Eight - Near-Misses

Buffy gasped quietly into Spike's mouth as his lips played over hers. She felt him sway from side to side a bit on his weakened legs and guided him slowly backwards, her lips never leaving his. Within a short moment, they lay on his bed, hands and mouths exploring, stoking the embers of want in both of them.

Buffy sat up, straddling Spike as she grasped the hem of her white chemise and pulled it over her head. Her breasts bobbed slightly with the motion. One of his hands wrapped around the back of her neck and pulled her head down to hers once more while the other snaked between them to roll a hard nipple between nimble fingers.

"Spike," she moaned as his mouth trailed fiery-hot kisses down her throat and across her collarbone. "I want you..."

"Mmm," he agreed, nibbling on the crook of her neck. "Want you too."

Seconds later he groaned loudly as her small, warm hand wrapped around his hard cock. He panted aloud, his eyes rolling back from the feel of her skin against him, and bit his lip to regain control of himself. His left hand dipped beneath the fabric of her cotton pants, cupping her ass firmly, then curled around her hip and dipped downward between her legs.

She was dripping.

He removed his hand from her pants, tugging on the waistband. "Off," he demanded.

Her eyes locked on his as she stood up next to the bed and untied the drawstring, then pushed the pants down over her hips. They fell silently to the floor. His gaze travelled hotly over her, and hers over him, as they openly admired each other.

Heartbeats raced as she approached him, climbing back onto the bed. She straddled him again, her fingers lacing through his and pinning his arms to the bed. A Cheshire-cat grin spread on her face as she shifted her hips subtly, her slippery-wet folds coming in contact with the head of his cock.

"See," Buffy said, her teeth and tongue nipping up and down his throat, "if I hadn't left you three years ago, we wouldn't be doing this now." Her lips searched for his own, but he turned his head, her words dousing his arousal like a bucket of ice water.

He turned back to her slowly. His eyes, which had moments ago been smoldering with arousal, were cold and filled with pain. "I don't think we should do this," he said hoarsely. His cock began to soften.

She pulled back. "What are you talking about?"

"If we do this now, you'll be halfway back to New York by mornin'." He took a deep breath. "An' I don't want that."

Buffy scrambled backwards off him. "Oh... God..." she mumbled. A surge of fresh guilt tore through her. She reached desperately for her cotton pants, pulling them on and yanking her chemise over her head. One hand came up, her fingertips resting on kiss-swollen lips. "I'm sorry," she whispered, dashing from the room.

He lay in bed for a long time, in the same position he'd been in when she'd left the room. Then he grabbed a pillow, placed it firmly over his face, and screamed.

~*~*~*~*~

Spike sat at the table when Buffy shuffled into the kitchen, stretching and yawning. "Mornin', luv," he greeted, his eyes on the newspaper.

"Good morning," she replied. She headed straight for the coffee pot and poured herself a cup, adding plenty of sugar. "Sleep well?"

He glanced up. "I'd be lyin' if I said I did."

Buffy took a deep swallow of her coffee, relishing the caffeine as it rushed down her throat. "Me too." She took another sip. "Listen, about last night..."

"It's in the past, luv," he said, the paper rustling as he turned the page. "Don't worry 'bout it."

"Okay." They sat in slightly uncomfortable silence, he reading his paper, she drinking her coffee. "I'm going to start you on crutches today," Buffy said quietly.

"That's good," he replied. "Is every conversation of ours gonna be this borin' and guarded from now on?"

"Probably for awhile," she guessed. "Fresh tension here."

He rolled his eyes. "Pet, we were steeped in tension before. What makes this any different?"

"Because I feel guilty. And you were right."

"About what?"

"I probably would've been halfway back to New York this morning," she said. "Remember how I told you about Angel?"

Spike nodded.

"I left out a part." She swallowed hard and cleared her throat. "A few days after, I ran into him again. We got to talking, and he casually mentioned that I was the worst lay he'd ever had."

His jaw dropped, but he didn't say anything.

"That, of course, made me completely depressed. But that wasn't the end of my bad history with guys. My freshman year of college, I met Parker. He seemed nice enough, and we hung out a few times, and then one night we slept together. That's where a pattern began to emerge. He was gone the next morning too. I found myself a nice, normal guy to date, only problem was he bored me out of my mind. So when he left to go do some top-secret military stuff, I was prepared for it. That brings us to the night three years ago." She took a deep breath. "I decided that I wasn't going to let another man leave. So I left instead."

"Cor, luv, I'm sorry," he said sincerely.

"Not your fault," she replied. "And there's nothing I can do about it now, so I don't let it bother me anymore." She took another sip of her cooling coffee. "Man, does it feel good to finally say all of that to someone."

He offered a small smile, his attention once again falling on the newspaper.

~*~*~*~*~

Forearm crutches and Spike didn't get along.

Here he was, lying on his carpet for the fifth or sixth time since he'd gripped the rubber handles and attempted to step forward. He was breathing hard, gritting his teeth and attempting to get back on his feet.

He was slightly irritated.

So when Buffy reached down and offered to help him stand, he snapped at her. "Bugger off," he growled. "I can do this m'self, God dammit."

She stepped back immediately, hands in the air. "Okay, okay," she said soothingly. "Go for it. I'll just..." she glanced around the room, her eyes lighting on an easy chair, "... sit."

She kept a wary eye trained on Spike as he reached up and grabbed one of his bedposts in a sweaty hand, his palm sliding around on the highly-polished wood a bit as he pulled himself to his feet slowly. He looked down and glared at the crutches, wishing he had enough mobility to put on his steel-toed Doc Martens and stomp all over the offensive things.

One hand remained on the bedpost as he leaned down and picked up the crutches, setting them against the foot of his bed. He sagged onto his mattress, wiping his palms on his shorts. "I'm goin' to wait," he said, "for five minutes. An' if I can't do it then, those crutches are leavin' this house. I'll learn to walk on the bars."

"Those crutches will offer you a lot more mobility than the bars could," Buffy reminded him.

He turned an angry glare on her. "I will install railings through my entire house," he ground out, "if that's what I have to do."

"Have it your way," she said, shrugging.

His jaw tightened. "I will, thanks." His eyes lit on the crutches again. "Sod it, I'm gonna give it another go now."

Moments later he lay on the floor again. "Graaaah!"

~*~*~*~*~

"Alright, Spike, you can do this..." he mumbled to himself as he stood slowly. He clutched the bedpost for a moment, his eyes on his destination. One step. Two. His hand was still on the bedpost, but he let it go, dropping it to his side. Concentrated. Funny, walking hadn't seemed this hard the first time he learned. Thigh muscles contracted as his leg lifted and he shifted his weight forward slightly on his still-planted foot. The other foot landed solidly several inches away.

Another step. This one was a bit shaky, and he wondered when his right leg had become so much weaker than his left. His brow began to dampen slightly as he pressed forward, coming ever closer to his goal. Strong step. Weaker step. Strong step. The weaker steps became more confident and powerful, the further he walked. Faster now - pacing across the room. Almost there.

He reached out with his left hand and wrapped his fingers around the cool metal of the doorknob. Success.

"Maybe just a little bit further..." he said confidently, wiping sweat from his face with his free hand as he leaned against the door. He took a little breather, then turned his wrist and opened the door. Stepped out into the hallway.

It looked like it would be about twenty paces to the elevator. I can make it, he thought.

If anyone had seen him shuffling down the hallway, they would've had an immediate flashback to the little engine struggling up the mountain in Dumbo, as he whispered "I think I can, I think I can," over and over to himself. He was getting close now.

He found himself standing before the elevator. Triumphantly, he pressed the button. The doors opened, he stepped inside and rode down, breathing hard.

He could hear the powerful french-horn based theme from Gladiator playing in the lounge. Sharp left turn out of the elevator and into the lounge.

