Chapter 9:

~*~

18 calls and still no answer.

Buffy sighed and flopped down on her bed. Maybe she was stupid, maybe she was immature; in fact, people had accused her of being both more than once. But was it really so unreasonable to want Spike to call her already?

Apparently, when it came to girls, he was no better than a sixteen-year-old boy.

But then, she’d known that. One of the many things that made her beyond dumb—she’d known how he was with girls, but she’d gone and kissed him anyway.

Kissed him. It sounded so dry, so—normal. But she knew that absolutely nothing about what had happened yesterday was normal. Which makes sense in a twisted, ironic kind of way, since it’s perfectly normal for a guy to not call a girl after they have some kind of frenzied kissing session five feet away from her parents…especially if the guy and the girl in question are best friends ten years apart.

Well, okay. Maybe it wasn’t normal. But still…she wanted him to call.

Even as she tossed clothes into her suitcase, her eyes remained on the phone. Please let him call, she prayed, even though she knew it was useless. Please, please let him call.

He wasn’t just someone she was attracted to; he was her friend, and had been for four years. Losing him to anything, especially something that was partially her fault, would break her heart.

And as they drove out of Sunnydale, Buffy was reduced to leaning her cheek against the cool glass of the car window and wonder if the terrible sensations inside her were what people talking about when they said their hearts were broken.

~*~

One hour and sixty miles later, she’d decided that it was all her fault. Well, hers and the suit Spike had been wearing last night.

She was a teenager, right? Teenagers had hormones. Seeing Spike looking beyond yummy in that suit had triggered the hormones, so they’d kissed. It was as simple as that.

The only problem, Buffy mused as she watched the Los Angeles skyline come into view, was that Spike had definitely been kissing her back—and whatever else he might be, he was not a teenager.

Which lead her to believe, once again, that she was very, very stupid.

Merry-go-round of badness. That had been how she’d described it to her mother, and she was starting to think it was a very apt description, indeed. No matter how long she thought about it—and she had thought about it for hours on end—she ended up reaching the same conclusion. Spike was the same guy he’d always been, and Buffy was short a brain cell or two million.

She slumped down in the seat. She hated being in such a bad mood. She hated feeling unsure, feeling stupid, feeling…young. It was something she wasn’t at all used to.

Ever since she’d been able to walk, she’d been treated like she was several years older than she actually was. From working in her father’s diner to her friendship with Spike, she was always just a little bit ahead of most people her age. But now she was reduced to feeling like a child, to puzzling out her emotions and the actions of others knowing that as far as the rest of the world was concerned, she was too young to truly understand.

She’d been told that before; had been told that her friendship with Spike was dangerous, that she wasn’t possibly old enough to understand what went on in a young man’s head. She’d ignored the critics, certain that they were wrong. Sure that the rapport between her and Spike was real, and that age didn’t matter.

But now she wasn’t so sure.

Why had he kissed her back? For her it was hormones, nothing more; what was it for him? Twenty-six-year-old guys didn’t have raging hormones, did they? She really didn’t think so…

And that, right there, was the problem. She didn’t think Spike had raging hormones, but she didn’t know. Because she was too young.

She sighed, shifting again in the seat. God, she felt like she was going to crawl out of her skin. Knowing that Spike was in Sunnydale and that she was leaving him behind was driving her nuts.

“You okay back there, sweetie?” Joyce asked, glancing back at Buffy.

“I’m fine,” she said softly, keeping her eyes on the scenery outside.

Hank cleared his throat, looked at his daughter in the mirror, and said, “Doyle’s going to be there. Maybe he could show you around LA?”

That got a tiny smile out of her. Doyle was her uncle, technically, but he was only two years older than she was. They’d always gotten along really well. “I guess that would be nice…”

“And Fred and I are probably going to go shopping. You know you’re welcome to come with us.”

“Mom.” Buffy almost winced at her own voice—she sounded hollow, bleak. “I’ll be fine, okay?”

If she’d told her mom that the sky was green, the grass was blue, and the moon was a big hunk of Gorgonzola, Joyce probably would have been more believing. But she’d told herself she wouldn’t interfere—so she just nodded and turned back around again, saying something quietly to Hank.

Buffy felt divided—grateful to be left alone, terrified to go without talking to someone. For the first time in her admittedly short life, she’d run into something she couldn’t handle. The irony of it all was that this was the one thing she needed to be able to handle herself.

But she couldn’t. Because she was stupid.

In a vain attempt to close out her thoughts, Buffy screwed her eyes shut and pressed her forehead against the window pane, willing the traffic to let up so they could drive into LA, into a city that for Buffy was filled with carelessly loving relatives…ones who had never been important enough to hurt her.

~*~

“I mean, ‘s not like I don’t have a life, you know? Got m’ job, an’ m’ pride, an’ up till now I had a bloody good social life…so what the fuck ‘m I doin’, goin’ out an’ maulin’ a sixteen-year-old?” Spike demanded, pounding a fist on the counter to emphasize his point. “’ey, gimme summore beer!”

“Spike, man, are you sure you should be having—“

“I said, gimme summore beer!” Spike bellowed, glaring at his friend. “You’re a fucking bartender, Xander—“

“Which means I have the right to tell you crazy drinkers that you’ve had too much,” Xander reminded him; but lucky for Spike, the brunette topped off his mug anyway. “And seriously, I think you’re talking to the wrong guy. I date Anya, remember? And I’m two years younger than you are, which makes me…”

“Eight sodding years younger than the bint. I bloody well know that,” Spike all but snarled. “But ‘s not the same when the bloke’s older, isit?” he asked bitterly. “’s never the same. ‘f anyone knew…they’d kill me.”

“Well, I don’t know about kill you…”

Spike narrowed his eyes at his friend. “They’d. Fucking. Kill. Me,” he snapped, his diction incredibly correct for someone who’d been drinking for the past two hours. “An’ I’d deserve it…’m sick, always have been.”

“Look, man, I’ve been friends with you since we were both babies, and—“

“Just shut the hell up, would you, mate? Jusht…shut…the bleeding ‘ell…up…b’fore I…’fore I…”

Xander watched with an aggrieved look on his face as Spike’s mumbled threats became less and less coherent…before, predictably, he passed out right at the bar.

“Stupid bleached menace,” he muttered in half-hearted anger. Most guys at least knew when to stop drinking, but somehow, Spike managed to keep going till he passed out right in the middle of a glass. “Hey, Joe!” he called out to his co-worked, “I’m on break.”

Joe nodded; Xander took that as his cue to toss his apron off and make his way to the other side of the bar. Thank God for burly construction muscles—he was able to hoist Spike on his shoulder with no problem.

Getting him to the back room where he could sleep it off, though, took a little work.

When Spike was finally drooped unceremoniously over one of the small, uncomfortable metal chairs, Xander straightened and shook his head, annoyed. He hadn’t seen Spike get this worked up since…well, since ever. And over a women—no, not even a woman. A girl. By a lot of people’s standards, a little girl.

And Xander was coming to hate her more every day.

~*~

”Spi-ike,” Buffy whined, “I wanna go!”

He rolled his eyes and continued to channel surf. “Really, luv, you should’ve known better than t’ come all the way over here just to try to get me to go to some poncy movie with you.”

“Willow and Faith are both busy,” she complained, “And I really, really wanna go see a movie!”

“Give it up, pet,” Spike said bluntly. “’m not takin’ you to see some dumb chick flick. M’ girlfriend’s gonna be here in ten minutes, now scat.” He almost winced at how cold he sounded—but that wasn’t half so bad as how much he wanted to duck out of his date and go with her to the movie. That alone was enough to make him determined to refuse her.

“Troy is so not a chick flick!” she exclaimed, clearly annoyed.

“It is ‘f I bloody well say it is,” Spike snapped. “Now bugger off already.”

For one glorious second, he thought that she was leaving and he was safe. Then she did the one thing that could always melt his defenses.

She plopped down next to him on the couch, crossed her arms over the chest that was partially exposed by her deep-cut red shit, and pouted. “Please?”

He shouldn’t feel this way. God help him, he shouldn’t. Problem was, he did…and God would want no part in it. Not for the first time, he paused for a second to think about precisely how horrible a man he really was.

But his girl didn’t let him think for long. She poked his arm and repeated her plea. “C’mon, Spike, please? I’m sixteen and it’s a Saturday…don’t you want me to have a social life?”

Well, yeah. Unless it involved some other rotten little bugger…which it wouldn’t, he realized, if he went with her. “Right, then,” he acquiesced, trying to ignore how much it pleased him to see her smile happily and clap her hands…trying to ignore how much it aroused him when she bounced up and down on his couch. “’ll just call Jeanette an’ cancel, then.”

“And I’ll run home and grab my stuff.” Impulsively, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek soundly. “Thank you so much!”

