Chapter 23: ‘The Art of Independence’


Buffy woke up to the sound of her bedroom telephone, located on her end table, ringing rather loudly. If she didn’t remember that she hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol last night, she’d swear she was hungover. Apparently, woozy as she was, there was more then one kind of hangover and some had absolutely nothing to do with booze.

She glanced at the alarm clock and noted it was past 8:30 AM and the caller ID on her phone alerted her to the fact that she was about to speak to her husband, if she answered it that is. Reluctantly, she picked up the phone and tried to muster up ‘some’ enthusiasm for another episode of ‘Travers Family Feud’ which she was sure, no doubt, would progress right into the bonus round.

“Hi, babe,” Angel greeted her rather cautiously, she thought anyway, “hi back,” she answered, her tone a text book in neutrality.

“What’s up?” he asked cordially.

“Well, I’m not,” she answered mechanically, then had to bite her tongue to keep from quipping out loud, ‘but you should have seen your buddy Spike last night!’

“Buffy I’m really sorry that I had to send Spike over for the money last night. But I really didn’t want to seem like a welch and all, you know?”

Oh, she knew alright, ‘guess it’s better to seem like a prick then a welch, huh Ang?’ she thought wickedly.

“It’s okay, Angel,” she started to say, then suddenly changed her mind and decided to say nothing.

“So,” Angel continued with a chuckle, “old Spikey, hasn’t changed much has he?”

Buffy fought the urge to make a real smart ass retort and opted to just remain silent, momentarily, anyway. She debated, inwardly, on whether or not to let her husband know if she even talked to William, much less ‘let’ him in their house. She opted for something ‘near’ the truth and told him that while she’d taped the money filled envelope to the front door, ‘Spike’ had come a bit early and she had no choice but to face him.

“He insisted on coming in for a minute and counting the money,” she lied boldly, “he also asked me about my Mom; how she’s doing, you know. Spike’s always liked my mom. He wasn’t here long and there’s not much more.”

‘Yeah,’ she thought sarcastically, ‘that’s because I spent most of the night washing the ‘much more’ out of our guest room sheets.’

“Well,” Angel began in his annoying, patronizing tone, “I guess if you’d come with me, like I wanted, you wouldn’t have had to see the bastard, huh, Buff?”

He seemed so very pleased with himself that Buffy couldn’t help herself, “so you sent him over here; the thorn in my side, my bane since High School, to what Angel? Humiliate me for disobeying you? Teach me a lesson?”

Angel couldn’t answer that one right away which irritated her even more.

“When are you coming home,” she finally asked, more then annoyed.

“Sunday,” he answered rather coldly, “going golfing with Dad Saturday, at a decent course for once.”

‘Good! I hope you and Dad crash your stupid golf cart in a lake, or the very least sink into a sand trap!’ she thought nastily. “See you Sunday Angel. I’m going to Willow’s tonight for dinner, we’re going to rent some DVDs. I’ll be late home,” she stated, silently daring the man to say just one negative word about it.

“Be careful, babe,” he sighed audibly, “don’t drink too much, okay? You know how alcohol and Buffy don’t mix well.”

Buffy answered with a ‘hmmm’ and hung up the phone, not even bothering to respond to his ‘I love you.’ She hadn’t slept well all night and she wasn’t sure if it was the thought of going to William’s place today or the plans she’d been forming for herself. Either way, she hadn’t fallen asleep until well past 3:00 AM.

Buffy punched Willow’s home number into her telephone the minute she hung up with Angel.

“Hi!” came the red head’s happy greeting.

“It’s me Wills,” Buffy answered, “can we meet for breakfast, today. I really need to talk to you about some things.” Willow explained briefly that she was getting ready for ‘summer college classes’ but that Buffy could come over to her apartment for bagels and coffee if she wanted.

“Tara is already at school, getting her class ready for Monday, I’m supposed to meet her for lunch at the ‘Book Store’ café near campus. But we’ve plenty of time Buff,” she assured her, “to talk before then. Just come over as soon as you can.”

A surge of warmth enveloped Buffy, Willow was always there for her, always, even since Jr. High. “Okay, Wills. I’ll stop and get Starbucks and those great apple turnovers you love! Be there in an hour, okay?”

After a quick shower, Buffy threw on a pair of jeans, her suede calf boots and a baby tee and headed to the nearest Starbucks. By the time she’d knocked on Willow and Tara’s apartment door, she’d already formulated her whole conversation in her mind.

Willow seemed thrilled to see her and quickly led her to the couch, placing the lattes and turnovers on the coffee table. Their apartment, although rather confined, was a mix of the mystical world and whimsical fairy tales. Buffy was just awed by this place, every time she saw it, especially the Pegasus like fixture that Tara had abscounded from an old merry go round and set up in the middle of the living room.

“So Buff,” Willow chirped happily as she bit into her turnover, “what’s up? You sounded pretty of the cryptic when you called, everything okay?”

Buffy took a deep breath, “I was thinking of going back to work Wills. Well, not exactly going ‘back’ to work. I’ve never really worked, but I mean, I guess what I mean is; I want to work in my Arts field.”

The red head contemplated Buffy’s words for a moment then broke into a huge smile, “that’s great, Buff. You’d do great at anything you choose to do! You think maybe a museum or something? The Sunnydale Art Gallery has an opening, I know because……oh wait,” she paused in her ramblings, “uhm, what does Angel say?”

Buffy scowled briefly, “Angel doesn’t know yet,” she admitted to her best friend.

“Oh,” Willow mumbled under her breath. “Uhm, what do you think ‘he’ll’ say about all this, Buffy?” she stammered, biting into her turnover again.

“Oh, you know Angel,” Buffy laughed somewhat nervously, “he’ll go ballistic, at first, head to the nearest golf course or bar and drink too many martinis while he crys to the bar tender about how women just don’t understand. After that, he’ll come home and proceed to brood for a week or so, maybe two weeks or so, and then virtually ignore me for as long as he thinks it will take to get me to change my mind. Nothing too overreactive, the usual, you know.”

Willow broke out into laughter, spitting apple turnover and latte all over the coffee table, “well you don’t seem too worried, at least,” she added, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“You know, Wills. It’s funny,” Buffy said, thoughtfully, “I’m not worried about what Angel thinks at all, not at the moment. I’m just worried that I won’t be able to find anything that suits me.”