"Yeah!" Buffy exclaimed. "Get him! Ouch..." she winced in sympathy.

"Enjoyin' the movie?" he asked, leaning in the doorway.

She jumped slightly at the sound of his voice. "Jeez, Spike! I didn't hear you come in. Did you put WD-40 on your wheel - " she turned around, her eyes widening. " - chair...? What the hell?"

"You're the therapist," he said smugly. "What's it look like?"

She stood up. "It looks like you used the crutches and hid them somewhere," she said. She slipped by him, looking around in the hallway. "Okay, where'd you put them?" she demanded when she'd re-entered the room and reclaimed her seat on the couch.

"Where I left them when they didn't agree with me," he replied.

She quirked an eyebrow. "You're telling me you walked by yourself all the way down here?"

"With the 'elp of the elevator," he said. He hadn't changed his position since he'd first spoken.

"I don't believe you."

He rolled his eyes, pushing off the doorframe with his shoulder. Stretched his arms a bit, then started out toward her. He walked right in front of her and plopped down on the couch. "Oh, just in time for the good part," he commented as he watched Russell Crowe battle the undefeated gladiator whose showy fighting included three chained tigers. "Gotta love some gratuitous violence."

She gaped at him.

Glancing over at her, he smirked. "What?" he asked, his attention immediately re-focussed on the fight scene.

"You..." she said.

"I... what?" he prodded. "I... 'ave some food stuck between m'teeth? I... look dead sexy in this tee-shirt?" He ran a hand seductively over the medium-blue fabric at his second statement. "I... can walk?"

She opened her mouth to reply, but was struck speechless once again and her jaw snapped shut.

He chuckled, continuing to watch the climactic end sequences of the movie.

"So I guess you won't be needing much therapy anymore then," she said.

He detected a hint of sadness in her tone, but couldn't be sure whether it was directed toward him or the characters onscreen. "M'right leg is still a bit weak," he admitted quietly. "I was hopin' you could 'elp me with that."

She took awhile to respond. "Yeah," she said. "Sure."

"Good."

Am I not merciful?!

Buffy shuddered. "God, he creeps me out. He's all with the sallow, and the... intense..." she shuddered again.

"Met 'im once," Spike offered. "When I was with..." he tilted his head. "Nevermind." He stole a bit of the popcorn that she'd put onto the couch next to her when she'd stood up. "Nothin' like stale popcorn," he said as he watched the rightful emperor and the man who'd stolen his place battle in the Colosseum fight to the death.

They sat in silence for a minute, as the film ended. He was a soldier of Rome... honor him.

A few moments later, the end credits rolled. "Nothing like a guy movie with a powerful ending," Buffy said.

"How is that a guy movie?" Spike asked.

"Spike, there are two major battles, and five other fight scenes. It's a guy movie."

"So what you're sayin' is - "

"I only watched it because Russell Crowe is hot."

He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Noticing her reach for a cushion, he warned, "Don't try anythin'. I may not be able to sprint the 100 yet, but I can fight back now."

"Oh yeah?" she asked mischievously, her grip tightening around the corner of the cushion.

"Yeah," he said, deflecting her blow as she attempted to thwack him in the head. He grabbed his own cushion and soon they were both laughing raucously, pillows flying through the air.

Eight - One Night

The sound of splashing caught Buffy's attention as she walked down the hallway. She made an abrupt turn, stepping into the pool room. Her eyes immediately fell on Spike, who was doing laps. The lean muscles in his arms moved fluidly as he propelled himself forward. He turned and swam back toward Buffy, coming to a stop at the edge of the pool. "Hello, luv," he greeted. "Thought I'd work on gettin' my arm strength back."

"Spike, your arms are stronger now than they were before your accident. I think you'll be all set." She walked over the warm stone tiles and settled in a folding lounger, kicking off her sandals and curling her feet up beneath her. "Unless you plan on carrying stuff up the mountains, that is."

"Look, pet, I was the best. Now some scrawny kid from Colorado has m'title, an' I want it back."

She rolled her eyes. "He's just keeping your seat warm," she said. "You don't have anything to worry about."

"Thanks for your vote of confidence," he said as he grasped the edge of the pool hard. He lifted himself out of the water using only his arms and abdominal muscles, then flipped himself around and sat with his feet in the pool. "It's nice in there today," he said. "An' if you go for a swim, I promise I won't try to drown you." He rolled backwards onto his knees and stood slowly. "Pool's all yours," he said. "I've got some things to take care of."

~*~*~*~*~

The Mustang roared to life as the garage doors opened. "God, I missed this," Spike half-moaned, shifting the vintage convertible into gear and driving outside. He glared at the radio, which was currently playing some proto-pop song by a cloned singer, and quickly punched a button, sighing happily as his hard rock preset station blared from the speakers. He stopped at the bottom of the driveway, then squealed out into the open road, speeding toward town. Not even the flashing blue lights behind him were enough to kill his mood. He pulled over, humming happily along to the radio.

"Do you know why I pulled you over?" the officer asked.

Spike raised an eyebrow. "I'd assume it was because I was goin' eighty in a thirty-five, mate," he said. "License an' registration, right?" He removed his wallet from his pocket and pulled out his license, then opened the glove box and fished out the registration slip. These he handed to the policeman.

"You're the mountain climber, right?"

Spike nodded. "So you gonna give me a ticket or what?"

"Actually..." the policeman said. "My son is a big fan of yours. If you could just sign an autograph for him, I could let you off with a warning."

"Much obliged, mate," he said. "You got a pen an' some paper?"

"Sure." The man in blue hurried back to his cruiser, retrieving a notepad. He pulled a pen from his breast pocket and ran back to the Mustang. "Here you go," he said.

"What's your son's name?" Spike asked.

"Ryan," the officer replied.

With a flourish, Spike signed the notepad, handing the pen and paper back to the policeman.

The policeman looked at Spike sternly. "Now don't do it again," he chastised, handing the license and registration back to Spike. There was a definite spring in his step as he walked back to his patrol car and turned the lights off.

With an astonished expression on his face, Spike pulled out into traffic once more. He shook his head. "Cops," he muttered. He continued en route to his first destination of the day.

Within a few minutes he'd pulled up in front of a well-known flower shop. He strolled in, a slight limp still marring his step, and approached the owner. She looked at him appreciatively for a moment, taking in his crisp, white shirt that was partly covered by a short black leather coat, and the way his black pants fit him. When he spoke, she appeared to go weak in the knees for a moment. "Hello, luv," he said. "I'd like to buy some roses."

With shaking hands, the florist bade him to follow her toward their cooler. "What kind of roses do you need?" she asked. "We have some beautiful yellow ones, and we just got a shipment of red and cream today, fresh from the grower."

Spike's eyes wandered over the various types of flowers in the cooler before his eyes settled on the bucket of short-stemmed cream colored roses. "A dozen... no, wait, two dozen of those," he requested. "An' your most beautiful red rose."

"Would you like me to arrange them in a vase?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Just put the red one in a water pick. The others don't matter quite so much." He walked over to their display of candles. "You know where I can get twenty of these?" he asked, holding up a fat, white pillar candle.

"We get them from the candlemaker's shop on Palm," she said as she wrapped the roses.

"When do they close?" he asked, checking his watch. It was close to five.

"Five-thirty, sir," the florist said nervously. "That'll be $36.97," she said, ringing up the amount on the cash register.

Spike pulled out his wallet and handed her his credit card. After he'd signed the bill, he walked toward the exit. "Palm, right?" he asked.

"That's right," the florist said.

He tossed the roses on the passenger seat, then swung around the car to the driver's side, climbing in and starting the engine. He nearly began purring along with the Mustang. A glance in the rearview mirror revealed that he was grinning like a besotten fool. Gotta tone down the smile a bit, he thought. Don't want everyone in town t'know what 'm up to.