He waited until she’d scurried off to throw his head back and growl in frustration and disgust, trying to ignore the erection that forced him to acknowledge the truth that haunted him every day.

So long ago, that had been. Only a few months, but since then, everything had changed.

Well, almost everything, Spike thought as a pounding invaded his head. He still drank too much when he was upset, and he was still a bad, bad man.

Stifling a groan, he heaved himself upright. He couldn’t really recall why coming to LA and getting utterly drunk while spilling his guts to Xander had seemed like a good idea. Seems that when it came to running away, he wasn’t exactly a master.

Jesus tap-dancing Christ—his head felt like it was stuffed full of wool. Steel wool. Not a bad analogy, actually…

If it wasn’t for the fact that he was coming up with asinine analogies to avoid the real issue at hand.

Well, he was damn well going to avoid them for awhile longer. After all, he had things to deal with that didn’t involve the girl he was in love with and running away from—he stood up and walked towards the door that led to the rest of the bar, determined to put her out of his mind at least for as long as it took to listen to the whelp chew him out.

Problem was, when he stepped out the door, he ran straight into a laughing Buffy, hanging intimately on the arm of a man he’d never seen before in his life.

~*~
 

Chapter 10:

~*~

“Spike!”

She was smiling at him. He stared at her stupidly, his still-groggy brain fighting to understand what was happening. “Buffy? What th’ hell’re you doin’ in LA?” And who’s this ponce?

“I’m…um…” She furrowed her brow, evidently trying to remember. “I’m living the life of a California teen!” she announced triumphantly.

The man whose arm she was hanging onto laughed. “An’ living it well, she is,” he said in a thick brogue.

Spike scowled at them both. The man—no, the boy—looked to be about his girl’s age, maybe a little older. Judging by the looks on their faces, they were well on their way to being falling down drunk.

The fact that he himself hadn’t exactly stayed sober that night didn’t penetrate his brain. All that did was pure fury—at that boy for letting Buffy get drunk, at Buffy for doing the drinking, and at himself for being so fucking stupid. She wasn’t just out drinking for the fun of it, and he knew it. She was the type to drink only when she was hurt.

And that was his fault.

Didn’t mean he couldn’t chew her out, though. He narrowed his eyes at the boy and growled, “Who the ass-shitting hell is this?”

If his language shocked her, she gave no sign. “Oh, this is Doyle! He’s my uncle.” She beamed at him.

God, her smile was gorgeous…and he was furious with her. Spike hardened his glare. “An’ do you an’ your uncle always come out to LA and drink illegally?”

“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “You’re one to talk. You smell.”

“What? I do not!”

She leaned forward and made a production out of sniffing him. “Yes, you do. You smell like whiskey.”

“And how would you know what whiskey smells like?”

She rolled her eyes and pointed at the bottle in Doyle’s hand. “Duh.”

He couldn’t have explained what happened then if he tried. All he knew was that he was close to his girl again, for the first time since they’d kissed—and the thought made all the blood rush from his head and go to other, less convenient places.

Almost against his will, he heard himself saying, “Buffy, can I talk to you for a second?”

She glanced from him to Doyle nervously, clearly hoping the boy would have some objection. Doyle, though, just shrugged. Good boy. Maybe Spike wouldn’t kill him after all…

He cocked his head towards the back room where he’d just been sleeping. “In here,” he suggested.

She gave him a look, one that he knew she’d perfected during the four years they’d known each other. The I-don’t-trust-you-for-a-second look. The one she’d used when he’d tried to trick her into ditching Angel at Homecoming that one time.

It couldn’t be a good sign.

He closed the door and turned to face her. She was leaning against the wall, an expectant look on her face…Spike felt his groin tightened further. Not now, mate. We’re here to lecture the girl, not to shag her.

Now, if only he could get the rest of him to believe that…

“So, are you going to be lecturing me now?”

He sighed and sat down on the wooden bench. “You’re half drunk, pet.”

She snorted. “Oh, please. Spike, I stole all of two mouthfuls of whiskey from Doyle’s bottle. That’s hardly enough to get me drunk.”

Two sips? “Bolloks. You’re not acting like yourself, Buffy.”

“I’m not acting like myself? What about you? You kissed me, Spike.”

Four words, and they cut him like a knife. “I didn’t—“

“Yes, you did.” She pushed away from the wall and took a step forward, looking more angry, more aggressive than he’d ever seen her. “You kissed me and then you ran away. I’ve been crying my fucking eyes out for more than twenty-four hours because of you!”

He wasn’t sure what amazed him more, the fact that she cursed or the fact that seeing her all mad and in his face only made him want her more. “Buffy, luv—“

“No!” Fiercely. Inches away from him, now. “I’m not finished! Why the hell did you run away, Spike? Am I that repulsive? Am I—did you just decide you hated me, or something? Oh, wait.” A bitter smile came across her lips. “I know why. Because I’m too young. Your best friend, sure, but you’re too much of a coward to deal with the fact that there’s ten years between us.”

Coward. Wasn’t it just like her to hit the nail brutally on the head? Spike gave salvaging the situation one last go. “You don’t—“

Her hand came out. “Don’t you dare,” she said through gritted teeth, “try to tell me that I don’t understand.”

Everyone has a breaking point, a time when reason flees and instinct takes over. He’d reached one two nights before when he’d kissed her.

He’d reached another right now.

He stood up and slammed her against the wall in one fluid motion—not hard enough to bruise, but forceful enough so that she’d know he was angry. Pressing his hips into hers, letting her belly cradle his erection, he hissed, “Feel that, Buffy? That’s why I ran. That’s what’s wrong with this whole bloody thing. I see you every day, an’ every day I want you a little bit more. Do you get how wrong this is? How incredibly fucked up I am? ‘ve wanted you for so long, an’ that kiss…it shouldn’t have happened, luv. ‘ve had a taste ‘f you, ‘m bound to want more, and—“

She stopped his desperate rambling easily. The second her soft, dry palm touched his cheek, he halted. Smiling, she ran a thumb over his lips. He didn’t move—too captivated by the girl in front of him—too desperate to prolong the precious contact afforded by her body—to stop what he knew was wrong.

All he could see was her lips as they smiled slightly, her tongue as it moved to form the tempting words. “I want you too.”

He didn’t have time to wonder, didn’t have time to stop and take stock of what was happening. All he could do was stand still as she leaned up on tiptoe, her hand curled round his neck, and kissed him.

She was just a girl, and this was the area where it showed the most. She didn’t attack his lips, though by the desperate way her legs wrapped around him, she felt the same passion he did. Instead, her lips brushed against his, soft and firm and hot…

Unable to stop himself, he lowered his head and set her lips to his more firmly. Teeth nipped at her bottom lip, begging entrance; she moaned when she granted it.

His hands slid down, tightening on her waist, pressing her to him. As her tongue began an almost shy exploration of his mouth, he groaned, cock twitching, and pressed her body as tightly as he could against his own.

He needed this. He needed her.

Their lips tore apart and they both gasped. Spike immediately went to Buffy’s neck, kissing the soft skin he found there.

“Spike?” She said his name on a breathy moan, yet he heard the question in it.

He froze and eased upright, loosening his hold on her—though her legs stayed locked around his waist, and he didn’t try to prevent it. “Yeah, luv?” His voice was rough, scratchy.

“Are we—am I—oh, God,” she gasped, grinding her hips into his.

He couldn’t help but smile. “You were gonna say something?”

She shook her head, a dazed look on her beautiful face. “I don’t—I’m not—“

The dismay that went through him was almost physical. He lowered her to the ground, gently disentangling her legs from around him and easing his body away from hers. How could he have thought she’d actually want what he was offering? “’m sorry,” he muttered, looking away from her. Such youth, such innocence—he didn’t deserve it, and he knew it.

“No!” Soft fingers again reached out to his face. He didn’t want to, but he looked into her eyes—and in them saw pain that rivaled his own. “Don’t go away again,” she plead. “I need you here.”

There wasn’t a bloke on the face of the earth could resist her, not when she looked like that. But he knew that if they stayed where they were, bodies touching in intimate ways, then both their control would slip. “how ‘bout we sit down?” he suggested, praying that she’d realize what he was doing.

She nodded shyly. “OK.”

Together they walked over to the bench and sat down, both choosing to ignore that they were clinging to each others’ hands.

Spike took a deep breath. “Don’t rightly know where to start, pet.”

She smiled slightly. “How about here?”

That brought a chuckle from him. Even when they were both reeling from the pure number of emotions coursing through them, she still managed to keep a level head. “A’right, then…you wanna go first?”

“Um, no!”

Least she was as panicked as he was…”Kitten, ‘f you don’t wanna start…I don’t rightly know how to go ‘bout doing this.”

Her eyes were so green—Spike shook his head. Not thinking ‘bout her eyes. Thinkin’ about how she’s only sixteen. She’s young, mate, younger than you by a long ways.