Red, as her friends had nicknamed Willow sat quietly for a moment then, “you know Buffy? Tara has a lot of connections with the Sunnydale art circle. That’s why I know there’s an opening at the SunnyD Art Gallery, the one your Mom used to manage part time. If I remember right, it’s an ‘Assistant to the Curator’ kind of position, something right up your alley. Don’t you think?”

Buffy began to feel excited; oh just a tinge, really, down in her tummy that promised to blossom into a full blown ‘happy’ that might even develop into a nuclear explosion of estatic. That is, of course, if something came of this ‘assistant’ thing.

“Do you think Tara would like give me a reference or something, Wills?” she asked hopefully.

“I know she would, Buff! Tara thinks you’re just swell and she knows how smart you are about art and stuff. It’s in the bag, Buffy, I just know it!”

“I’ll talk to Tara at lunch today,” Willow promised, patting Buffy on her arm. “I mean, Tara can refer you, but in the long run, it’s going to be you that gets the position. On your own merit.”

Buffy looked lovingly at her friend; Wills always knew just what to say, how to give encouragement and strokes to her friends. “Thanks, Wills,” she sniffed, tearing up, “you don’t know what this means to me.”

Red hugged Buffy warmly, “I’d do anything for you Buffy, anything to see you happy or at least content with your life. I worry about you, Buffy.”

With a shake of her golden head, Buffy chuckled, “don’t worry about me Wills. The 4th of July is in less then a month and I’m about to declare my own Independence!” This struck them both as funny and they laughed for a while over it. “Willow,” Buffy began, suddenly serious, “I need to ask a big, big favor of you.”


“Sure,” Willow answered, “anything.”

Buffy stood up and paced about the room for a minute then faced her friend. “What are you doing tonight?” she asked Red carefully.

“Nothing too much, Buffy,” she answered, “like I said we’re preparing for summer classes and Tara and Il will probably do paperwork all weekend. Why? Do you want to come over? Have an old fashioned girls night? Rent scary movies and eat popcorn?”

Willow looked so young to Buffy just then, so full of life and almost innocent.

“Well, no, Wills,” she mumbled, “actually I need you to cover for me.”

The red head looked confused, “cover for you? Like how Buffy?”

Taking another deep breath, Buffy sat back down by Willow and looked at her in the eye, “I need you to cover for me with Angel tonight. I mean if he does call you; which he probably won’t, but if he does. I need you to confirm that I’m around here, somewhere,” she finished weakly.

“I see,” Willow said softly, “why? Kind of a secret agent kind of ‘I Spy’ thingy?”

Buffy felt sick for a second, “no Wills it’s not an I Spy kind of thingy. It’s an ‘Angel would go nuclear and come after me with a gun thingy.” She dared a look at Willow who had grown even paler then usual and deadly quiet.

“Do I really want to know?” she asked Buffy quietly.

“No,” Buffy said firmly, “and I don’t want you to really know ‘everything’ not now anyway. It’ll make it that much easier if Angel does call you or something. It won’t be as big a lie if you don’t know the whole truth and I know how you hate lies and deceit Wills. I’m sorry about this, but this is something I have to do and……”

Before Buffy could finish, Willow put her arms around her and hugged her tight, “don’t say anymore. I’ll cover for you, Buff. You’re my bestest, bestest friend, well next to Tara and if you have to do this, whatever it is, I’ll help you.”

“You’ve always stood by me, Buffy,” the red head continued, “when Xander and I got together; when I got with Tara. Heck even back when we were kids and you helped me cope with my nutty family. You’ve always been my best friend, well, like I said, next to Tara now.”

Buffy felt tears well up in her eyes, “thanks, Willow,” she whispered. “I think it’s great that Tara is your best friend. Lovers, husbands, boyfriends and girlfriends should definitely be best friends to us. I just wish Angel was mine, but he’s not and hasn’t been in a long time. Listen,” she hesitated a moment then continued, “I promise, when the time is right, I’ll tell you and Tara everything. For now, I’ll leave my cell on all night, I mean the whole time and if Angel calls you first or anything, just call me and I’ll call him back, just like the ‘telephone game’ we used to play. I know it’s confusing, but well, it’s the best I can do for right now.”

After she’d left Willow’s, Buffy drove home, much slower then she ususally would. She felt awful about getting Willow involved in all this William mess, but was more then happy about the chance to work in her career field. Buffy pulled over to the side of the road and speed dialed William’s phone number.

“Hello,” he greeted over the line. “It’s me Will,” she said shyly. In all of her twenty-eight years, Buffy never got the hang of calling guys, no matter what the reason and always felt a little funny about it.

“Buffy,” he replied warmly, “where are you?” A slight tingle started in Buffy’s lower back and traveled quickly up her spine, “I’m coming back from Willow and Tara’s,” she answered, not really knowing why she felt the need to answer that question. “I’m,” she hesitated, the tingly feeling had now traveled to her neck and was coursing up into her brain.

“Buffy? Are you okay, luv?” he asked with concern. “I’m fine, William,” she finally replied, “I’m really good, just a little nervous about coming to your place.”

Spike tensed, worried that maybe Buffy had changed her mind about coming, decided it ‘was’ too risky or something.

“I’m still coming,” she blurted as if she had read his mind. “I’m just a little tired and jumpy from last night and everything. And,” he heard her sigh softly, “I guess I’m overwrought about a decision I’ve come to.”

He was a basket case by the time she’d finished her last sentence, worried that she had decided to dump him completely and consequences be damned. A part of him wanted to shout at her and tell her that she was stuck with him whether she liked it or not. The other part wanted to admit to her that he would never really use that crap he had against her, he couldn’t. He was simply in too deep now and always had been, really.

“What decision is that, Princess,” he asked, trying hard to sound light hearted.

“Well,” she began cautiously, “I’ll explain more when I get there, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to go to work, soon. Something in my field of Art and all. I was at Willow’s talking to her about it and she thinks Tara McClay might be able to put in a good word in for me. Like I said, Will, I’ll tell you more, later.”

