s shoulder.

“Can we watch ‘Beauty and the Beast’?” Mia danced back into the living room, eating a Fruit Roll-Up. Her father followed into the room behind her, his own Fruit Roll-Up in hand.

“Sure we can,” Buffy answered, her daughter already popping the tape into the VCR.

Buffy curled up against her husband on the couch, his arm wrapped around her and boot stretched out rocking his son’s swing back and forth as the baby chewed happily on his teething ring. Mia lay across her father’s lap, her head resting in her mother’s.

“He’s bloody stupid, Daddy!” She pointed at the television as the movie’s antagonist flickered across the screen, a proud smile on her face.

“Yes he is, baby,” Spike chuckled, ruffling her hair. He leaned down to his wife, placing a kiss on her head “Love you,” he whispered into her hair. Buffy smiled up at him, lifting a hand to bring him down to kiss her. With that the couple settled in for an afternoon with Happily Ever After.

THE END