“Then what are we going to do?” A whispered question, quiet and unsure.

He shook his head. “I don’t have all the answers, pet.”

“But you’ve done this before.”

He chucked bitterly. Such an innocent statement. “Fallen in love with m’ best friend? No, this is new for me.”

She pulled back with a gasp—too late, he realized the mistake he’d made. “Buffy, I don’t mean—“

“But you did.” She was staring at him, eyes wider than they’d been before. Silently, Spike cursed himself. The plan had been to just put it down to lust, ‘till his idiot mouth had betrayed him.

“No, I didn’t.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “So, you say you love me, but you really don’t?”

“What? No! That’s not it at all!”

“Then what is it?” He could see her anger, all over her; had been her friend long enough to tell that she was close to exploding, she was so mad. “I’m tired of the secrets, I’m tired of the lies, and I’m tired of the games. I just want the truth.”

The one thing she wanted, the one thing they both needed, an’ he couldn’t give it. Who the hell invented this system?

“’f I gave you the truth, it’d tear you apart. You’re not ready for it.”

Her eyes narrowed lethally. “Would you just make up your mind, already? Either I’m old enough to be treated like your equal or I’m not. You can’t kiss me and then talk to me like a child!”

Spike winced at how loud her voice was. “Would you keep it down? ‘m not exactly dyin’ to go to jail, y’know.”

“You’d only go to jail if we had sex. Which we haven’t.”

His poor, naïve girl. “Where d’you think this is leading, to unfulfilling walks in the moonlight? ‘m not that type an’ we both know it.”

He watched as her face became a little harder, a little—older. He beat himself for doing it to her, but she had to have her eyes opened. “Yeah, Spike, I know your type. Which is why I’m starting to think I should’ve just run away when I had the chance. I guess I was stupid to think I’d mean anything to you.”

“You’re stupid if you think you don’t,” he retorted, more harshly than he meant to. The second he said it he felt sorry—her face closed off, became a blank to him. “Luv, I didn’t mean it, I—“

“But you did.” Quieter now. “You meant every word of it, which is why I can’t do this.”

He felt his mouth go dry. And to think m’ goal in here was to talk her outta this whole rotten thing. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. Spike, I’ve cried more in the past few days than I did in four years with Angel.”

Yet another reason he was going to hell. “Angel was a wanker.”

“And you’re not.” When he started to object she scowled at him. “I mean it, Spike. You’re not. You’re plenty of things, but if you were a—a wanker, then I wouldn’t be your friend.”

He was amused at hearing the phrase on her lips, but still…”Wanker or not, I can’t do this, pet. Neither of us can.”

She looked down at her hands; Spike’s gaze followed. Her hands were white-knuckled, betraying the stress she was under. “I know,” she whispered.

“Then—“

“I’m here for my cousin’s engagement,” she said quietly. “I’ve told you about Fred and Wesley, right?” At his murmur of affirmation, she continued, “It’s a pretty open party, tomorrow night at eight.”

What was she getting at? “And?”

“I have to go,” she said quietly. “But if what you said was true—then come. That way I’ll know if you’re still my friend, if you’re—something else…or if you’re nothing. Okay?”

He nodded, understanding perfectly what she was trying to do. “Okay.”

She sighed. “I guess…’bye, then.”

Before he had a chance to stop her—before he had a chance to do anything, really—she leaned over, kissed him softly on the lips, and left.

Not for the first time, he groaned, leaning back against the cold wall with a thump. Girl’s gonna be the death of me.

And after all that had happened, he still didn’t care.

~*~

 

Chapter 11:

”Oh God—Spike—pleeeeease….” Buffy moaned, gripping his thighs. “Just—a little—more—“

Spike grinned fiercely, his hands on her back, bringing her down upon his cock again and again. “Can’t take it all, little girl?”

She shot him a wicked look at that, one made even more naughty by the fact that her red bra was still on and her mini skirt was pushed up around her waist. “Oh, I can take it all,” she said, deliberately squeezing her already tight muscles around his shaft and fiddling with the straps of her bra. It fell open to reveal two small, ripe breasts, plump nipples begging to be touched, a task she immediately began working at. “Can you?”

He didn’t bother answering; he doubted he could have. Seeing her rolling her nipples in her little fingers, feeling her muscles fluttering around him, hearing her voice thickened by lust—it was all enough to undo him.

“Shit—Buffy—oh shiiiiiiit….”

He let go of everything, all vestiges of sense that told him the angel sitting on his dick shouldn’t be there, and came inside her, panting her name over and over again as she screamed above him. When she slumped onto his chest and he wrapped his arms around her, he could feel both their hearts thumping—and knew that he’d never done anything in his life quite this right.

Spike woke gasping, covered in sweat. Beneath him he could feel the cool stickiness that told him he’d just spilled it all over the motel sheets.

He sat up with a groan, his dream coming back to him. Wanker, wanker, wanker… He’d had dreams like this before, ‘f course, but tomorrow he was gonna have to show up at that party and give his girl some spiel about how he was just her friend. XXX-rated dreams were gonna make that a little harder…

He looked at his clock; it was 4 AM. Somehow, he didn’t think he’d be able to get back to sleep after this.

Grumbling under his breath, he went to take a cold shower.

~*~

She couldn’t do things the easy way, could she? She couldn’t have just given him some phony line about how they could just be friends. No, instead she had to give him an ultimatum that had seemed like a good idea at the time, before she realized that she’d have to wait a full day before she knew what was going to happen.

Now, the morning after she’d given him her ultimatum, she was sitting on the stairs, fielding questions from Doyle about Spike and her mother’s Nazi-like decorating orders.

“C’mon, would it really kill ye to give me a few details? You disappeared into a small room with a sexy older guy for ten minutes!” Doyle exclaimed.

Buffy raised an eyebrow at him. “Sexy? I was under the impression you were straight.”

“I am, but I also have eyes” he shot back. “Confess, Blondie. What happened?”

Blondie. Spike had called her that…to her shame, Buffy felt her eyes fill with tears.

“Buffy? Buffy, what’d I do? C’mon, snap out of it!”

“Sorry,” she whimpered, wiping her nose. “I just—“

“What?”

From anyone else it would have seemed abrasive, but Buffy knew that he was just trying to let her know that he was concerned. “Spike—my best friend?”

“The one you were in a small room with for a ten minutes.”

Why did she have to blush now? “Um, yeah,” she mumbled, “That one. Well, he used to call me Blondie, and we’re kinda…on the outs…right now.”

Doyle sighed. “And why do I get the feeling you’re really not telling me the whole story here?”

“Because I’m not,” she said honestly. “But Doyle, the whole story is between me and Spike.”

“Because he could get arrested if I knew? Jesus, Buffy.” He shook his head.

“Doyle! It’s not like that!”

“Then can you tell me what it is like?” he said a bit more quietly. “Buffy, I’m not gonna judge ye and I’m not gonna get mad, I just want to know what the hell is going on.”

She smiled at him. “You sound really silly when you get all accent-ey,” she informed him.

“Come on, Buffy. You know you can trust me.”

“Said the untrustworthy Irish uncle,” Buffy said with a halfhearted grin.

“Hey! Don’t go insulting the Irish. We don’t take too kindly to it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Do you want the whole story or not?”

“Do you honestly think I’d have been over here buggin’ you for so long if I didn’t want to hear the whole thing?”

Buffy figured rolling her eyes again wouldn’t accomplish anything, so instead she just caved and told him the whole thing—from her friendship with Spike, which he already knew a bit about, to the kiss they’d shared. The only thing she left out was her porn-tastic dream about him…Doyle may have been her two-years-older uncle, but she really wasn’t ready to let him know about the inner workings of her (incredibly twisted) mind.

When she finally finished she just sat still, waiting for him to talk. After he was silent for a few minutes she said, “Well?”

Doyle sighed. “Honestly? I don’t see what the big deal is. You both are being drama queens.”

“What? Doyle, he’s my best friend! And he’s ten years older than me!”

“Say it a little louder, I don’t think people in China heard,” Doyle shot back. “Really, though, it’s not the soap opera you’re makin’ it out to be. He’s your best friend. Why are you freakin’ out about this?”

“Reasons that could fill an entire encyclopedia,” she hissed. “If we ever got serious, he could be jailbait!”

“Not if you hold off for a year and a few days,” Doyle pointed out. “If you love him as much as you say you do, it shouldn’t be hard.”

Love him? “Doyle, I never said I was in love with Spike.” I just thought it and wanted to tell him and cried because I was, that’s all.

“Oh, please.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m not that dumb, Buffy. You don’t have to scream it from the rooftops for me to know.”

“But—“ She couldn’t explain it. Somehow, up until now, some small part of her had been denying everything that had happened over the past few days. Having her uncle (who for all his immature jokeyness was way wiser than her) toss the word in her face suddenly changed things.