For a minute, Spike thought he might have a heard wrong; this was simply too good to be true. No one in the world wanted Buffy to pursue her dreams as much as he did, certainly not that oaf of a husband of hers. Spike was savy enough to know that Angel kept Buffy tied down by keeping her from her ambitions, her desires for herself. Where Spike admired the depth and inner strength of Buffy’s mind, heart and soul, Angel desired the insecure, needy child that he had helped to create in her..

(Here it comes!) Spike loved the woman in Buffy, Angel was obsessed with the girl. It had always been that way, from day one, even if Buffy had never realized it.

“I think that would be bloody fantastic, Buffy,” he told her honestly.

“Well, I don’t have it yet, Will,” she giggled, “but I’d sure like to give something like this a try. It’s what my Mom used to do here in Sunnydale and no one was a better teacher then my Mom, you know?”

He seemed genuinely pleased by what she had told him and now, she was really excited about getting to his place to discuss it more.

“Will, it’s only about 12:00, but would it be okay if I came over now? I mean if it’s alright?”

There was a long pause from him, then, “I’d really like that Buffy, of course, if you want, come right now.”

She really did want to go there now, sit and talk to him, although she couldn’t quite figure out why it seemed so important. “Like I said earlier, I’m a little nervous about coming to your place. I guess I’m worried someone there might recognize me or my car?”

Another silent pause, “tell you what. What if you park at a nearby Strip Mall, I’ll come and get you. It’s easier for you if I bring you here and besides, there’s not a lot of people around right now, being a workday and all. Are you wearing pants or something? Something that’ll do on a motorcycle?” Seeing as how what he said made sense and that she was wearing jeans, Buffy agreed to his plan.

Following his directions to the Strip Mall, Buffy found it easily and found ‘him’ waiting for her on his motorcycle. ‘No wonder he wanted to know what I was wearing,’ she surmised. After securing her car, Buffy slid onto the back of William’s bike, a little more secure then the last time she’d done this, and let him whisk her to his apartment.

Although she was nervous about going to William’s place, Buffy’s curiosity had gotten the best of her, once again, and she just had to find out what it looked like. They got there in less then two minutes, parked and headed up to the second floor of the secured building, to apartment #10, his apartment.

“Come in, Princess,” he opened the door for her and showed her inside. Buffy stepped inside the living room of what appeared to be a moderate sized apartment unit. The first thing she noticed, was the black leather couch in the middle of the room, ‘leather and black,’ she giggled to herself, ‘figures.’

The carpet was almost a beige color, but it was the roll top desk in the corner of front room that caught her eye immediately.

“Oh my God!” she cried out loud, almost skipping up to the desk, “this is an English Edwardian roll top desk, Will! And it’s mahogany! Do you know how special this is Will?”

Spike knew exactly how ‘special’ this was, but he just smiled at her and shook his head. “Why don’t you tell me, Buffy,” he queried.

“It’s like major special, Will,” she crowed, “it’s from the 1880’s and Oh my God, it’s just perfect!” He smiled at her warmly, taking joy in her joy of her own knowledge about such things.

“Can I touch it?” she asked with a certain reverance. “Of course, Princess,” he chuckled, “you can touch anything you want.” She blushed profusely, he noticed with pleasure, at his double innuendo, “go ahead,” he assured her.

Buffy ran her slim hand over the roll top and then down the middle drawers to the banded marquetry work that made the desk so special.

“It’s magnificent, William,” she whispered in awe, “truly a work of art.” When she turned to look at him, he saw the traitorous tears in her eyes.

“What is it, Buffy?” he asked, concerned, “why’re you crying, luv?” With a shake of head, she looked away from him, “it’s just that I love these kinds of things. The antiques, their craftsmanship and all of the history that goes with them. I just, I mean I don’t have these kind of works in my house. Angel only likes modern art and decorations,” she finished rather bitterly.

He couldn’t answer that one at the moment. It was bad enough that she brought up that dick’s name, but it pissed him off to no end that Angel would even have control in almost every aspect of Buffy’s life. Even the interior decorating, as if Peaches had any taste in that department.

“Buffy,” Spike murmered, careful not to approach her too closely, “I know how brilliant you are in antiques, art and everything that goes with them. I’m just sorry that you haven’t been able to pursue your dreams or your field of study. Please believe me, luv, any kudos you give me about my choice in home decorations is music to my ears. I know how keen your eye is for these things.”

The look of appreciation that she gave him caused his heart to skip three beats. ‘Damn you Angel,’ he grumbled inwardly, ‘just what have you done to break Buffy?’

Buffy glanced around the living room quickly, searching for something else to use to change the direction the conversation had taken. That’s when she spied the only piece of artwork in the room, hanging over the mantle piece of the faux marble fireplace. Perfectfly, evenly hung, right in the middle of the room was a print of ‘Christina’s World’ by Andrew Wyeth, Joyce and Buffy Summers’ favorite American painter.

“William,” she gasped, “I can’t believe it! That’s my favorite painting by an American artist! I can’t believe you have it hanging in your front room!” She stood in front of the reproduction, her mouth open in awe, “I can’t believe you have this. I just can’t believe it Will. You know,” she whispered, “it always reminded me of your sister, Drusilla. The bluffs, her staring at the painter’s farmhouse. It always put me in mind of poor Dru’s fragility, her secret world.”

Buffy felt Will’s hand take hers, “yeah,” he whispered back, “always put me in mind of that too.” They just stood together, connected by the joint admiration of the painter and his work.

After a quiet moment or two, Buffy felt William lean over and kiss her neck, pulling her into an embrace. It’s not that she minded his show of affection, but she so did not want it to escalate, at the moment into something sexual. She had come here, early, to talk to William, discuss some things that she needed to get out. Here he was, getting all naughty right off and it bothered her that he wanted to take the afternoon to ‘that level’ so soon.

He began to pull her to what she assumed was his bedroom and at first, she reluctantly allowed him to lead her there. When they got into his bedroom, Buffy was overcome by the pure masculine essence in there. The king sized bed was covered in a black satin comforter, pulled down just enough to show the tan sheets that lay beneath. A mahogany end table sat next to the bed, but it was the mahogany chest of drawers, George II era, circa 1745, if she wasn’t mistaken, that took Buffy’s breath away.