The drive to the candle shop on Palm was short, and as he noticed the sun's descent, he nearly sprinted into the store. The aroma of scented candles nearly overwhelmed him for a moment, but he shook it off and marched up to the counter.

"I need twenty unscented white candles," he requested. "The fat ones."

The shopkeeper looked up at his imposing presence and immediately headed for the back room, returning moments later with a sealed box. "There are twenty in here," he said. "Bulk price is four-fifty apiece."

He thought $90 was a bit steep for candles, but when he thought of Buffy naked in his bed, glowing in the candlelight, he decided they were worth every penny. His eyes were still slightly glazed as he reached for his wallet once again.

He signed the receipt and hefted the box under one arm, walking from the store. "Thanks, mate," he called as he set the box on the floor of the passenger's side. He opened his cell phone as he got into the Mustang. "'Lo, Gina? Listen, I'm on my way back up. Can you distract Buffy for a bit? Thanks. See you soon."

Despite the noise of the engine upon his return to his home, Spike managed to make it up to his bedroom unnoticed by Buffy. He took off his leather jacket and hung it in his closet, then unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled the sleeves of his white shirt up. He made short work of the tape on the top of the candle box, set the contents around the room and stuck a lighter on his dresser where he could reach it quickly later.

Next, he unwrapped the roses and started plucking the petals off the cream-white ones, scattering them about the room. The red one he laid gently on the bed. When he'd distributed the rosepetals, he left his bedroom carrying the red rose.

He took the elevator down to the first floor and entered the kitchen, where Gina and Buffy were taste-testing Gina's latest culinary masterpiece. Both women looked up and smiled, and Spike hid the rose behind his back, beckoning to Buffy.

"Go," Gina said, shoving her toward her suitor.

The blonde woman walked shyly toward Spike. "Hey."

"Hey," Spike returned. "Got somethin' for you." He smiled softly at her, producing the rose from behind his back.

Buffy's eyes widened as she looked at the rose. "It's beautiful," she murmured, taking it from him and inhaling the fresh scent. Her gaze left the flower and landed on his. "Thank you," she said.

"I could say somethin' poetic like 'a rose for a rose' but you already know you're beautiful," he said, his smile growing larger.

"But I don't mind hearing it," Buffy replied.

"Then I'll 'ave to tell you at every opportunity," he declared. He looked past her to Gina, who was trying desperately to look like she hadn't been eavesdropping. "Gina, when will dinner be ready?" he asked.

"About fifteen minutes," the middle-aged woman replied.

Spike leaned down to Buffy's ear and murmured, "That gives us time to talk for a bit." He took her free hand and led her from the kitchen into the lounge.

"Have a seat," he said, making himself comfortable on the couch. Buffy sat primly on the other end, her hands in her lap. She'd set the rose on the armrest, glancing at it every once in awhile. He gazed at her for a moment, taking in her tanned, bare legs, barely covered by her light pink slip dress, her shining, golden locks of hair that cascaded over her shoulders, and the slightly nervous expression on her face.

"I thought we were going to talk," Buffy said suddenly, turning to face him. She was struck speechless by the expression on his face.

"Changed my mind," he replied, edging closer to her. He wrapped the fingers of his left hand loosely around one of her wrists and pulled her toward him. "Come 'ere," he beseeched.

She landed stiffly on his chest, her ear pressed over his heart. His index finger slipped under her chin, nudging her face up. "Don't ever be nervous around me. I'd never 'urt you, Buffy." He dropped a feather-light kiss on her lips. "I missed the way your lips taste," he murmured, his breath tickling her cheek. His mouth returned to hers with the slightest increase in pressure and he sipped at her lips languidly, his hands at his sides so that she could pull away if she wished.

Instead she leaned into his kiss, her hands coming up to rest on his chest. She bunched the fabric of his shirt slightly beneath her fingers, sighing into his mouth as his fingers trailed up her spine. The tip of his tongue slipped out of his mouth, running along the seam of her lips and she parted them slightly, allowing him to taste her.

One of his hands trailed around her, his fingertips tracing her ribcage, before coming to rest on a pert breast. His thumb flicked over her cloth-covered nipple rhythmically as he kneaded the soft mound gently. Their mouths parted for a moment and they panted for air. Buffy gasped when Spike nipped and sucked his way down her throat, latching onto a pulse point and flicking it with his tongue. "Want you," she moaned softly.

He grunted in agreement. "Not 'ere," he rasped. "Come on." He stood shakily and took her hand in his, leading her quickly to the elevator. Once inside, he promptly pinned her to the wall and kissed her demandingly, his tongue plunging into her willing mouth. The doors opened far too soon for their liking and he tore his mouth from hers, and they hurried toward the closed door at the end of the hallway. He kissed her once more. "Wait 'ere," he said.

He slipped into the room, fumbling with the lighter for a bit before he got it to spark, then went around the room lighting all the candles. Satisfied with the candles' appearance, he opened the door wide and pulled Buffy inside. He stepped behind her, closing and locking the door, and then lifted her hair, kissing the nape of her neck.

"You planned this," she said in mock accusation. A delicious tingle shot down her spine when his lips landed on her shoulder.

"Yeah," he agreed, "I did." He turned her around to face him, then wrapped his arms about her waist and fused their mouths together once more. She arched her hips up into him, causing a strangled groan to escape his lips as his cock twitched. "God, you're killin' me 'ere..."

Spike walked them backwards toward the bed, stopping when the backs of her knees hit the mattress. He reached down and grasped the hem of her dress, whisking it over her head. It floated airily for a moment before silently coming to rest on the carpet. He gazed down at her for a moment, clad in pink lace. "Cor," he whispered harshly. "So beautiful..."

"One of us..." Buffy swallowed hard before continuing, "...is overdressed."

"Yeah," he agreed. "You." His nimble fingers set to work on the clasp of her bra, and he grinned triumphantly when he'd released it, tugging it gently away from her. Her breasts spilled free, and he dipped his head down, his mouth latching onto one pebbled nipple. His tongue bathed the puckered flesh as he sucked it, and she moaned low in her throat. "Spike..." she gasped, her fingers threading through his hair.

"Mm?" He continued to lavish attention on her breasts. His left hand slipped down her abdomen and into her panties, encountering her wet, hot flesh immediately. His hard cock jumped and he groaned again, clamping down his control.

He tugged her panties down past her knees and she stepped out of them, backing up slightly and sitting on the bed. She unbuttoned his shirt, pushing it down his arms, then released the fly of his pants. Her eyes widened as she realized he'd gone commando. He kicked his shoes off, allowing his pants to fall to the floor.

Buffy crooked one finger at him and he had to restrain himself from leaping at her and pounding her into the mattress. He knelt on the bed before her. His eyes rolled back as she traced the veins of his cock with a fingertip. "Buffy," he gasped. She took her hand away, pulling him down to lie between her thighs. His hips jerked a bit, causing his cock to rub against her slick folds, and her hands trailed down his back, her legs wrapping around his waist.

"Please, Spike," she whispered. His eyes locked on hers as he dipped his hips forward and entered her slowly. The feel of her nearly sent him over the edge and a heavy shudder racked his body.

"Don't move," he pleaded. "Just stay still for a bit."

Buffy bit her lip, willing her body to remain unmoving. After a few near-painful moments, he pulled his hips back and then thrust forward again, tentatively. "Oh my God," he breathed, slowly finding a rhythm. He thrust deeply several times, then pulled out almost completely. Holding himself completely motionless for a few seconds, he then buried himself within her again.

Tiny, panting moans were expelled from Buffy's mouth with each inward thrust. She closed her eyes tightly, lost in the sensations that thrummed through her.