Okay. So, things had been changing at a truly scary pace for awhile now. But love was, in a way, bigger than wet dreams, bigger than clandestine kisses—bigger, even, than Spike saying that he loved her.

When she realized Doyle was still looking at her expectantly, she glanced down at her lap and mumbled, “I don’t love him.”

“Right,” Doyle said sarcastically. “And next you’ll be tellin’ me that the moon is made of cheese. You never were that great a liar, Buffy.”

Well, okay, he had a point. “Fine. I—I love him.”

Doyle crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Say ‘I love Spike’. Or, better yet, ‘I’m in love with Spike’.”

She glared at him. “What are you, my shrink?”

“It’s not like anyone else will be. Say it.”

“Asshole.”

“I’ll tell Joyce.”

“Oh, fine,” she relented, secretly trying to think up ways to kill Doyle very, very dead. “I’m—I’m—“ Wow, this was hard. “I’minlovewithSpike.”

“If I was your shrink I’d make you say it again,” Doyle said cheerfully.

Buffy barely heard him. Her entire attention was focused on what she’d just said. I’m in love with Spike. As in, head over heels, want him like I want to breathe, could easily see myself getting married to him in love.Holy shit!

She’d never been more scared in her life.

Apparently Doyle was a little more perceptive than she gave him credit for, because he looked closely at her and said, “Hey, if you want to go for a walk or whatever, I can cover for you.”

“Really?” In her hyper-emotional state she felt incredibly grateful, jumping up and hugging him. “Thanks, Doyle. You’re the best.”

“No problem,” he said, and watched her fly out the door, shaking his head.

“Some people are just insane,” he remarked to himself as he climbed the stairs to his original destination—his room. His girlfriend was waiting for him to call—and if there’s one girl in the world who lacks any amount of patience, it’s Cordy.

~*~
 

Chapter 12:

She felt so alone. It was strange how, even though Spike was by no means near her all the time, he’d become so important to her that knowing he wasn’t there in a best friend capacity anymore made her feel more alone than she ever had before.

She missed him—it was that simple. She missed being around him, missed making him laugh. She missed the hot kisses, too, but mostly she just missed him.

That, more than anything, told her that Doyle was right. She loved him. It wasn’t just hormones, it wasn’t just friendship. It was love.

Funny how she couldn’t shy away from it anymore. She’d been ignoring it for—God, she didn’t even know how long. But when Spike had said he loved her, and then when Doyle had said she loved him, well, a person could only deny so much.

Buffy wrapped her arms around herself, determined to keep walking until she’d at least partially resolved what she felt.

When she’d given him that (incredibly stupid) ultimatum, she’d been hoping he would show up and agree that they were just friends, platonic love, hormones out of whack, blah blah blah. Now she wasn’t so sure. Some traitorous part of her wanted them to keep going with their whatever-it-was relationship, wanted them to be together. And no matter how much she told herself it was impossible, she kept hoping.

Stupid world…

It was almost time for the party by the time Buffy meandered back to her cousin’s house. Smiling at Fred and her fiancé, Wesley, and avoiding her mother’s death glares, she ran upstairs and into the guest room.

She was wearing the simplest dress she owned—black, tight at the top and loose and ragged at the bottom. It wasn’t exactly formal, but since this was a mostly family thing, she figured it was ok…

And anyway, it was way less hot than that red dress she’d worn. Since Spike was going to be there, she counted the lack of hotness as a major good thing.

Although with her luck, he’d come wearing a suit again…

No. Bad Buffy. No salivating over Spike in a suit! He’ll come and say that you’re just friends, and you’ll smile and nod and agree. That’s all!

Somehow, she just couldn’t believe it.

Her stomach was a mass of butterflies when she descended the stairs about fifteen minutes before the party was to begin. Doyle was already there—and to her shock, Cordelia was on his arm. “What the f—“

“Buffy!” he cut in jovially, “I’m guessin’ you’ve met my girlfriend?”

Buffy’s only response was narrowed eyes and a curt nod. Immature, sure, but it wasn’t like she was required to be nice to the girl who did her best to make life miserable for everybody any time there was school.

Cordelia didn’t bother holding back. “Oh, everyone knows Buffy,” she said with a little laugh. “She’s the biggest slut in Sunnydale.”

“What?” To his credit, Doyle looked angry. “Cordy, did you forget to take your Midol again? Because—“

“Oh, please, Doyle.” His girlfriend looked disgusted. “She’s boinking a 26-year-old. Does that not tell you something about her?”

“And you’re doing the nasty with my uncle,” Buffy shot back. “I’m sure everybody in Sunnydale would love to know that.”

“He’s nineteen—duh!”

“Yeah, but if I say he’s not…” Buffy trailed off with a triumphant smirk on her face.

Cordelia sighed impatiently. “Okay, okay, you win,” she snapped waspishly. “I’ll keep my mouth shut about your pedophile boyfriend.”

Buffy was about to respond with something that probably would have resulted in a catfight when Doyle tugged hard on Cordelia’s arm. “Cordy, I need to talk to you,” he said in a voice that brooked no argument—despite the fact that Cordelia did, in fact, put up one.

“Doyle, stop it! I’m not your kid!”

“No,” he said in a low, annoyed voice, “You’re my girlfriend, and you’re being a bitch to my family. So cut it out.”

Buffy watched with a wry smile as Cordy started berating Doyle in a low, hissing voice. To tell the truth, she wasn’t as shocked about Cordy as she might have been. Doyle had a thing for beautiful women and an obstinate streak that would be useful in keeping Cordy in check. Still…no accounting for taste, she mused before walking over to where Fred and her father, Buffy’s uncle Rupert, were standing, putting the finishing touches on the decorations.

“Mind if I help?” she asked with an awkward smile.

“Of course!” Fred answered gratefully. “Dad doesn’t seem to get what streamers are for.”

“Really? It’s ‘cause he’s English,” she theorized, climbing up on the stool and helping Fred twirl the paper streamer before pinning it in place. “They’re way too fuddy-duddy for this kind of thing.”

“Really! How very ridiculous,” Giles scoffed. “The British decorate, same as everyone else. We just don’t use vulgar bits of paper to do so.”

“Oh, really? Seem to remember you helpin’ me hang these bits ‘f paper for Buffy’s birthday three years ago,” Spike drawled. Buffy’s head whipped around—and she almost fell off the ladder.

He was leaning against the doorway, wearing grey slacks and a dark black shirt, unbuttoned at the top. He came, she though in relief, drinking in the sight of him standing so near.

“Spike!” Giles said welcomingly, walking over to shake hands with him. “I must confess, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Didn’t expect to be here,” Spike replied. “But I ran into Buffy last night, an’ she invited me. Hope it’s alright?”

“Of course,” Giles assured him. “You’re like family to us, you’re so close to Buffy…you know Fred and her fiancé Wesley, of course?”

“Can’t forget a pretty face,” Spike said teasingly, giving Fred a hug.

“It’s great that you could come,” the brunette said sweetly.

Buffy zoned out after that. She didn’t see Joyce and Hank exchange small smiles, or Cordy’s shocked staring at the new arrival, or the rest of the family’s furtive glances at her. All she saw was Spike—or more precisely, all she noticed was the fact that he hadn’t once looked at her.

When he’d made the rounds, he finally came to a halt at the ladder Buffy was currently sitting atop. “Care for some help there, luv?”

“Huh?” Buffy had been lost, staring at him.

“Streamers,” he said, gesturing to the rolled-up paper she held in her hand. “D’you want help?”

“Um, yeah, that’d be good.” She smiled at him apologetically as he climbed up the ladder on the other side of the fireplace they were decorating. “Sorry, I’m a total airhead…”

“’s alright—you were up late last night.”

She sighed and twirled the paper, trying to work a pin into the crack between the wooden paneling. “Look, if you’re going to be all adult on me—“

“Buffy, I didn’t say anythin’ other than you were up late.”

“Yeah, but we both know how that sentence was going to end: I was out late because I was getting drunk with Doyle.”

“You were drunk?”

Oops. “Well, not really,” she backpedaled quickly. “Just, you know, buzzed.”

He shook his head in disgust. “Can’t b’lieve you’d do that. Bloody irresponsible.”

“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “Like you’re much better, mister I’m-too-hung-over-to-think-straight.”

He smiled slightly. “’m not ever gonna be able to scold you, am I?”

“Nope,” Buffy said, grinning a little in return.

They finished putting up the streamer and moved on the to next section of the house in silence.

“So,” Buffy said nervously to alleviate the tension, “I hadn’t figured on you showing up…”

He shot a quick glance at her before saying simply, “You’re m’ friend. Of course I came.”

She turned away quickly, before he saw her face.

He’d just told her everything she needed to know.

~*~
 

Chapter 13:

The party was in full swing. People were talking, dancing, admiring the sapphire ring Fred had been given—doing everything, in fact, that they should do at a party.