“Will!” she yelped, causing him to cease the assault he’d started on her mouth with his kisses, “what!” he jumped slightly startled, “what’s wrong?”

This time she didn’t ask if she could touch the dresser, she just reached right out and stroked the fine wood with her fingers. “Nothing’s wrong, Will,” she sighed, “this is such fine furniture. I can’t believe you have these pieces. Where did you get them? From Anne and Rupert?”

Spike wasn’t sure what kind of game Buffy was playing now, but he wasn’t in the mood to join in the fun. He wanted nothing more then to push her down on his bed and shag her into oblivion and she seemed to just want to play ‘name that antique.’ First off, he wasn’t exactly ignorant himself in the finer points of art, and secondly he had to wonder if this just wasn’t a ploy on her part to avoid sleeping with him.

“Yeah,” he spat out quickly, “that’s it, I got it from them. So let’s forget that and take advantage of my big, rather comfy bed right there, luv. Come on, crawl into the sheets and give ‘your’ art to me good, Buffy.”

His crass words caught in his throat when he saw the look of hurt and betrayal that she shot him and he was immediately sorry for what he’d said, but it was too late.

“You incredible asshole!” she cried as she ran past him and out of the bedroom.

“Buffy!” he shouted after her and immediately followed suit, “wait, I’m sorry. Just……”

Buffy was headed for the front door, which was ludicrous he thought, because her car was over three miles away at a lousy Strip Mall and Spike was the only way for her to get there. He certainly had no intention of taking her back there right now; he had to fix this first.

“Stay away from me,” she hissed with venom, “stay the hell away from me you moron!” Buffy slipped past William, who had almost, but not quite, cornered her by the front door and then headed back into his bedroom. With a quick slam of his door and a turn of the lock, she was completely seperated from the idiot and alone to conjure all kinds of imaginary tortures to place on William Giles.

“You snake,” she muttered, “you one track minded snake in the grass! I come here, early, to discuss my career, art and happy things and……”

William called to her from the other side of the door, “open the door, please Buffy, luv,” he pleaded. “I’m sorry for being so crude, really. Open the door and we’ll talk it out. We can just talk and I’ll listen to anything you want to say. I mean it Buffy, please open the door.”

She leaned with her back against the locked door and slid down onto the floor, her butt plopping down on the beige carpeted floor. “Go to hell, Spike!” she hissed, “you’re just like Angel, a self absorbed moron with no thought to anyone ‘cept yourself and your enormous dick! I detest you both right now!”

She heard the growl from the other side, “I’m in no way like your prick of a husband, Buffy. And I’d appreciate it if you’d refrain from mentioning the ponce every other sentence! Especially in the same sentence as ‘my dick!”

Buffy slammed her head, dramatically against the door, “screw you, Spike!” she shouted, “you’re a nasty, selfish monster and I’m a fool for ever coming here!”

Spike was at a loss as what to do, something he didn’t experience too often, therefore he didn’t have any fast anwers for. He knew he’d screwed up, big time, but he couldn’t fix the problem if he couldn’t talk to Buffy. He lit a cigarette, his safety device and then a thought dawned on him, and he headed into his kitchen to find his tool box under the sink. When he’d returned to the bedroom, he brought an adequate screw driver with him, one that would unlock his own locked bedroom door.

“Buffy,” he said evenly, “I’m going to unlock this door, if I have to take the damn thing off of it’s hinges, so, please, unlock it yourself, or back away from the door.” He heard her hiss again, “go to hell!”

With a shake of his head, he proceeded to unscrew the hinges and remove the door completely. “Listen to me!” he ordered when he’d removed the door, set it aside and saw her run behind the other side of the bed. “Buffy, dammit, listen to me!”

She shook her head violently and ducked behind his bed, “don’t you come near me, William!” she commanded angrily, “don’t you take one step towards me!”

He was relieved to hear her call him William instead of Spike again, so he dared to step closer to her. “Buffy, honey,” he began.

“Don’t you honey me you creep!” she retorted, “if you truly cared about me, truly cared like a man should, you’d respect me and listen to me. You’d make sure I was heard and everything. If I’m such a honey, why do you and every other man want to screw me first and ask questions later?”

“Buffy,” he said softly, “I don’t just want to screw you, okay? I mean it, I do want to listen to you and hear what you have to say. If I’m an insensitive prick, I’m sorry, I really am, but it’s just that to have you here, with me? It’s rather overwhelming for me too and I guess I didn’t react well to you being here. It means more to me then you know, Buffy and I’m sorry if I’m such a bloody idiot that I don’t know how to show it other then the want I have for you. Please forgive me and let me talk to you. Hell, at least let me see you!”

She tentively poked her head out from the side of the bed, “well,” she hesitated, “you promise to keep your nasty hands to yourself?”

He nodded sincerely, “promise and hope to die,” he crossed his heart for good measure.

“Okay,” she relented and stepped out from the side of the bed, cautiously, “but I’m not going to bed with you.” ‘At least not right this minute,’ she added silently.

“Look,” he said softly, “you seem more then tired and I don’t blame you. Everyone throws a lot of exhaustive crap at you Buffy, including me. Why don’t you get undressed, crawl into bed and get a nap. I’ll go out into the other room, won’t bother you and let you rest. When you get up, if you want, we’ll talk some more and I’ll truly listen to you. Does that sound acceptable to you, luv?”

She tried not to, but she let a slight smile slip out on her mouth. “Okay Will,” she murmered with a traitorous yawn, “I am kind of tired. I didn’t sleep well last night and I’ve had a real emotional day. I’ll just slip in here, go to sleep for a while and when I get up, I’ll come and talk to you.”

William winked at her and backed out of his own bedroom. “Oh,” he added from the other room, “I’m whipping up some dinner for us later; nothing special just some shrimp scampi. Does that sound good, Princess?”

“Sure,” she yawned loudly. When she was sure he was truly settled in his front room, she slipped out of her jeans, shoes and shirt, leaving only her demi-bra and thong on. She crawled into the clean crisp sheets and immediately closed her eyes to rest, “William Giles,” she whispered to the air or maybe to a Higher Power, “I think you might have some real potential.”