"Look at me," Spike demanded. His molten blue gaze seared through her as she opened her eyes, focussing glazedly on him. He shifted his hips slightly, hitting her at a different angle, and she cried out in pleasure, her head flung back. But she didn't look away from his eyes. She clutched at his shoulderblades, panting slightly as a decadent tension began spreading through her limbs. Still, she didn't look away.

His back muscles tensed and released with his powerful thrusts. Her inner walls clenched at him spasmodically and his rhythm sped up. "Do that again," he said through gritted teeth. Squeeze. "Unnhgnaah..." he groaned incoherently, as with each stroke up into her she squeezed him.

Buffy gasped as her orgasm seemingly snuck up on her, the tension building quickly. "Spike, I'm gonna - " she threw her head back, crying out loudly as she climaxed. She bucked and writhed beneath him, her inner walls fluttering spasmodically. She was lost to him for several moments, though her gaze remained locked on his.

As she came down, he thrust hard into her one last time, his entire body trembling as he came in strong spurts within her. "Buffy," he moaned.

The powerful muscles of his arms were weak as a newborn's and he collapsed atop her, his head nestled between her breasts. He lay there for a few minutes, unable to move, then gathered all his strength and, in one smooth motion, pulled out of her and rolled onto his back. "Buffy," he whispered, pulling her close and kissing her with infinite tenderness.

She didn't respond. She was already asleep.

Ten - Gone the Next Morning

4:00, the red digits of the alarm clock proclaimed. Buffy stared at them, her eyes dry. Three hours ago, she'd awoken in Spike's strong embrace, nude and feeling sticky. She'd extricated herself from his arms, and now lay on her side staring blankly at the number face of his alarm. 4:01.

The blonde woman slipped from the bed, then plucked up his white, collared shirt and slipped it on. She allowed herself one last glance at Spike's sleeping form as she buttoned the shirt up most of the way, then crept toward the door, gathering up her clothes as she went. She froze when the door creaked loudly upon opening, staying still until she was sure the noise hadn't woken the bed's occupant.

The door was left open a crack and Buffy tiptoed down the hallway, entering her room. She tossed her clothes onto her bed, unbuttoned the shirt, and walked into her bathroom, turning on the shower taps. Stepping beneath the cascading water, she scrubbed herself mechanically. She lathered, rinsed, and repeated, then turned off the water and got out of the shower stall, the thick bath mat beneath her feet soaking up the water droplets that trickled down her nude form. Thick towelling patted her skin dry and she stared at herself in the mirror for a moment.

She walked back into her room, dressing sensibly in a pair of plain black pants and a white tank top. Black boots were slipped onto her feet, and she began packing quickly, folding her clothing haphazardly and stuffing it into her suitcases. Her picture of Dawn and herself was slipped between two thick sweatshirts and she patted the garments absentmindedly, then closed the cases. She made her bed, slipped her handbag over one shoulder, and opened her cell phone.

"Hi, I need a taxi," she said. "I'm going to LAX."

~*~*~*~*~

Spike's eyelids fluttered. His lips turned up in a tiny smile as he reached over, his arms wrapping around air and hitting the mattress. The pillow next to him smelled distinctly of Buffy, and he buried his face in it, inhaling deeply, before rolling onto his back and allowing his eyes to open.

He sat up slowly. Several of his joints were stiff, but he rotated them and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He stood and with a quick twist of his torso, cracked his back satisfyingly. As he shuffled toward the dresser, his vision still sleep-blurred, he scratched his lower abdomen lazily. He opened his underwear drawer and dug around a bit, then pulled out a pair of threadbare Ninja Turtles boxers. He put them on, swaying groggily.

The blue-eyed man then made his way over to the slightly open door. Upon entering the hallway, the scent of Buffy's shampoo immediately filled his head. He didn't hear water running, but the vanilla scent was fresh enough that he figured he could catch her naked or steal her towel.

He knocked twice, softly, then when he received no response, he opened the door and stepped inside the room. The first thing he noticed was the rose he'd given her, laying on the bedspread.

The second thing he noticed were the empty dresser drawers.

His smile faded and his mouth dropped open. She left, he realized. Naturally his reaction was slightly violent.

He took a glass water picture and hurled it across the room, where it hit the wall and shattered. The bookshelf was quickly emptied of all its contents, and the bedspread was rended in two as he tore it from the mattress and flung it out into the hallway. He disassembled the bed itself, pillows flying every which way. The slightly-wilted rose was crushed when the mattress landed atop it. His fists pounded the wall next to the door repeatedly, punching holes through the drywall with nearly every hit.

With a bestial roar, he grasped the dresser in a firm hold and toppled it, still-open drawers splintering under the weight of the frame. The momentum of the dresser's fall sent him to his knees, where the first harsh sob escaped his throat. He ground the heels of his hands into his eyes furiously, attempting to stop the tears from falling as he wept.

He barely felt the raw flesh of his knuckles and the blood trickling down his wrists. The cold, empty feeling in his heart hurt too much to notice.

~*~*~*~*~

"I need a one-way ticket to New York City." Buffy stood at the Continental Airlines ticket counter, her platinum card in her outstretched hand. "Leaving as soon as possible."

The airline employee's fingers flew over the keyboard as he scanned the monitor for open seating. "Ah," he said with a smile. "We have one opening in flight 1498, leaving in a half-hour. You'll have to run."

"I can do that. Do you take Visa?"

~*~*~*~*~

"I need a Band-aid," Spike said hoarsely, walking into the kitchen with red-rimmed eyes. He lifted his hands, palms in, to show Gina the extent of his injury.

His hands were swollen, the flesh an angry red in the unbleeding areas. It looked like he'd broken at least two fingers. "You need more than a Band-aid and some Neosporin," the middle-aged woman said. She glanced at his outfit, which still consisted of only the boxer shorts. "Put some clothes on. I'm taking you to the hospital."

He didn't move.

She placed her hands on her hips, looking at him sternly. "William Broad, if you ever want to climb again, you're going to go to the hospital. Now get dressed."

He sighed heavily, then turned and went back upstairs. He pulled a pair of jeans and a tee-shirt out of his dresser at random and put them on, then slipped on his Adidas sandals. His unbroken fingers grasped the hem of his Sid Vicious shirt, straightening it. The soles of his sandals slapped against his heels as he returned to the kitchen. "'M ready to go," he said quietly.

Gina ushered him outside, where she unlocked the doors of her white VW Golf. "Get in," she said.

Spike did as he was told, climbing into the small car. He stared out the window blankly as his housekeeper got into the driver's seat and started the engine.

~*~*~*~*~

"Attention passengers," the captain said, his voice muffled by feedback from his microphone. "We are cruising comfortably at 15,000 feet, and should be arriving ahead of schedule in New York City. We'll be landing in approximately four hours." There was a short screech of feedback, and then the intercom shut off.

Buffy shifted in her seat in business class, trying to find a comfortable position. She settled half-leaning, with her left arm on the armrest, then closed her eyes and sighed.

[The Day After Dru Left ~ Sunnydale]

The sound of a large knife slicing through celery filled the kitchen. Gina busily chopped the green stalks, humming quietly to herself.

"Then suddenly," Gina continued as if Buffy hadn't spoken, "about six months after he moved in, he started mountain climbing again. As long as he climbs, I think, he doesn't mind that old pain so much."

[End Flashback]

Buffy's eyes flew open suddenly as a sharp stab of pain twisted in her gut. She'd been guilt-free for most of the morning, and now the horror at what she'd done to Spike yet again was coming back to her forcefully.

Bile rose in her throat, bitter and thick. She clamped a slender hand over her mouth, her eyes bulging as she unbuckled her seatbelt and ran for the small airplane bathroom. She locked the door behind her, her abdominal muscles spasming, and emptied the contents of her stomach into the toilet.