The problem was that Buffy was bored to death.

Doyle and Cordy had long since disappeared, something that she didn’t really blame him for. Fred was radiant, Wesley was courteous, and the whole party was not a teenage scene.

Spike had been making the rounds for the past hour, shaking hands and basically dazzling all her relatives. It would have been great if he hadn’t made it all too clear what he wanted from her—or, more accurately, what he didn’t want.

Buffy sighed. The room was stuffy and she was so tired her heavily mascara-ed eyes were starting to feel gritty. Putting her drink down and giving polite smiles to people who glanced her way, she slipped out the back door and onto the deck that looked out at the Los Angeles skyline.

The breeze was just brisk enough to chill her, and she shivered as it caressed her bare arms. How had it come to this—to her feeling so young, naïve, and alone? Even at sixteen, she’d thought she knew who she was and what she wanted. Why had everything suddenly been turned upside down?

It wasn’t fair—but then, she knew the world wasn’t fair. She’d long since grown past repeating that adolescent incantation. But right now she felt so incredible childish that the found herself falling back on safeguards she’d thought she had long since abandoned.

“Getting tired ‘f all the merriment, luv?”

She jumped—and then immediately felt embarrassed. The Buffy of two weeks ago would have welcomed his presence, and it was the Buffy of two weeks ago that she needed now. He’d told her he only wanted to be friends. The romantic in her was just going to have to shut up. “Mostly just bored,” she said lightly. “Doyle was too busy with Cordy to talk to me, and the others aren’t exactly the funnest people to be around.”

He chuckled, coming to stand next to her. “They are your family, y’know.”

“Well, yeah…but still. Not the best party in the world.” God, did she have to sound so immature? Why was she unable to express what she was thinking? It wasn’t the party that was lacking—it was her.

“No, kitten. Don’t do that.”

“Huh?” Jolted out of her reverie, Buffy frowned at Spike. He was staring at her seriously, blue eyes sharp. “Don’t do what?”

“You’re blamin’ yourself for something that never happened,” he said simply. “Berating yourself for not wantin’ to be in there, sharing the merriment.”

“I never said that,” she mumbled, looking away from him.

“Hey.” Oddly gentle. “Things may ‘ave changed, but I still care about you, pet.”

Of course. You care about me so much that you blurt out your love for me and then backtrack faster than a Clinton. “I know,” she said. “The problem is I don’t know how.”

“’least you’re askin’,” he said. “I didn’t even have the courage for that, and ‘m s’posed to be the mature one here.”

She grinned a little at that. “You always were a big baby.”

“Not gonna deny that one,” he said with a slight grin.

“Guess we both need to grow up, then.” She still avoided his gaze, not wanting him to see the pain that resided there.

“Buffy—“

“Look. I know you only want to be friends, and I know that if we were more than that then you’d probably end up in jail and I’d be Sunnydale’s resident uber-slut. I know that, okay? The problem is—“ she braced herself, fighting to say what she knew she had to. “The problem is, I don’t care.”

Silence. Brittle, cold, and not in the least bit alleviated by the laughs they could hear coming from inside. Finally, Spike said in a low voice, “An’ how would you feel if you knew I felt the same way?”

She froze. Somehow, she’d thought he would tell her that they could never be together…or at least that she was silly for not caring about the so-called real world around them.

“I’m not saying we can,” he added quietly. “An’ I suppose some part of me must care, or we’d already be together, yeah? But…I don’t want to care, Buffy. I don’t want to have to care.”

Hazarding a glance at him, she winced when she saw his expression. He looked like he was honestly in pain. “The real world bites,” she said almost lightly, hoping he’d realize what she was trying to do. They couldn’t change the way the rest of the world was.

He smiled, only a little bitter. “Not gonna argue with you on that, either.”

For a moment they shared a simple silence, before Spike glanced at her and said, “Hey, you wanna go in there and dance?” Her uncle’s house was almost embarrassingly large—the living room, once cleared out, made a perfect dance floor.

She heard the music coming from the house; it was classical, Mozart or Bach or another one of those snooze-worthy guys. But it was better than being bored to tears, so…”Sure.” She smiled and took the hand he proffered, and they walked inside together.

“You look beautiful, you know,” he said as they went onto the improvised dance floor.

Buffy made a face at him. “Oh, please,” she said. “Black is so not my color.”

“Not mine, either, but you stared at me when I came in,” Spike said with a grin.

Her blush told him all he needed to know; he threw back his head and started to laugh. She gave him a disgruntled swat, trying to ignore how good it felt to be this close to him, and how happy she was simply because she’d made him happy. “You’re a doofus,” she informed him.

“But a sexy doofus,” he countered, squeezing her hips ever so slightly.

Ignore it, ignore it… she willed herself. “You know, avoiding illegal activity is going to be a lot harder when you’re drawing attention to the fact that you look hotter than any guy my age ever could,” she pointed out.

He shrugged. “’ve pretty much gone off the deep end, luv.”

He was confusing her, in that great, she was pretty sure he was insane sort of way. “Meaning…?”

“Meaning,” he said, letting his hand skim up her back and caress her bare shoulder, “That even though you’re m’ friend, I can no sooner ignore the fact that ‘m in love with you than I can jump off a cliff and fly. Both times, I’m sure to fall.”

She wasn’t sure what to make of that statement. She wasn’t sure what to make of him. After four years of friendship, they’d suddenly been reduced to making obscure statements and checking each other out when they thought the other person wasn’t looking.

Buffy hated it.

Which was why she sighed and stepped away from him. “Spike, I can’t—“

“Do this,” he finished for her. When she looked at him in confusion, he said, “You think I can? I keep tryin’ to just joke with you the way we used to, an’ it always comes back to the same thing. Me wanting you and showing it.”

Her cheeks turned red at that—well, how could she help it? 16-year-old guys didn’t say things like that, and they were the only kind she knew how to deal with. “I kinda get what you mean.”

He shook his head. “You couldn’t possibly.”

She gave him a level stare. “You’re wrong and you know it. I deliberately monopolized your time, dressed like a ho, made sexual jokes—“ She broke off, unable to continue. She’d been doing it for long enough that she wondered if it had ever occurred to him what was happening; she wasn’t proud of it. It was more immature than all his innuendos and confusing hints combined.

“Guess we’re both idiots, then.”

“Yep.” She forced her voice to be light. “You for asking me to dance, and me for agreeing.”

The second it came out of her mouth, they both winced. “Can we say anything tonight that doesn’t have like a million meanings?” Buffy asked, only partly joking.

The song wound down, and by silent, mutual agreement they left the dance floor. “Apparently not,” Spike answered. “Look, I’m gonna go get some air.”

“You mean you’re gonna go smoke,” she corrected, smiling in that wry, knowing way of hers.

“Well, yeah,” he admitted, shuffling his feet.

“You know, that’s really bad for you.”

Sodding hell. Trade once nuisance for another—it’s clearly my night.

No—that wasn’t fair. Buffy wasn’t a nuisance, precisely, just damn hard to be around, and that wasn’t her fault. “So you’ve told me,” he said dryly, stomping out the cigarette she’d indicated. “Hasn’t stopped me. ‘m a rebel when it comes to things like that.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. Hey, wanna go for a walk?”

And yet again she’d managed to flummox him. Spike stared at her, aghast. “You wanna go for a walk?” In a skimpy black dress, with your hair all teased and your lips all shiny and…shit.

“Duh,” she said, giving him a look that made him feel like a prime idiot. “I’m bored, the party is slow, and I’m tired of Doyle being all insightful. C’mon, please?” She widened her eyes and began to pout.

Spike shut his eyes briefly. She doesn’t know what she’s doing, mate. “Sure, luv,” he said wearily. “Let’s walk.”

~*~
 

Chapter 14:

Since her uncle lived right in the middle of LA, Spike insisted on her staying close to him the whole time. It was both a blessing and a curse; she loved being close to him, of course, but if she drooled any more she’d probably end up slipping on the sidewalk.

They’d kept the chatter light, talking about inconsequential things—Doyle’s odd choice of a girlfriend, Kennedy’s stupidity, even the freaking weather. Buffy was ready to jump out of her skin—this whole charade was driving her nuts.

When they ran out of things to talk about, they settled for walking side by side in silence. Occasionally one of them would stop, but no words managed to be said.

So when Buffy stopped dead and shattered the silence, it shocked them both. “Can’t we just—never mind,” she said quickly, starting to walk again.

“Oh, no you don’t.” She felt his hand on her bare shoulder and immediately shivered before pulling away from him.

“Tell me what you were going to say,” he demanded roughly. She looked into his eyes, glinting from the streetlight above them, and found that she couldn’t look away. Here, tonight, they’d already lied to each other enough. She’d had it drummed into her head since she was very young that best friends didn’t lie to each other, and now all those lessons came to the fore.