 

Chapter 24: ‘Whenever I’m Alone With You’


A/N: (of course!) I actually finished this chapter yesterday, but held off submitting it for a couple of reasons. I’ve a feeling I might be submitting too many chapters, too quickly, something someone else concurs with, but I don’t know, so, here goes the next one.


Spike sat on his sofa wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, in his left hand was a beer and in his right a cigarette. A soccer match, Manchester United to be exact, was playing on the telly and he tried to concentrate on the game.

“God I’m a bloody fool,” he groaned to himself. “Why can’t I shut the hell up, just once and think before I open my big mouth?”

He took another swallow of the beer and a long drag on the cigarette, “you’d think I’d learned by twenty-eight to read a woman like Buffy better then I did today.”

She’d been so excited by the painting and the stupid bloody desk, why’d he have to go and screw up everything by letting his baser nature take over again. All she wanted to do was talk to him about her idea of going to work, really talk to him. As if his opinion really mattered to her and he had to go and put moves on her, try to get her into bed.

“Asshole,” he called himself for the umpteenth time, “Spike, you’d fuck up a one car accident.”

By the time United had made their first goal, he was feeling pretty bad about himself. “If only she’d wake up soon,” he thought wistfully, “I’d make sure I would listen to her and hear what she had to say.”

He sighed out loud and got up to go get another beer, more for just something to do then out of desire for it. When he got back to the couch, he saw that he’d missed another goal by ‘his’ team and swore under his breath, “bloody hell, I’m missing everything today!”

He plopped back down on the couch and fought the urge to light another smoke, he knew how Buffy truly detested cigarettes even if she’d taken a drag of his last night. That thought reminded him of what they’d done later in ‘her’ house, upstairs in that pleasant little guest room and a slow smile formed on his lips.

“How can I not want her like that, when we’re together, especially since she just oozes sensuality. Even if she doesn’t have a clue as to much power she has over wankers like me. I wonder why she doesn’t realize her own sexual power?” This thought puzzled him and had for years.

Buffy woke up, fully aware of where she was this time and stretched slowly like a cat would from a deep sleep. She felt fully rested for the first time in ages and almost hated to get out of Will’s comfy bed, even if she was alone in it. A glance at his alarm clock told her she’d slept for a good three hours in that bed.

“Wow,” she hummed contentedly, “I needed that. I’m just glad I stood my ground and didn’t give in to…..”

Before she could finish her thought, her eyes fell on the picture above the King George dresser. A teenage version of herself, her Senior picture, stared back at her, causing her to bolt up in bed, stunned.

“I didn’t see that originally,” she gasped, “how did he get that? We weren’t friends when those came out, I never,” but again her thought was interrupted by another one.

She clamored out of his bed to take a closer look at the picture and confirm her suspicions. “That little sneak!” she muttered, “that is the picture, frame and all I gave Angel at the end of High School. William must of lifted it from the Travers house!”

For some reason, this struck Buffy as funny and she began to giggle like a school girl. Instead of being angry at William for having the picture, she was glad that he’d taken something from her husband, even if Angel and her weren’t together then.

“Serves that lousy creep of a husband of mine right!” she said as she wandered out into the living room to find Will.

She found him sitting on the couch, his back to her watching some sports thing on the television.

“Well hello Sleeping Beauty,” he called to her warmly without turning to look at her, “how was the nap?”

Buffy walked around to the front of the couch, unconcerned that she was only half dressed and plopped down next to him. When he didn’t put his arm around her immediately, she reached up and brought it around her shoulders herself. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it.

“The nap was terrific, William,” she responded honestly, keeping her eyes on the guys running around on the 36” screen before her. What’s this, field hockey?” she asked pointing at the TV.

William burst out into laughter, barely able to reply to her question, “no, luv,” he choked out, “it’s what’s known as ‘real’ football, at least to most of the world.”

Buffy looked at the screen, then at him, “no it’s not football!” she huffed at him with a pout, “where’s the helmets and the big shoulder pad thingy’s. Where’s that brown pig-skinned ball they’re always passing around? Angel follows those guys from Oakland, you know, the big scary looking pirate like guys. The Radicals? No, the Raiders, that’s it!”

Spike tried to overlook Buffy’s mention of his hated nemesis, Angel, and stopped chuckling long enough to explain the difference between American football and ‘soccor’ to her. It was pretty hard on him to not just grab her and kiss her, she was doing that pouty thing with her lower lip and he never could resist it. Reining in his lust, he began to explain the difference between the two sports ending with, “I like American football, but prefer real football, like the rest of the world.”

She stared at him for a moment, rolled her eyes and gave her shoulders a slight shrug, “I can’t stand any of it,” she said simply then, “hey, I know it’s really early yet, but I’m starving. When’s supper?”

He broke out in laughter again, happy to see Buffy craving food as he always thought she was just a tad too thin. 'Funny,’ he mused, ‘when ‘I’ve seen’ her eat, she really puts it away. Wonder why she’s so tiny?’

“Okay, Princess,” he stood up, pulling her with him, “I’ll just go slave over a hot stove while you come keep me company in the kitchen, such as it is.”

Buffy eagerly followed him into the tiny kitchen area that was connected to a dining room that was bigger then it. The shiny black appliances were spotless and striking against the bright white kitchen walls.

“You sure do like the color black, don’t you Will?” she asked curiously, “why?”

He pulled a baking pan out of a bright white cupboard and set it on the stove, “don’t know really, just do,” he finished with a shrug.

“You said something about shrimp scampi?” she reminded him, licking her lips, “I’m pretty good with that. Can I help?”

Spike turned around and smiled at her, delighted that she wanted to be a part of it, made him feel closer to her somehow. “Okay, luv. I learned a recipe to ‘bake’ the shrimp in the oven, not saute it on the stove. There’s a pot in that cupboard, if you’d take it out and start some water for the rice pilaf, that’d be fantastic.”

He noted that she hurried to the cupboard and found the pot with a certain childlike enthusiasm. It tugged at his heart, ‘she wants so much to ‘do’ things for herself’ he thought sadly, ‘be a real part of just simple things. Why’d she marry such a controlling wanker like Angel anyway?’