~*~*~*~*~

It was difficult to take the cap off a bottle of Jim Beam with three tightly wrapped and splinted fingers. Twice, the bottle had slipped from Spike's heavily gauzed hands, landing with a dull thud on the carpet. He was about ready to open it with his teeth.

He grumbled frustratedly, then stood. His bare feet slapped against the floor tiles as he stormed into the kitchen. "Gina," he asked through gritted teeth, "can you open this?"

She took the Jim Beam from him, twisting the lid off in one smooth rotation of her hand and gave it back to him. He cradled it in his palms, unable to wrap his fingers around it. Gina looked at him disapprovingly as he took a long swig off the bottle.

"Ta, luv," he grunted, making his way back to the lounge. He flopped back onto the couch, then tipped the bourbon to his lips and guzzled down a sixth of the bottle down at once. It only hurt when he thought of Buffy. He was going to drink himself into such a stupor that he was too numb to feel the pain.

Alcohol, however, didn't do shit to prevent self-loathing.

"Must be somethin' wrong with me," the blond man decided. "Maybe 'm not... not smart enough, or strong enough for 'er." He took another swig of bourbon. "I'm beneath 'er. Gotta be my fault she left."

Halfway through the second bottle, Spike had an epiphany. "I know why you left!" he exclaimed. His inebriated grin at his discovery was soon replaced by a dark scowl. "Bloody bitch," he muttered. "Jus' because I forgot t' tell you that I love you, doesn't mean that you gotta run out on me."

An image of Buffy smiling happily flashed through his mind. "You'll be fine," he said, tipping the bottle back and gulping down more of the burning contents. "You're always fine. Never stop t' consider what you're doin' t' other people though, do you?!" He was unaware that the volume of his voice was raising steadily.

"Broke m'heart twice now, an' I let you do it. I hate you!" he shouted, his voice breaking as tears began streaming down his cheeks, unnoticed. The bourbon bottle fell to the floor, the small amount that had been left sloshing out onto the carpet. "What the bloody 'ell am I supposed to do without you?!"

Violent sobs racked his body as more memories of the blonde beauty who'd torn his heart to shreds twice in three years came to him. "Why did you do this to me?" he whispered brokenly. "I love you..."

He glared at an unseen person across the room, wiping furiously at his tears. "I shouldn't have t' tell you that I love you!" he spat bitterly. "Bloody bint..."

He curled his unbroken fingers, then reached up and clawed at his chest, nearly rending the thin material of his tee shirt. "I gave you my heart, my fuckin' soul, and you ripped 'em away like they were nothin'! You - " he stood, picked up the Jim Beam bottle, and flung it against the opposite wall in one smooth movement, " - bitch!"

A feral scream erupted from his mouth even as his legs collapsed and he crumpled to the floor as fatigue - both emotional and physical - and the alcohol that he'd ingested stole his consciousness.

~*~*~*~*~

It was one in the morning. Buffy lay awake in her own bed, curled into a fetal position. The lack of Spike's scent on her sheets nearly caused her to burst into tears. She rolled over onto her back, rubbing her eyes, then turned her head and glanced at her bedside phone, wondering if she should pick up the receiver.

Nobody would be up to talk to her at this hour.

She drew her legs up, rolling onto her side again. Flopped over and landed on her back. Punched her pillow twice for good measure. After an hour of sleepless tossing and turning, she got out of bed, pulled on her robe, and toed into her slippers. She shuffled into the kitchen, then turned on the coffee pot that she'd had all set for the morning. Might as well stay awake if she couldn't sleep.

Work... was a different question. She wasn't expected in the office for another day, but she thought if she didn't do something work-related, she'd - "Go insane," she mumbled. "Oh great, Buffy. You're talking to yourself."

She glared at the coffee maker, wishing it'd percolate a little faster. "Percolate's a funny word." She opened the refrigerator, scanning its meager contents, and realized that if she wanted food she'd have to order in. "Per-co-late," she enunciated.

"Hello?"

Buffy hadn't even realized she'd picked up the phone and dialled until Dawn's voice, hoarse and sleepy, filtered through the receiver. "D-Dawnie?" she stuttered. Is that my voice?

Across town, Dawn sat up in her bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "Buffy? Where are you?"

"I'm in my apartment," the blonde half-whispered. "Did I wake you?"

The tremor in Buffy's voice caused Dawn concern. "No," she lied. "What's wrong?"

"I just needed to... to talk to someone," Buffy replied. "I think I might have broken him for good..."

Dawn knew immediately who her sister spoke of. She'd gotten a phone call from a drunken, enraged Spike earlier in the day, demanding to know where Buffy had gone. It was during the call that he'd blurted a declaration of love for the brunette's sister. Still, she asked, "Broken who?"

"Spike..." the blonde sniffled.

Over the last few years, Dawn had acquired the skill of dressing while still having a telephone conversation. "What happened?" she asked as she tied her shoes.

"I..." Buffy said, emotion closing off her throat. "I don't think I can tell you over the phone..."

"I'll be right over," Dawn said as she slipped her coat on. She grabbed her keys and tiptoed over to the bed, kissing a sleeping Carlos' temple before leaving the room.

Fifteen minutes later, as Buffy stared blankly into her mug of fresh coffee, her doorbell rang. She stood and walked over to the door, letting Dawn in. The sisters embraced warmly, causing Buffy to start sniffling again.

The brunette stepped back. "Okay, what's wrong?" Dawn asked sternly, shrugging out of her coat. She walked into the living room, plopping down tiredly onto the couch.

"Where do you want me to start?" the older Summers sister asked with a mirthless little laugh.

"Usually the beginning's a good place," Dawn replied.

"Three years ago - that night you set Spike and I up, I didn't go back to my apartment," Buffy began. "We both got a little too drunk, and I ended up sleeping with him."

"I knew that," Dawn said.

"I think he fell in love with me that night," the blonde said. "All the flowers, and he kept trying to see me, and... I just pushed him away... and that's not even the worst part. Gina said that he'd been over whoever had broken his heart for about a month when I showed up to start therapy. And the chemistry was there, as if I hadn't ever left him, Dawnie."

Tears began streaming freely down Buffy's cheeks now. "We slept together," she said, "last night. And this morning, I packed up and left. And I know how wrong it was, how wrong I was, and - "

"Do you love him?" Dawn asked softly.

Buffy looked up in shock.

"It's... it's okay if you do. God, I'd be thrilled, I've been trying to get you two together for such a long time, and - "

"I do," Buffy whimpered, wrapping her arms about her waist. "I love him, and I left him, and... and nothing feels right without him here..."

Dawn nodded in understanding.

"Don't say you forgive me," Buffy pleaded. "Don't look at me like you understand what it's like to break his heart twice, don't tell me it's okay." She buried her face in Dawn's lap and the brunette's eyes widened momentarily before her hands came up to stroke her sister's hair. "Please, don't forgive me..." she sobbed.

Eleven - Repercussions

One Month Later

Spike flexed his fingers, then cracked his knuckles. Faint white scars crisscrossed the backs of his hands and they rippled slightly as he got a firm grip on the first handhold of the climbing wall, preparing to hoist himself upwards. He lifted his left leg, stepping up onto a foothold. A powerful contraction of his thigh, visible through his black exercise pants, propelled his body toward the next grip. He pressed his hips inward, retaining his balance, and moved to the next grip, then the next one.

Halfway up the flat part of the climbing wall, he gripped a handhold and it snapped off. "Bloody - " he exclaimed, dangling from his right arm. The tendons in his forearm twitched and jerked as he swung himself across the surface of the wall, hoping desperately that he'd grab a non-breakaway grip. The fingers of his left hand curled around an outcropping of fake stone and held. The outcropping stayed fast. His rubber-soled climbing shoes dug into the wall, finally finding purchase on two small sections of the wall.