“I want us to be together,” she said bluntly, looking him straight in the eye. “Isn’t there any way we can be together without…you know…being together?”

It was a stupid hope and she knew it, but it didn’t stop her from looking up at him hopefully—and, she saw, it didn’t stop the same hope from coming into his eyes.

“You really think we could do that?” he asked, reaching out with an almost trembling hand and brushing a strand of her hair back. “Think we could avoid…for a year?”

“Do you love me?” A quiet question, blunt, but she was determined to have an answer.

He closed his eyes and she saw the muscles in his neck tighten: typical Spike expression. “You know I do,” he said finally. She wished it didn’t sound like she’d dragged the confession from him.

“Fine.” She sounded more brisk than she’d intended to—but then, nothing was really going the way she wanted it to tonight. “I love you, okay? I’ve loved you for…God, I don’t even know how long. Way longer than I should have. And I know we both think we’re making with the wrongness, and hey, it probably is, but right now, I’m beyond caring. All we every do is lie, and get all innuendo-ey, and then occasionally we kiss, which just makes things worse, and I’m tired of it,” she finished plaintively, just barely stopping herself from stomping her foot petulantly.

“You don’t mean it,” he said, still staring at her.

She blinked. Huh? “What do you mean, I don’t mean it?” she demanded. “Of course I do!”

He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “You’re sixteen, Buffy,” he said, as though that was supposed to explain it. “You can’t know—“

“Oh, no you don’t,” she said fiercely. “If you even try to rationalize this into some teenage crush-type thing, William Kingston, I will make you sorry you were ever born—even if it was ten years before me!”

His eyebrows went so high that for a second she thought they were going to fly right off his head. “Gettin’ a bit violent, don’t you think?”

“I’m getting impatient,” she said firmly. “I’m tired of this, Spike. I can’t stand all the not knowing and the stupid tension. Just give me a yes or a no—I’m not going to do this any more.”

For a second he stared at her, seemingly lost in thought. Then he shrugged, pulled her close, and kissed her.

She meant to struggle—she really, really did. On some level she recognized that he shouldn’t be doing this, and that if anyone else had just grabbed her like that, they’d have left half a man.

But this was Spike. Funny how that could make it seem okay.

Her hands came up to his shoulders and then to his neck, gripping him so tightly he’d probably have finger-sized bruising the next morning—but then, given how tightly he was holding her, she’d walk away from this a little black and blue, too.

When they finally parted they were both half-gasping, half-sobbing.

“Think you can put up with that, day in an’ day out, for more than a year?” he asked harshly. “Think you can deal with the secrets, the wanting—“

He was cut off when she pressed her lips to his for a kiss different than the one he’d given her. It was deeper, sweeter, but just as intense.

“Think you can?”

The look he gave her made her shiver…and then, as abruptly as he’d been serious, he smirked and the mood lightened.

“Baby, anything you can dish out, I can take.”

~*~

They couldn’t walk back to the apartment holding hands like sweethearts, although Spike knew that they both wanted to. They settled for walking close together, their shoulders touching, laughing and sharing glances when they were relatively sure that they were safe from observation. Their secret burned in their chests almost tangibly, warming them, buffering them from the criticism they both knew they’d receive when it was eventually revealed.

When they were about a block away from the apartment, Buffy slipped her arms around Spike’s waist. “So…I guess we have to act normal now?”

Spike’s thoughts strayed to Buffy’s parents, and he remembered how hostile they’d been when he had just started to get to know her. Understandably, they’d been suspicious of the man who their daughter called a friend. They’d come to like him since then—enough to tell him how they felt about Angel, and how much they worried about Buffy. He winced. “Yeah. I get the feeling your mum an’ da aren’t going to exactly welcome the information.”

His girl shrugged. “They’re pretty cool. Who knows, they might go for it.”

He grinned, unable to help himself. “You’re a sweet girl, Goldilocks, but a tad delusional,” he teased. “You think Hank and Joyce will like this little development in our relationship? They’re more likely to kick my arse all the way back to England.”

She grinned at him cheekily. “We’d better call and warn England, then, because they’re bound to find out sometime.”

“Very funny.” He smirked at her, that old smirk that had made her melt so many times before.

“Seriously, though,” Buffy continued, “Don’t you think that maybe they’ve kinda figured it out by now? I mean, I’ve been mopey for weeks, and you’ve been Sir Broods-A-Lot.”

“’ey! I am not broody!” Spike exclaimed indignantly. That label belonged strictly to her poof of an ex.

But he was mollified by her laughter—anything that put such a sparkle in her eye couldn’t make him all that mad. “And you’re a baby,” she said, bringing her face closer to his.

“Oh, really?” He sidled closer, wrapping his arms around her. “Guess you can’t kiss me, then. Cradle-robbing and all that.”

In response, she leaned up and pressed her lips to his. His entire world tilted, and by the time he pulled away, he was gasping just as much as she was.

“Cradle-robbing, my ass,” Buffy said throatily.

It was wicked, it was wrong, but now he knew that if he was damned, then she was, too. Spike slid his hands down to the globes in question, fondling her and delighting in the gasp she gave him.

“I happen to like your ass,” he informed her, leaning down and nipping her ear.

“Are you sure this isn’t illegal?” she asked as her hands slid down his arms and across his stomach.

“Do you care?” He shuddered as her fingers caressed his stomach, luxuriating in the feel of her fingers caressing him, inwardly celebrating that she wanted this—wanted to be close to him, wanted to touch and be touched, wanted all the simple little things that constituted a relationship. He’d been desperate for this for so long, hating himself even through his want, that now that it was actually happening…

To say that he was overwhelmed would have been a massive understatement.

“Can’t believe you’re here,” he whispered. “I wanted—and I thought—“

“Shh.” Her hands slid around to his back, pulling him closer. “I know. I wanted it, too.”

He looked down at her, at those hazel eyes, so young and yet so very old. They shared that, old and young at the same time—children playing at being adults, and adults playing at being children.

“I love you,” he told her.

She shuddered; when her knees grew weak, she gripped his shoulders, and he held her up.

She kissed him one last time, sweetly, before they let go of each other. Time to go back to the real world.

“I love you, too.”

~*~
 

Chapter 15:

“So…when’s the wedding, again?”

Fred smiled at her cousin. “We’re thinking we’d maybe have it in either November or April.”

“November, huh? Planning on serving turkey at the wedding?” Buffy joked.

Fred laughed. “Only if you guys want it. Spike’s invited too, by the way.”

Buffy froze, one arm inside her coat and one out, and stared at Fred. The brunette smiled understandingly. “It’s not rocket science, Buffy—if it was, I probably would’ve figured it out sooner,” she added with a laugh. “But I can tell how you two feel about each other.”

“Does anyone else know?” she forced herself to say, even though her tongue felt like it was made of wood.

“Not that I know of,” Fred said soothingly. “But, Buffy—“ She paused. “Are you ever planning on telling them?”

“I have a year and a few days before I’m eighteen and the law can’t condemn Spike,” Buffy said, quiet resolution in her voice. “After that, we’ll let it be known that we—that we’re together.”

“And until then, you’re going to try and stay chaste so that neither of you gets in trouble?” At Buffy’s nod, Fred hugged her tightly. “Good luck,” she whispered, before releasing her and leaving Buffy to hurry and catch up with her parents, both of whom were already in the car.

“So, Buffy, what were you saying to Fred?” Hank asked mildly, glancing at his daughter in the mirror.

Buffy forced herself to smile brightly—not such a difficult task when she remembered that she’d be seeing Spike the next day. “Just, you know, girly stuff. Goodbye, congratulations, that sort of thing.”

“Well, I think the weekend went quite well—she deserves a congratulations. Don’t you, Hank?” Joyce asked mischievously.

“Eh?” Buffy’s father was keeping his eyes on the road dutifully.

Joyce all but rolled her eyes. “Hank, I asked you if you thought the weekend went well.”

“Oh, of course,” Hank replied. “Buffy and Spike reconciled, didn’t they?”

Yeah. She would of course choose now to start blushing like a virgin.

“Didn’t you two come to an understanding, sweetie?”

Her mother was evil, Buffy decided. Pure, unadulterated evil. “Um, yeah,” she said, wincing at how clumsy and—guilty? Yes, definitely guilty—she sounded. "We're tog—I mean, we're friends again. You know us, all with the friendliness, and…yeah," she finished lamely. "We're ok now."

Joyce smiled peacefully and turned back around. "That's good," she said, and the car was silent as the landscape outside flew back and its occupants puzzled over the problem that was Buffy and Spike.

~*~

That day dragged by; Buffy was, to say the least, incredibly eager to see Spike, which made the minutes tick past all the more slowly. In typical teenager style, she spent almost two hours on three-way with Willow and Faith, who were both bugging her about the issue.

"C'mon, B," Faith urged her. "If you're fucking him, don't we deserve to know?"