“There’s white wine in the fridge Buffy, would you open it for me? I use it in the scampi. Why don’t you pour youself a glass, luv. I know how much you enjoy Chardonnay and don’t worry, it’s a California vint.”

Normally, Spike would have done the opening and pouring himself, but it seemed important to Buffy to do for herself and he knew how savy she was about wine and such.

Buffy opened the fridge, pulled out the wine and opened it like a professional with the cork screw William had handed her.

“Mmmm,” she hummed as she took her first sip, “ice cold and KJ’s at that!” She looked around the tiny kitchen, “what else can I do,” she asked, eager to get her hands into anything she could.

“Pretty much cooks itself, luv,” he replied, preheating the oven then washing his hands in the sink. “There’s salad, but I made it already so it’d be ice cold. Only way for salad to be as far as I’m concerned.”

She had to agree with him there so she sat down on one of the dining room chairs, where he joined her quickly with a beer.

“About earlier, sweetheart,” he began softly, his blue eyes were cautious and it made her blush and look away from him. “I’m sorry I cornered you like that and made you feel bad. Please look at me, Buffy,” he pleaded gently, touching her hand with his tenderly.

When she met his gaze again, she could read the sincerity in them, “it’s okay, Will,” she whispered shyly, “I understand, I really do. It’s just that I figured maybe we could converse a little more, at first anyway, you know?”

“Yes,” he answered, “now at least I know and understand. And Buffy,” he continued, clasping her hand more firmly in his, “it’s not okay, what I did. It was stupid, ignorant and selfish of me. Especially because it upset you, made you unhappy and angry.”

He could see she was considering his words, seemingly believing in them. Her little white teeth worried her bottom lip; another of her habits he’d always adored, right up there with the pout thing.

“I mean it Buffy,” he went on, firmly, “believe it or not, I didn’t bring you here to cage you up or hold you like some kind of bleedin’ sex slave. I brought you here to share a part of my world. That and to give you a place that well, you can feel freer in; maybe be more at ease, be more yourself, I guess.”

Spike felt a euphoric rush shoot up through his body when he looked into those emerald green eyes of Buffy Summers and realized that she believed him, every word he said. Which was good, because he’d meant all of it, no matter how difficult it was to tell her so, especially to her face. There was a happy glow in her green eyes as she guided his left hand to her lips and kissed his palm tenderly.

“And I know that, now, Will,” she murmered softly.

The timer on the stove beeped loudly, causing Buffy to jump up from her chair and hurry over to it. Turning off the bell and oven, she lit the stove top and looked questioningly at William, who still sat at the table, studying her as if in a daze.

“Well, oh pal of mine,” she chuckled at him good naturedly, “are you going to finish what you started here, or leave me to my own devices in ‘your’ kitchen?”

This seemed to wake him from his daze and he actually blushed quite red when he reached her at the stove. ‘Must of caught the ‘pal’ thingy’ she giggled to herself happily. It was right then, when she caught sight of him again, dressed only in his boxers that she remembered she was wearing a bra and panties, nothing more.

“Oh, God!” she cried, “Will I have to go get dressed, can’t eat like this!” Now it was her turn to blush red.

“Why?” he asked with a smirk, “I think your outfit is perfectly appropriate for dinner with me.”

Buffy rolled her eyes at him, but decided to just leave it; truth was she felt perfectly comfortable just as she was, which totally surprised her, apparently most of all.

“I’ll make the rice,” she announced firmly in her ‘that’s the end of that subject’ tone and set about boiling the pilaf he’d set out. She was fully aware that he was behind her, watching her intently and without looking about she asked lightly, “you going to stand there, checking out my butt or you gonna’ be of some use and at least set the table?”

He took the hint and began to take dishes out of another cupboard and placing them on the dining table. “Bloody hell, but she loves to order me about!” she thought she heard him mutter under his breath, but in a warm, good natured way. It made her smile.

They ate in a comfortable silence, as if they had talked enough for a while and just needed to sit quietly and enjoy each other’s company. Buffy finally broke the silence by complimenting Will on the scampi with honest enthusiasm, “Will this is delicious, better then most restaraunts. How did you learn to cook like this?”

He blushed again, shrugged non-chalantly and reminded her that he’d been on his own since he was eighteen-years-old.

“I get tired of food out, luv,” he admitted, “learned to cook to survive..”

She thought about it for a minute, “well, if you cook other stuff this good, you could be a professional chef!” He blushed red again, she noted with delight and went back to finish the last of her shrimp.

“Want to hear some music?” he asked suddenly. To which she nodded her reply while she chewed her last shrimp and rice gleefully.

He hurried over to the CD unit by the TV and flipped through some selections, finally settling on one which he input and turned it up. Strains of The Cure’s ‘Love Song’ filtered through the room and Buffy shot William a ‘what’ kind of look.

“Well I do listen to stuff besides the Sex Pistols and Clash from the 80’s, sweetheart,” he said defensively. Besides,” he said shyly, taking her empty plate from the table, “this song reminds me of you, somehow.”

“How?” she asked, looking him straight in the eye.

‘Oh just great, Spike,’ he derided himself for being so damn mouthy, ‘now you’ll have to explain the whole ice skating thing to her and she’ll think you’ve been stalking her since high school. Which wouldn’t be too far from the truth,’ he reminded himself. He sighed loudly and pulled her up gently from her chair, leading her back to the couch.

“The dishes,” she began to argue, but he shook his head and pulled her down to sit next to him.

“I used to watch you ice skate,” he blurted out quicker then he’d intended.

“You what?” she gasped, apparently stunned by his admission.

“I used to watch you ice skate,” he repeated with a mumble. “I’d go to the rink you skated at and stay out of view. Watched you most times, I think, even went to those little shows your Mum insisted you enter. Went as much as I could or knew about and did it until you quit skatin’ all together. I know what you’re going to say, Buffy,” he sighed again, unable to look at her.

“I’m a real bloody ponce and a stalker to boot, but in my defense; I loved the way you looked when you skated. You just flew over the ice like a fairy princess, or somethin’ and you seemed so free and so sure of yourself then.” He shook his head sadly, “I never understood why you stopped. You seemed to love it so.”