Now came the hard part.

Directly above Spike's head, the climbing wall tilted forward at a 45º angle. If he could make it up over the ten feet of wall that would have him leaning backwards, halfway upside-down, then he'd be home free. The tilted stretch of the wall, however, would cause him to rely almost solely on the power in his back and legs. He gritted his teeth, a determined look in his eyes. Moving carefully, he maneuvered upwards, keeping his hips arched toward the wall to prevent himself from falling embarrassingly.

Step. Grab. Step. Grab. Twice, he missed his foothold, clutching desperately to the wall as he struggled to regain his balance. Step. Grab. One more handhold and he'd be able to hoist himself upwards. He thrust himself forward with his right leg, reaching up and grasping - air. As his body swung downward, he grabbed at the wall, his fingers curling around a grip just before he would've started to plummet toward the padded floor below. His heart was pounding, blood rushing in his ears as he he completed the final ascent.

With a grunt and an upward heave of his arms and abdominal muscles, he hoisted himself up onto the top of the climbing wall and sat with legs dangling. He wiped his brow, then flicked the beads of sweat off his hand. Glancing down, Spike noticed he'd attracted an audience during his climb. Isn't that... their conversations filtered up to him. Dude, I thought he was paralyzed...

"Oi, Mark!" he called. "I'm ready t' come down now."

The dark-haired gym worker who'd been spotting him as he climbed, waved in the affirmative, and kept a firm grip on the nylon rope as Spike swung himself back down onto the wall and kicked off. He repelled down the climbing wall, coming to a soft landing. After unbuckling his harnesses and wiping his hands on his teeshirt, he grinned at Mark. "Felt good t' finish that," Spike said. "Thanks for the spot, mate."

"No problem," Mark replied. "You gonna go back to doing mountains soon?"

"Most like," he said. "Gotta take my title back from that fresh-faced little wanker, don't I?" He bent down and started gathering up his gear. "An' as for all you onlookers, yeah, I'm Spike Broad, yeah, I was paralyzed, an' yeah, I'm better now. 'Ad m'self a good therapist." Draping his gear over one shoulder, he exited the club as the crowd tittered.

His cell phone rang as he walked through the parking lot towards his car. "Yeah," he grunted by way of greeting.

"Spike?"

"Dawnie-luv, good t' hear from you," he said with a smile. "How are you?"

A pause. "Actually, that's why I called. Not about me, but about you. Just wanted to know how you were dealing. You know, with the whole - "

A twinge of pain shot through his heart. So much for his mantra of if I don't move, if I don't speak, if I don't think about Buffy, then it won't hurt... much... He cut her off. "Dealin' as well as you can expect, I guess..." In a desperate attempt to change the subject before the other customers of the fitness club witnessed a world-class athlete bawling like a baby in the middle of the parking lot, he said, "Climbed the advanced section of the rock wall at the gym today. Figure I can do m'first mountain in a few weeks."

"That's great," Dawn said. "Don't change the subject."

Spike rolled his eyes, unlocking his trunk and tossing his gear within. "If you're askin' if it still hurts, then yeah. Every second. But 'm movin' on."

Dawn's voice came through a bit panicked as she blurted, "She misses you too."

He wanted to scream Then why did she leave me?!, but all he managed was a little, half-whispered "Oh." She missed him. That was good, right? He honestly didn't know anymore.

"She's starting to date again."

"Oh," he said again, as the twinge of pain in his heart became a mild burning sensation.

"Spike, I'm going to ask you this once, and only once," Dawn said, her tone becoming stern. "Do you still love my sister? Do you still want to be with her?"

"More than anythin' else in the world," he replied gravely as he climbed into the Mustang.

"Then this is what we're going to do..."

~*~*~*~*~

Two Weeks Later

"Hi, Jonathan?" Dawn asked cheerily into the receiver. "This is Dawn Summers, Buffy's sister. Listen, she can't make your date tonight. Yeah, she's sick or something, because she's been yacking for the past ten minutes..." she said, stifling a giggle as she pictured the expression on the stuffy tightass's face. "Yeah, she's sorry. I'll have her call you when she's feeling better, 'kay? Alright. Nice talking to you, Jonathan. Bye!" She hung up the phone. "But I made dinner reservations," she mocked in a high-pitched voice, making a face. "Ugh."

A weak moan came from in the bathroom. "Thanks for coming over, Dawnie," Buffy said, her voice muffled by the door. "Nice to know that unconditional sisterly love extends to taking care of me when I boot, especially when I know you have a spring line to design." Her stomach flipped over and she clutched the toilet again as she dry-heaved. "I knew I shouldn't have eaten that seafood for lunch..." she groaned.

Dawn opened the bathroom door a crack, wrinkling her nose as the smell of vomit wafted out to her. She stuck her head in. "Buffy, maybe you should see a doctor if you're sick."

"I'm fine," Buffy insisted as her insides twisted once more. She coughed and choked as dry heaves racked her frame. "Okay, maybe not so fine," she admitted. She grimaced at the colored tile and paint on the walls that was starting to flake a bit. "And I really need to redecorate this bathroom."

"Alright, I'm gonna call the doctor," Dawn said. She loped out into the kitchen and picked up the telephone. After some minor exaggeration of her sister's case, she was able to get her an appointment in fifteen minutes at the doctor's office three blocks away. She plucked up Buffy's coat, carrying it with her into the bathroom. "You've got an appointment at 3:45," Dawn announced. "Come on, put on your jacket." Buffy weakly lifted her arms, allowing Dawn to put the leather jacket on her. "Alright, now standing's a good thing. I'll help you walk there, you just gotta hold on for a second while I get my coat and our bags."

She helped Buffy walk slowly to the couch, where she set her down while she shrugged into her own leather jacket and pluckd up two purses. She set Buffy's sunglasses on the brim of her nose, then pulled her to her feet again. "Let's go."

The dry heaves hit Buffy three times on their walk to the doctor's office, once causing her to double over in pain. Dawn wondered if all her careful planning with Spike would fall through.

The brunette ushered her blonde sister into the office, where she was quickly taken in for examination.

"Well," the doctor said, looking down at his charts, "Buffy, what seems to be the problem today?"

"Mostly, an utter lack of keeping any food in my stomach," she said with a weak laugh. "Also, general ookiness."

"Is that the clinical term?" he joked as he pulled out a thermometer. "I'm just gonna take your temp," he said as she opened her mouth and he slipped the metal instrument beneath her tongue. The thermometer beeped. "98.6," he said. "Perfectly normal." He picked up a few other tools, looking in her ears and eyes. "Well you seem fine, but if you insist that you're sick, I should probably take a blood sample. Now I'm going to need you to relax your arm..." he said.

It was a little-known fact that Buffy was petrified of needles. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut against the sensation of the thin metal object sliding into her flesh as he drew the vial of blood. When the vial had filled, he taped a wadded piece of gauze in place and slid the needle out of her arm. "All set," he said as he flicked the vial. "I'll send this to the lab for testing, and we should know what's bothering you by Friday."

"Thanks," Buffy said, hopping out of her seat. She exited the exam room and asked the receptionist to bill her. "Guess what?" she asked hoarsely as she shuffled out into the waiting room. "Turns out I'm perfectly healthy. Who would've thought?" She smiled weakly.

Dawn raised an eyebrow. "Sure you're fine. That's why I cancelled your date," she said matter-of-factly as she picked up their bags and coats. She handed Buffy hers and she shrugged into it.

"You cancelled my date?" Buffy asked incredulously. The blonde snatched her purse from her sister. "But... Jonathan was nice!" They exited the doctor's office.

"And boring," Dawn added under her breath. "Buffy, you were puking all over the place. How the hell was I supposed to know you were gonna get a clean bill of health from the doctor?"