"Faith!" Willow and Buffy both yelled at the same time.

Buffy could almost see Faith shrug irreverently. "You gotta admit, Willow, she needs to spill."

"Unlike you, Faith," Buffy began dryly, "Willow respects my right to—"

"Actually, I'm kinda curious, too," the redhead blurted out.

She rolled her eyes and groaned. “Oh my God. I have two of the most immature friends on the face of the planet.”

“Being a voyeur doesn’t make you immature,” Faith argued.

There was silence on the line.

“Um, ew?” Willow offered.

“Seriously, Faith, where do you come up with this kind of thing?” Buffy inquired, grinning into the phone.

“Oh, shut up and confess, already. Did you guys get bouncy, or what?”

“What,” Buffy replied. “We…tried to be friends, but then we ended up kissing, and…” She trailed off, not really wanting to say the next part. It was stupid, but she felt like if she told Willow and Faith, then she’d somehow be betraying Spike’s confidence. It was utterly ridiculous, of course—she was a girl. She told her closest friends almost everything.

“What happened? Come on, Buffy, you’re killing me here!” Buffy could hear the springs on Willow’s mattress squeaking, which meant that she was probably bouncing excitedly.

“I kinda…sorta…maybe…toldhimthatIlovedhim,” she said in a rush.

Silence. Even worse silence than the silence that had intruded when Faith had joked about voyeurism.

“Damn, B,” Faith said finally. “Are you fucking insane?”

Surprised, Buffy said, “Um, no. Not last time I checked, anyway. Although there was that incident with the leprechaun at the park last week—“

“Buffy, I think she’s serious,” Willow said quietly.

“Yeah, I got that,” Buffy said impatienlyt. “But I wanna know why. It’s Spike, guys.”

“Right—it’s Spike,” Faith said flatly. “He’s ten years older than you, Buffy.”

The squirmy feeling in her stomach? Definitely not of the good. “Your point being?” she asked, more coldly than she meant to.

“How do you know he doesn’t want to just fuck you and leave you?” Faith asked bluntly. “Not that I’m sayin’ I think Spike would do that, but he’s a guy, which means he’s a first-rate asshole.”

She winced at her friend’s cynicism—and at the implication she was making about Spike. “Look,” Buffy said, her irritation mounting with every word, “I don’t think he’s going to—“

“Yeah, you don’t think it. But you don’t know, B. He might be just as much of a slimy bastard as the rest of them. If you ask me, you oughta stay away from him. Sleeping with a guy like him could fuck you up for life.”

With that, Buffy’s patience snapped. “He’s my best friend, Faith. Do you honestly think he’s hung around for four years to get into my pants? Just because you’re a slut and sleep with guys who just want a piece of ass doesn’t mean Spike is like that!”

Shit. She was yelling. Her eyes darted to the door, praying that her mom hadn’t heard; the very last thing she needed was to be interrogated about what Spike was like. “Faith, I—“

“No.” Faith’s voice was just as cold as hers was, and Buffy could feel herself wincing. When Faith sounded like that, it meant she was more than just a little mad. “Far as I’m concerned, B, you and the Bleached Wonder can go to hell, if you’re not even gonna listen when I got something to say.”

When the “click” of her putting her phone down sounded on the line, Buffy winced. “So…I guess the bitch of the year award goes to me,” she said apologetically to Willow.

“No, no it doesn’t!” Willow protested. “You know how Faith is. She’s had all the relationships that end with oodles of bad, so she’s kinda jealous over you—plus, you know, Spike is really hot.”

“True,” Buffy said, sighing. She knew Willow was trying to cheer her up—but unfortunately, it wasn’t working. Stupid melodrama with stupid friends who might be right. “I just feel like—is this how it’s going to be for as long as I’m with Spike?”

“I don’t know,” Willow said honestly. “But Buffy, you and Faith always fight. Don’t you think this is maybe just you guys’ once-a-week tussle?”

“Maybe,” Buffy said, but the doubt she still felt was in her voice. “Listen, Wills, I’d better go. Stop by the diner tomorrow, ‘k?”

“Will you be there?” Willow asked teasingly.

Despite the fight with Faith, Buffy felt herself grin. “For the first half of the day, at least,” she said with a giggle.

“Good. I’ll bring Faith in the morning.”

Willow hung up before her friend could splutter a protest. Buffy glared at the phone before putting it back in its cradle. For a shy girl, Willow could be really forceful when she wanted to.

Sighing, she plopped her head back on the bed and waited for the next day to come.

~*~

Well, he definitely won the Wanker of the Year award.

He and Buffy had planned to meet up at the diner around one—but it was twelve-thirty, and he was sitting slumped in a corner booth, watching her work.

She had seen him, of course, and flashed him a smile that made him feel at least a little less like a sodding poof. Still, inwardly he was grumbling at himself. Pathetic, aren’t you, mate? Some chit ten years younger than you, an’ you’re turnin’ into some lovesick whelp over it.

But when she threw her apron off at one o’clock, he was at the door to meet her.

“Hey, pet.”

“Hi,” she said sunnily. He opened the door for her and she left. They started off along the block, same as they always did.

“So, what’s been goin’ on? Anything interesting?”

Buffy laughed. “Well, Faith and I had our monthly fight?”

“Really? ‘bout what?” God, she was beautiful when she laughed. Spike had to restrain himself from shoving her up against the brick wall and kissing her, passerby be damned. There would be time for that later.

For a second she looked uncomfortable—but before Spike had a chance to suss it out, her expression was normal again. “Oh, you know,” she said nonchalantly, “Faith stuff.”

Spike laughed. “Faith stuff” meant “Faith’s inherent sluttiness”. “That bint…”

“Has issues?” Buffy supplied. They rounded another corner and entered the parking garage where Spike put his car. “Yeah. Pretty much. I honestly think that—mmpph!”

He couldn’t take it anymore. Hearing her talk—it was a sign of how badly he was drowning in her, that just her voice could make him completely insane. So, he shoved her up against the parking garage wall and kissed her.

Her smaller body ground against his, her moans filled the air, as she kissed him back eagerly. Her hands slid down his back, her soft stomach cushioned his rapidly growing erection—there was no heaven better than this. Or at least, if there was, he hadn’t experienced it.

“Jesus, Buffy,” he gasped when they parted. “Can’t believe—we just—“

“I missed you,” she whispered, wriggling against him.

Was she trying to kill him? “Missed you—too—pet, you keep doing that, ‘m gonna lose it right here.”

Buffy stopped wriggling, an apologetic little smile on her face. “Sorry,” she said, glancing away.

Before he could stop himself, he reached out and caught her chin. “Not sorry,” he ordered gently, looking into her eyes. “Never be sorry, Buffy. Not with me.”

For a second, everything slowed; then Buffy nodded. “Even if I accidentally step on your foot when we dance at Fred’s wedding?” she joked.

He smirked. “’ll be wearin’ boots.”

“Boots? At a wedding?” She snorted. “So not.”

He laughed outright at that. “So will,” he teased, taking her hand and leading her away from the wall.

“Where’re we going?” she asked curiously as they got in his car.

“Well, I was gonna take us out to the beach, but then I figured, what the hell, ‘d just kidnap you,” he replied nonchalantly, flipping the radio on.

Her fingers were at the dial immediately, turning it to the ‘Top 40s’ station. Spike shuddered as some bint’s incompetent wailing filled the cab. He batted her hand away and changed the station to classic 80’s, never bothering to look down. For them, this was a well-rehearsed dance.

“So, are we seriously going to the beach? Because I don’t have a bathing suit,” Buffy said, yanking his fingers away from where they’d been resting protectively around the radio dial and changing the station again.

Spike allowed a slight smile to curve his lips. “You left one ‘f your suits in my trunk the last time we went swimming,” he told her, pinching her wrist.

She flipped her hand over and caressed his palm; for a second, he allowed himself to enjoy even that simple caress. “Oh,” she said, sounding just as happy as he did, “That’s ok, then—wait!” she yelped, dropping his hand.

Still keeping his eyes on the road—the problem with looking at his girl was that once he started, he had a rather difficult time stopping—Spike raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Is that the gross red one?” she asked petulantly. “Because, it’s all tiny and almost see-through and—hey! You perv!”

Either she’d noticed the smile or the persistent semi-erection that was just getting worse every second. “Hey, you said it, not me.”

“Humph. Neither of us said it,” she grumbled. “But you know you were thinking it. You want to see me as close to naked as possible.”

He chanced glancing off the road to leer at her. “If I wanted to see you naked, I wouldn’t have told you ‘bout the suit in the back,” he said, running his eyes up and down suggestively. Half of him was reveling in the fact that this beautiful girl was his, and that he could leer at her without feeling like a convict—and the other half was entirely focused on the image Buffy would make in her barely-there bikini.