‘Because my control freak of a husband couldn’t ice skate, nor did he care to try and learn. I suppose he thought it looked unmanly or something or, God forbid, he might look foolish. So, he berated me and my connection to the sport until I finally just gave it up and stored my skates in the attic of our house.’ But to him, she answered simply, “I outgrew it,” and changed the subject abruptly.

“Would you replay that song, Will? The ‘Love Song’ by Robert Smith? I just love it and I want you to dance with me to it, right now.”

William looked horrified, “I can’t dance, Buffy,” he stammered, “I’ve got two right feet, really. I’d step all over your tiny feet and probably cripple you for life, please don’t ask.”

Buffy wouldn’t be dissuaded, “I know you can at least slow dance, William Giles. I remember you at the Prom, dancing with that Cecily Adams, your date. And why didn’t you marry her, Will,” she asked softly, “you were engaged at one time, what happened? If I can be so nosey to ask.”

He grabbed the cigaraette pack he’d left on the coffee table, “she wasn’t the right girl, Buffy,” he mumbled, “she always thought I was beneath her anyway.” He lit up a cigarette and she didn’t have the heart to remind him that she hated smoke, “and,” he continued, “if you remember that night right, I kept watching you and that Parker idiot you were with.”

She giggled, “Parker wasn’t an idiot, William, he just wasn’t the right guy for me,” she ended by taking his hand in hers. “Anyway,” she muttered, “you were not beneath Cecily, Will. If she wasn’t the right girl, then so be it, but you certainly weren’t below her. Her loss, anyway,” she shrugged and again dropped the subject.

“Come on,” she stood up and pulled him with her, “let’s dance Will.”

Spike had no choice but to hit reset and turn back the disc to ‘Love Song.’ When the first strains of the song played over the amps, he embraced Buffy in his arms and began to rock slowly to the beat. He tried real hard to ignore the fact that both she and he were in a state of undress that defied restraint on his part at least. Her little lacy bra and panties did little to cover her and pressed against him the way she was, he’d have to fight real hard and heavy to control his passion.

‘Love Song’ By ‘The Cure’ lyrics by Robert Smith:

‘Whenever I’m alone with you, you make me feel
like I am home again. Whenever I’m alone with you,
you make me feel like I am whole again’

“Will?” she whispered in his ear, “I don’t suppose it ever get’s cold enough around here to actually freeze that pond of yours, huh?”

No, he shook his head, sadly.

‘Whenever I’m alone with you, you make feel like I am young again, whenever, I’m alone with you, you make me feel like I am fun again.’

“That’s too bad,” she sighed, “cos’ I’d really like to skate for you, somewhere in the open. Somewhere you can watch me, without hiding in shadows.”

‘However far away, I will always love you, however, long I stay, I will always love you. Whatever words I say, I will always love you, I will always love you.’

She ran her hands up and down his back, slowly, feeling the rippling of his strong muscles.

“I’d be careful, luv,” he warned, “you keep that up and we’ll be dancin’ in bed real soon. Not that I’d mind, but I want you to…..”

Buffy rested her hands on his boxer covered butt and squeezed him to her, “who says I don’t want to be dancing in bed with you, Will?” she rasped in his ear. Slowly, she backed them both into his bedroom, swaying to the music that still played on the stereo. Laying down on his bed, she took his handsome face in both her hands, “you want me, don’t you Will?” she asked boldly, for her at least.

“Yes,” he replied, his voice hoarse with lust, “always.”

“More importantly, you truly care about me, I mean truly care, don’t you?” Buffy asked, wistfully.

Will looked into her eyes, his own half closed from desire or fear of rejection, she couldn’t be sure. “Yes, Buffy,” he rasped, “I’ve cared about you from day one.”


Spike peppered Buffy’s forehead, cheeks and finally her mouth with his kisses, careful not to be too rough with her. Only because he wanted so badly to take this slowly, really draw it out for her. She seemed to want it that way and he wanted what she wanted more then anything in the world. More then that, he wanted her to feel good, warm and fullfilled physically. He heard the last refrain of the song:

‘Whenever I’m alone with you, you make me feel like I am free again. Whenever I’m alone with you, you make me feel like I am clean again.’

“Buffy,” he murmered in her ear this time, “I want to taste you again. It’s all I’ve thought about for days and I just have to have you that way. Say you want it, Buffy, please.”

The look in her eyes was really enough of an answer, but he had to hear it from her mouth, “I want it, Will,” she sighed huskily. Wasting no more time, he lowered his mouth down to where his fingers had been just a moment before, down in her hot center.

“Oh Buffy,” he moaned as he tasted her again, “you’re ambrosia to me, the wine of the Gods.” Buffy writhed beneath his mouth as he brought her to realease, “Oh God, Will!” she cried out as she came, “God I love the way you do that to me! The things you say to me!”

“I need you in me, now!” she commanded forcefully, pulling him up to meet his mouth with hers. “Slow,” she whispered as she returned his wet kisses, “slow and sweet, Will. I know you want it that way too. Don’t you?”

He nodded and pushed slowly into her, “yes. I can barely hold back with you Buffy, but I love it slow and sweet, anything for you. Anyway you want,” he groaned in pleasure as he pulled out of her halfway, then pushed back in, agognizingly tender.

She felt the corded muscles of his neck and shoulder blades as she ran her hands down his quickly dampening back. His taut abs rubbed against her bare breasts, causing a sweet sweat to break out on both of them, “you’re gorgeous,” he whispered, kissing her mouth again.

“So are you,” she replied, thrusting up to meet him.

“God, Buffy,” he moaned again, “what you do to me.”

They finished, together, which was always a good way to finish in any one’s language. He lay above her, his body and hers, entwined, mingled with the sweet sweat of sex .

“I’m all gunky, I’ve got to clean up, Will,” she murmered into his ear, “let me up so I can wash up, okay?”

Spike nodded lazily, reluctant to let her break away from him, even to freshen herself. “Come back soon,” he mumbled hazily, “don’t be gone too long.”

She giggled and scurried off to the bathroom to wash up as she called it. When she returned, she brought a clean, warm wet washcloth with her, “you need to be cleaned up too,” she insisted, a sly gleam in her eye.

Without waiting for his consent, she began to wipe his privates with the tepid cloth while he lay, his eyes closed in contentment.