"Okay, good point, but I really liked him," Buffy protested.

"Buffy, no matter what that doctor says, you're too sick to date anyone tonight. Now I'm going to take you home, and you're going to lie down and rest."

"Fine," Buffy grumbled. "Just don't make me eat anything, I'm not sure my stomach could handle it."

"What if we watch a movie? Or - hey, it's Tuesday. That show you like is on at eight, right?" Dawn paused. "I never understood why you liked it so much. All that violence and bloodshed..."

"It's that one vampire guy," Buffy said. "He's a hottie, and they're showing him nearly naked a whole lot."

The sisters giggled as they re-entered Buffy's apartment building.

~*~*~*~*~

At precisely 2:30 in the afternoon on Friday, the doors of Buffy's outer office opened. A lean figure with a startling face walked in dramatically, with the leather of his long coat flapping behind him. Clutching a simple bouquet of flowers in one hand, he strolled up to the secretary's desk and fixed her with a brilliant grin. "'Lo, luv," he said. "I'm a former client of Ms. Summers', an' I'd like to 'ave a word with her."

Normally, the secretary would've had to ask his name, but she was so flustered with his appearance that she merely waved him through. Blushing slightly, she returned to her instant messenging and proclaimed that she'd just seen the most gorgeous athlete that had ever existed, and why wasn't he a movie star?

He paused at the slightly open door of Buffy's inner office, listening to her speak in hushed tones, presumeably to someone on the phone.

Inside, Buffy was speaking agitatedly to Dawn. She'd gotten the results of her blood testing that morning. "Yes, Dawnie, I'm sure," she said as she paced back and forth in front of her desk. "No, the doctor didn't make a mistake." She winced as her sister squealed excitedly, pulling the receiver away from her ear. "Yeah, he congratulated me and everything... Yes I know you've been hoping for something like this to happen to me..."

"Say it one more time!" Dawn demanded on the other end, still not sure she'd heard her sister correctly.

Buffy sighed. "I'm pregnant, and it's - " she cut off as she turned around. "Spike's." She nearly dropped the receiver.

Spike stood framed by her doorway, his blue eyes wide with disbelief. His jaw ticked as his lips parted softly, then his mouth hardened, then softened again as his emotions reeled. The bouquet fell, forgotten, from his slack hand.

"Dawn?" Buffy asked tremulously. "I'm going to have to call you back." With a shaking hand, she replaced the receiver on the hook. "Spike," she said quietly.

"Were you going to tell me?" he asked, afraid to move for fear he'd run to her and beg her to come back to him.

She was silent for a moment, scanning his face while she weighed her answer. The hurt look in his eyes nearly incapacitated her.

"God, Buffy, you weren't gonna keep this from me, were you?" The urge to yell at her and then kiss her senseless, or possibly vice-versa grew stronger. "Were you?" he asked again, his tone dropping to a harsh whisper.

"I don't know," Buffy replied honestly. "I only found out this morning." Her legs suddenly felt weak, but she locked her knees and refused to sit. "Why are you here?"

His gaze ping-ponged between her eyes and her flat belly. My baby's in there, he thought as a fierce wave of possession coursed through him. He wanted nothing more than to whisk Buffy and his unborn child away to protect them from anyone and anything that attempted to do them harm.

He cleared his throat. "Mostly," he said, "t' congratulate you on your therapy work. I'm goin' up to Maine to climb Kathadin on Sunday. But that's not the only reason I'm 'ere."

Buffy folded her arms over her chest, attempting to look tough. "So what is it then?" she asked, trying to keep herself from falling to her knees and begging his forgiveness for hurting him.

"Dawn," he replied.

"I don't understand," she said. "What does Dawn have to do with us... this... anything?"

"She told me that you were movin' on, so I figured I should prob'ly tell you what I'd been dyin' to tell you since I left." He ran a hand frustratedly through his hair, mussing the perfectly gelled curls. "I 'ad this whole speech planned," he said quietly, "about how every minute without you has been 'ell for me, an' how I wanted you back more than anythin' else in the world, an' most importantly, how I forgot to tell you that I love you, but I can't rightly remember how it was s'posed to go."

Buffy opened her mouth to speak, but he shushed her with a raised hand. "So the secret's out, then. I love you, Buffy. Always 'ave. Prob'ly always will. You don't 'ave to love me back, but it'd be nice." He turned to leave, but stopped. "Ball's in your court now, Summers. What's it gonna be?" His coat billowed around him as he stalked out of the office.

Only then did Buffy allow herself to collapse into one of her plush chairs, wondering what had happened to his hands.

Twelve - The Happy Ending

"So the secret's out, then. I love you, Buffy. Always 'ave. Prob'ly always will. You don't 'ave to love me back, but it'd be nice." He turned to leave, but stopped. "Ball's in your court now, Summers. What's it gonna be?" His coat billowed around him as he stalked out of the office.

Only then did Buffy allow herself to collapse into one of her plush chairs, wondering what had happened to his hands. Of course as reactions go, Buffy realized moments later, collapsing was the worst one she could've possibly had. She bolted upright, dashing out of her office and into the hallway.

Spike was nowhere to be seen.

"Dammit... for once in my life I wish my sense of timing were better..." she muttered as she turned around, preparing to head back into the office. She took two steps and collided with a black-clad chest. Her nose was pressed directly to the fabric of his shirt, and she inhaled deeply before backing up. "Spike?" she asked.

"I made the dramatic exit," he said quietly. "Said everythin' I wanted to say. But I couldn't leave without tastin' you again..."

Spike reached out, gripping her chin lightly with his thumb and index finger and tilted her face upwards. He stepped into her personal space and wrapped his other arm around her waist lightly. He peppered tiny kisses over her face as if branding the impression of her eyes, nose, forehead, cheeks, and chin on his brain through the nerve endings in his lips. His heart was breaking all over again even as he dipped his head downward and took her mouth with his own.

To Buffy, it seemed like a goodbye kiss. She tasted tears on his lips, tasted his pain and his love. And she gave as good as she got. When his tongue dipped between her slightly parted lips, she caressed it with hers, and her hands slipped beneath the leather of his coat and underneath his untucked black button-down to massage the warm muscles of his lower back. Somehow, the finality of the emotions involved in the kiss seemed to dissolve when her hands met his flesh.

He lifted his head, staring into her eyes as conflicting emotions warred in his. They were both breathing hard, nearly nose-to-nose, gazes locked. "Buffy..." Spike whispered.

She smiled nervously, her throat working spasmodically. Say it, Buffy, her inner voice urged. Say it or watch him walk away, probably for the last time... She swallowed once, then extricated her right hand from beneath his shirt, reaching up to cup his cheek in her palm. "I love you," she said.

Spike's eyes widened. A thousand thousand questions ran through his mind, but the only thing he could think to say was a whispered, "What?"

"I love you, Spike," she repeated. At the utterly shocked expression on his face, she smiled again, gently this time.

His arms enfolded her in a powerful embrace. "God, Buffy..." he rasped, kissing the top of her head, her ear, her throat. "I was so unhappy without you..."

"I know the feeling." The fingers of her left hand threaded through his hair, her right resting on the small of his back. "I'll never leave again."

Desperately, he kissed her then, his tongue pressing deep into her mouth. He withdrew slightly, flicking the tip of his tongue over her lower lip, then backed off again. His normally icy blue eyes had darkened to a deep shade of cerulean and he gazed openly at her. "Won't let you out 'f my sight long enough for you to disappear," he swore.

Buffy evaded his lips as his head dipped toward hers again. He pouted, causing her to giggle. "Much as I like making out with you in the middle of the hallway of my office building, I think we should probably go somewhere more... private... before this gets any hotter."

"Not an exhibitionist, then?" Spike asked with a little grin.