She returned his leer with a lascivious look of her own. “If I’m naked, then you will be too,” she promised, grinning almost impudently at him.

He forced himself to stop before he pulled the Desoto over and they did something…ill-advised. “We’ll see, then,” he said.

His tense desire melted into contentment when she laughed, switched the radio station, and laid her head on his shoulder, content to just sit with him until the ride was over.

~*~
 

Chapter 16:

Had the beach always been this…sandy? She had sand in her hair, down her bathing suit—

Granted, that was probably because she was lying down with Spike on top of her. And they were kissing. Generally, those two things didn’t make for a whole lot of cleanliness.

When they came up for air, Buffy grinned wryly at him and sat up. “So, was this your plan for a happy day at the beach?” she asked, pulling the bikini top ever so slightly away from her body and watching the sand fall out.

Not surprisingly, Spike’s eyes were riveted to the part of her anatomy that she was so close to revealing. “Somethin’ like this, yeah.”

Buffy had to fight not to giggle. He could be so cute, it was almost ridiculous. “Having fun?”

His eyes met hers and he smiled sheepishly. “Dunno what’s wrong with me. You turn me back into a bloody teenager ‘thout even trying.”

“Oh, so that’s a bad thing?” she asked with a little pout.

Now his gaze rested on her lip. “Define ‘bad’,” he said, moving towards her.

She launched herself away from him with a squeal. “Nu-uh! Sandy Buffy is definitely not sexy.” She glanced at the ocean, and a sly idea grew in her mind. “In fact, I think I’m gonna go wash off.”

Predictably, Spike followed her. Had anyone happened to come across that secluded little bit of shoreline, she would have heard laughing, screaming, and contented sighing; and she might have concluded that the couple there was in love.

“Well, duh,” Harmony said, her nasal voice so loud that Angel winced. “What did you think, that they were just together so he could screw her? Puh-leeze.”

“You’re trying to tell me she’s not a slut?” Angel snapped, his hands balling into fists. “That little bitch would fuck anything that moved!”

“Shh,” Harmony cooed, sliding her hand up and down his arm. “I know how it is, baby. Just don’t get all worked up, ok? Not over your ex and her stupid old-guy boyfriend. It’s, like, totally not worth it!”

By the end of Harmony’s not-so-soothing speech, Angel was relaxing beneath Harmony’s stroking. They started back towards the car. “I know, Harm. But the bitch is going down, one way or another.”

Harmony gave him a brilliant smile as they climbed into the car. “Oh, totally!”

Angel’s weary groan was lost beneath the car’s rumbling as he turned the key in the ignition.

~*~

The summer days passed sluggishly. Buffy and Faith patched it up, the way they always did; but Buffy was careful not to mention Spike around the brunette again. Call her crazy, but she kinda liked all her internal organs where they were.

Instead, she spent less time with Faith, and more time with Spike. She knew that they both questioned their own and each others’ sanity many times over, just as she knew that each time they questioned it, they came to the conclusion that they were doing the only thing that could be done.

It was now five days before Buffy’s seventeenth birthday. She and Spike had gone to his apartment; since it wasn’t the first time she had been there, neither of them felt any qualms in going. They had spent several hours just joking around at Buffy’s house, but after Joyce had given them lunch, Spike had suggested they go out.

If Joyce thought the amount of time they were spending together on weekends was odd, she didn’t comment.

Buffy had kind of expected them to start making out. They’d done it often enough the past few days, and while it inevitably left them both wondering if they could make a break for England without her parents calling the cops on Spike, she knew that he enjoyed it every bit as much as she did. She also knew that one of these days, one of them would decide that making out wasn’t enough, and they’d start to push the envelope known as “statutory rape”.

But much to her surprise—and maybe Spike’s, too—they didn’t end up pawing at each other the second they entered his apartment. Instead, as though by mutual agreement, they walked over to the couch and curled up on it, not even turning the TV on.

Buffy broke the silence first. “This is nice,” she remarked, curling closer to Spike and resting her head on his chest. “I mean, not that I mind talking or getting all hot and bothered, but—I like this.”

She felt his chest rumble, a laugh that never made it to the surface. “Know what you mean. Used to wish you’d come here. You did, ‘f course, but….”

“We weren’t much with the cuddling,” she finished for him. “I know. Although, I would’ve come more often if you redecorated.”

“’ey! I happen to like m’ décor, thank you,” Spike said in mock offence.

“Oh, please.” Even though he couldn’t see her, Buffy rolled her eyes. “Let’s see—red couch, black walls, white carpet, and a bunch of black guy toys all over the place.” That meant his TV, stereo system, and computer cabinet thingy—not to mention the towering ebony bookcases. “Yeah, you’re a real master when it comes to interior decorating.”

“Well, ‘m a man, after all,” he pointed out. “Not like I can go all Martha Stewart on the place.”

“Humph,” Buffy said disapprovingly. “If I ever get my hands on this place, I’m gonna—“

“Ah-ah,” Spike teased, running his hand down her hair and tweaking her nose playfully. “You don’t live here.”

“But I’ve seen your office at work,” she whined. “It’s nowhere near this yicky. Didn’t you tell me you haven’t redecorated in here since you were, like, twenty?”

Being as close as she was to him, she felt him stiffen. She looked up to see him frowning. “Yeah. Well, wasn’t me who did it.”

Suddenly she understood: Drusilla. A topic that was definitely not of the good. “Oh. Right.”

Silence for a minute. But Buffy couldn’t help it; she desperately wanted to know the answer to a question she’d always wondered, but had never felt she had a right to ask before. “Why do you keep it?” she asked, waving a hand at the odd colorations around them. “I mean, if she was all with the freaky, and clearly tacky, taste, why not just hire someone to rip it apart?”

“I would’ve thought that was obvious,” Spike said. His voice sounded light, but Buffy knew him well enough to know that if he had his druthers, he wouldn’t be telling her this.

“Well, I must be Special Needs Buffy,” she replied with the same feigned lightness, “Because I’m not getting it.”

He looked down suddenly; his eyes, a crystalline blue that bordered on grey, met hers solemnly. “Because the only girl who’d wormed her way far enough into my heart to be able to talk me into redecorating didn’t even know she’d done it.”

Oh. She felt her cheeks flaming. “I, uh—“

Now he looked amused. She was glad he wasn’t all with the soap opera-ey-ness anymore, but she really could have done without the amusement at her expense. “C’mon, Goldilocks. ‘ve already told you that I’m mad for you.”

“Yeah, but—redecorating?” Oh, great. Now she was squeaking. Buffy the mouse, that would be her. “That’s, like…couple-ey stuff.”

“So?”

Buffy sighed; one of the pitfalls of having a boyfriend a decade older than you was that he really wasn’t all that caught up when it came to cultural references. “Let me rephrase that. It’s not just I-love-you girlfriend-ly stuff. It’s…fiancé stuff.” Like Dru was.

He pulled her up so that they sat side by side. “Would that really be such a bad thing, if you were?” he demanded, his face betraying what the question cost him. “’f you were as important to me as I‘ve been sayin’ you are? I’m not that terrible, am I?”

“No!” She reached out now, catching his face in her hands and bringing his lips to hers. “You’re not terrible,” she whispered, kissing him softly. “I love you. You know that. It’s just…I’m sixteen, remember?” She smiled awkwardly at him.

He groaned, burying his face in her neck. “I remember,” he said hoarsely, rocking her back and forth. “’s impossible for me to forget, kitten.”

Maybe coming from someone else it would’ve sounded sick, but she knew what he meant. “I know,” she said as soothingly as she could. “Just give it awhile. Sixteen’ll turn into seventeen, and then before you know it I’ll be legal.” She shuddered at the idea. Even sitting here with him, she felt a small amount of fear; she knew, inside, that if they were caught like this, then Spike would be dragged to court. The suit might not go through, not without her parents pushing it; but who was to say they wouldn’t.

The whole situation, in a word, sucked.

But it could have been worse, Buffy reminded herself. Hell, it could’ve been a lot worse. She was sitting on her boyfriend’s couch, and they were cuddled up with the familiarity of a married couple…it got a lot worse than this.

She sighed and moved closer to him. “So…my birthday’s in a few days.”

“And?”

“Well, Mom and Dad have this thing at the gallery, so we’re doing the whole dinner thing the night before, and I was thinking…do you maybe want to come over?” At his look she added hastily, “Not that I think we’re going to do anything, you know, bad, but…we could cuddle, watch a movie, maybe have birthday smooches…” she trailed off with what she knew was a ridiculously hopeful look on her face.

He tilted his head and dropped a gentle kiss on her lips. “Like this, you mean?”

“Mmm.” She arched into him, wanting to feel more of the incredible, electric sensations that his closeness instigated. “I kinda love you, did you know?”

He laughed, the rumbling making both their bodies vibrate. “Yeah, kitten. I know.”

~*~

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