She shook her head. "Not so much," she said with a small giggle. She stepped away from him, smiling when he wouldn't release her hand, then walked back inside with him in tow. They re-entered her office and Buffy suddenly found herself pressed up against the wall by Spike, his fingers threading through her blonde tresses and his lips ravaging hers. Neither knew who had initiated the kiss, but it went on for several minutes, tongues stroking one another, lips and teeth clashing, before Buffy raised her hands to his chest.

She wanted to push him away, really she did.

Her fingers curled against the fabric of his shirt as the kiss continued. An inferno was building in them both, as they stood pressed together from lips to knees. Finally she nudged him away just slightly, turning her head so his blindly seeking lips landed on her throat instead of her mouth. "Spike..." she murmured, "... have you ever made love in a physical therapy office?"

He shook his head, his face buried in the hollow of her throat.

"Unless you'd like to entertain Alex with a free porn show," she said, breaking off on a gasp as he worried her earlobe with his teeth, "we'd better get someplace with a bed. Fast."

Spike lifted his head. "M'hotel is three blocks away," he said with a grin. "An' I know your flat's across town."

He released her then, and she stumbled slightly as she plucked her coat off the chair she'd draped it over. She shrugged into it, then picked up her handbag. "Race you," she said with an impish grin, dashing breathlessly from the office.

~*~*~*~*~

Dawn fidgeted with the telephone cord as she held the receiver to her ear. On the third ring, Alex picked up. The red-haired secretary answered with a cheery, "Buffy Summers' office! How may I help you?"

"Hey, Alex!" Dawn greeted. "It's Dawn Summers. Is Buffy in?"

"You just missed her," Alex said sympathetically. "She left with some gorgeous guy with bleached hair in a black jacket, do you know him?"

The brunette barely contained her excited squeal. "Yeah, I know him," she said calmly. "Thanks, Alex!" She hung up the phone, and promptly began dancing around the room.

~*~*~*~*~

Buffy and Spike got into the elevator at the hotel with an elderly couple. They stood in opposite corners, and the control they held over themselves to refrain from touching one another in the company of the retirees was near-painful. On the twelfth floor, the old man and woman got out of the elevator. Before the door had even closed completely, Buffy had launched herself at Spike, nearly knocking him over in her desperation to feel his mouth on hers again.

"Ah," she gasped as his lips trailed a firey path across her cheek and down her throat. "What... what floor is your room?"

He pulled back enough to jab the button for the twelfth floor with his thumb. The elevator descended, and he kissed her once more. This kiss, by contrast to the others, was gentle and sweet, conveying all his feelings for her in a play of lips against lips. "Love you," he whispered against her mouth as the doors opened on the twelfth floor a second time. They stepped apart and he grasped her hand, leading her down the hall toward his room.

As he fished in the pocket of his coat for his keycard, a wave of nervousness shot through her. Why the hell am I nervous? she asked herself. It's not like I haven't done this befo -

He led her into the room, closing and locking the door behind him, and Buffy's nervousness was replaced by such an intense ... want... that she'd never experienced. She laced her fingers in his softly-gelled curls, tugging his head down for a ferocious kiss. While their mouths meshed, her fingers nimbly untucked and unbuttoned his shirt, and then her palms pressed against his warm, firm chest, smoothing down his abdomen. Her fingertips disappeared beneath the waistline of his black khakis, urging him closer to her.

Spike's hands caught the hem of her knit top and pulled it upwards, bunching it over her silk-covered breasts. She released his body and mouth just long enough for him to tug the shirt up over her head, and then her mouth latched onto a flat nipple while her hands pushed his duster and button-down off his shoulders and onto the floor. He hissed in pleasure. Her mouth meandered lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses wherever it landed, and the bed had never looked so far away.

Then she unbuckled his belt, unfastened his khakis, and took his hard, twitching cock into her hand. A rough half-whimper escaped his throat as he arched his throat and his eyes rolled back. "Buffy," he groaned.

Later, he'd wonder how she'd managed to get her panties off and her skirt around her waist.

She tugged his khakis further down and pulled him to the floor, pressing him onto his back gently. Then she rose above him like Aphrodite, her knees on either side of his hips, and sank down onto him in one fluid stroke. She remained still for a few moments as he shuddered and twitched beneath her, one hand flat against his chest, stroking in a calming gesture. "Shh..." she whispered. "I've got you..."

Spike clenched his jaw tightly, his eyes squeezed shut as he fought for control. Tried to picture something, anything that would hold off his climax, but the overwhelming sense of Buffy overrode his attempts. "Not gonna last very long," he admitted sheepishly, his breath catching in his throat as she reached back and unhooked her bra.

"Neither am I," she replied.

And then she began to move, and it was everything.

He glanced away from her face, his gaze trailing hotly down her form to where their bodies joined and he watched fascinatedly as his cock, glistening with her juices, disappeared into her over and over. He said her name. A visible shudder ran through her, and he spoke again. He began babbling incoherently as the steady pace she'd set faltered and her inner walls tightened once around him, then relaxed again. "Baby, fuck, love you, love you, nobody but Buffy, fuck, fuck, never better, love you..." he chanted.

It seemed Buffy liked a talkative lover. During the middle of Spike's litany, the intense sensations that had been building in her since the first kiss back at her office suddenly came to a complete standstill. It went on for several seconds like this, her pleasure seemingly on pause, but despite her confusion over this new development, she kept rocking her hips against his, up and down and up and down and -

Heaven. She gasped and writhed atop him, her pelvis pressing down hard onto his as she rubbed her clit against his pubic bone and took him deeper within her. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders as her back arched and her limbs twisted. Spike found his own release just moments later, pumping up into her and clutching desperately at her hips. He was still throbbing, half-hard within her when she collapsed exhaustedly onto his chest.

"Love you," Buffy murmured against his left pec as she tried desperately not to drool.

"Mm," he agreed. He petted her back and hair gently. "Love you too, baby." Then his eyes shot open. Baby. "We didn't 'urt the - "

Buffy lifted her head, placing two fingers against his mouth. "The baby is fine, Spike. Perfect, even." She pursed her lips. "But Mommy thinks she and Daddy would be more comfortable in a bed."

Spike snaked one hand between them, patting her stomach affectionately. "Someone's mum is a smart lady," he said.

She lay languidly atop him for a short while, regaining her strength, then pushed herself upwards into a sitting position and lifted herself up off his now mostly-soft penis. After standing and divesting herself of her wrinkled skirt, she stretched in an almost feline manor and walked over to the bed, where she lay down and lounged relaxedly. She could feel his eyes on her, and when she glanced over at him, he was busily tugging off his shoes and pants. He stood naked and proud before her.

One glance down his lean, muscular form told her that he wanted her again. Still. Possibly perpetually.

"Can't 'elp it," he murmured as he walked closer to the bed, lowering himself down so he rested with one knee on the mattress and one foot on the floor. "All I 'ave to do is look at you, an' I'm randier than a fifteen-year-old."

"I'm not complaining," Buffy said. "It's kinda convenient, if you think about it."

"For you or me?" Spike asked, leaning down to her.

His question remained unanswered as she cupped the back of his neck and pulled him down to lie on the bed beside her, their naked limbs entwining.

~*~*~*~*~

Spike awoke first, nuzzling into his warm, sweet-smelling pillow. Only when the pillow moved did he smile softly against its skin. "Good morning, love," he said quietly. "'Ave I told you yet 'ow beautiful you are?"

Buffy sighed and threaded her fingers through Spike's hair as he nuzzled her breasts with his nose. "Many times," she said. "But it doesn't hurt to hear it."

"You're beautiful," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her collarbone, "an' sexy, and smart, and absolutely mad for me."

She giggled. "Mad for you, huh?"

He nodded against her chest. "Mm-hmm," he agreed. "An' I love you."

"I love you too."

The End.