“Keep that up, luv,” he growled, “and you’ll be all gunky again, as you call it, real soon.”

Buffy giggled again, mischieviously, “oh don’t you wish,” she quipped and hopped up, presumeably to deposit the washcloth in the bathroom.

“Don’t I know,” he hissed, grabbing her to him when she returned to the bed.

Laying together, their hands clasped between their close bodies, Buffy looked over at him. He was half asleep, she gathered; his eyes shut tight and his breathing had become slow and regular now. Not the panting they’d shared together just moments before.

“Will,” she whispered in his ear, stroking his hair gently.

“Hmmm?” he murmered, sleepily back, his eyes still closed, a half smile on his mouth. “Do you suppose that we could maybe do what we did last night?” she asked seductively.

Will’s eyes flew open at that request and he favored her with a huge grin. “Hell yes, Buffy!” he yelped, “no problem!”

Buffy squealed in delight, “oh goody,” she cried with delight, “it’s just too darn bad we don’t have a mirror this time!”

She was asleep beside him, her soft hair fanned out about her head, covering his pillow in a golden spray. Spike lay propped up on his left elbow, watching her sleep, happy that she looked so contented. He reached out and ran his hand down the side of her face, careful not to wake her.

“Will,” she whispered dreamily in her sleep as she cuddled his hand to her face. The simple sound of his name from her caused such a surge of warmth to spred through him that he had to restrain himself from waking her right then. However, he opted to just continue ‘thinking’ things out in his head.

Truth was, he’d already formulated most of his plan to bring down Angel Travers, even enlisting the aid of his friend and part-time business partner. The problem was, it was risky, really risky, at least for his friend and himself. If it wasn’t done just right, both he and his buddy would be implicated in the whole mess that was Angel’s illegal dealings; but, it was the safest way for Buffy to break free from her husband.

Spike had been serious as a heart attack when he told her that first night they were together that divorce would not be an option for Angel. He, Spike knew very well what Buffy’s husband was capable of and it scared him for her, what Angel might do to her or have done, anyway.

Angel Travers very rarely handled his own really dirty business, delegating such things to others was more his style. As far as himself, he could handle Angel any day of the week, even if he had to do some jail time to accomplish it, but there was his business partner. The man had a wife, a small child and another baby on the way, and Spike didn’t want anything to destroy their family unit.

Anyway, Spike didn’t want to go to jail, ever; it would mean not being able to be with Buffy. Besides, ultimately, Buffy had to be the one to decide when it was right for her to completely break free of Angel. Until then, Spike wouldn’t put the plan into full motion, but the minute she gave him the sign; he’d start the wheels turning that would bring her husband to his knees.

‘ Right now, though, Buffy was not near ready to break away from Angel, not completely,’ he thought to himself, sadly. “And not quite ready to hear how I really feel about you, Princess,” he murmered to her.

To say that ‘he truly cared’ about Buffy was an understatement, but she just wasn’t ready to ‘hear’ the words from him yet. So, for now anyway, he’d have to be content to say them to her in his own mind, or in a whispered breath. Which he did, right then as he watched her sleep.

“I love you, Buffy. God, I love you so much!”
 

25: ‘Interview Chapter With A Curator’


A/N: This is a mere interlude between a lot more Spuffyness. I only allude to Spike and Buffy’s encounters here because I wanted to concentrate on Buffy’s pursual of a career and such. Thanks, Luv, Spuf


William was sound asleep next to her, spooned up against her with his arms wrapped tightly about her back and shoulders. Buffy glanced around the room to the clock and gasped, “Oh God, it’s nearly midnight. I’ve got to get home!”

While she was trying to figure out how to loose herself from him, without waking him up, it dawned on her that he would have to take her back to her car at the mall.

“Oh damn!,” she muttered, “I can’t go anywhere without waking him and he looks so darn cute asleep.”

His hair was all mussed up and there were little blond spikes that stuck up here and there all over his head. A part of her knew she should get home, but the other part, the ‘isn’t he adorable asleep’ part told her to stay here in this comfy bed, with this comfy man.

“Oh well,” she sighed in resignation, giving into to her ‘isn’t he adorable’ part, “might as well be comfy and stay for the long overnight haul.”

It wasn’t as if there was anyone waiting for her at home and the gardner could have cared less if she wondered into her house after daylight. Both sets of her neighbors were on vacation, and anyway, surprisingly, the entire neighbohood seemed to mind their own business. No one would even know she’d been gone all night, nor would they care that Buffy Travers had not ‘gotten home before dawn.’

“Besides,” she giggled under her breath, “Will’s so lovely when he sleeps, he seems like an angel.”

A thought came to her, “angel my ass,” she mumbled a little louder, “he sure doesn’t ‘sound’ like an angel. Especially when he’s whispering little hot naughty things in my ear when we’re making love.”

‘Making Love!’ she thought stunned, ‘did I just say that?’

“I spose you’re plottin’ your escape Princess?” he said with a smirk, his eyes still closed tight.

“You’re not even asleep you big faker,” she squealed and began to tickle him mercilessly.

“Uh, uh, uh,” he grabbed her and pinned her arms up above her head, against the pillows, “only I get to tickle, you, and I feel more like kissin’ you right now then teasing you, so……”

He began an assault on Buffy’s neck with his lips that trailed down to her left breast, looked up at her and smiled wickedly, “still want to escape?”

Buffy giggled uncontrollably, “no!” she choked out, “I’ll stay all night, I mean if you want me to.”

She suddenly became quiet and he stopped licking her nipple to stare at her, “bloody hell, Buffy, I want you to stay all week,” he responded honestly.

“I can’t,” she whispered shyly, “but I’ll stay tonight with you Will.”

Spike broke into a huge grin and rolled onto his back, pulling her up on top of him. “I know you can’t stay all week, luv,” he whispered, brushing her silky hair out of her face, “just wish you could, that’s all.”

A warm feeling began in his stomach and slipped up into his chest as he stared into her warm green eyes. She had a little half-smile on her lips, her hair was what could only be described as wild all about her head and she wore the look of an extremely well shagged lover.

Even after their sleep, she looked all kiss swollen and sated, just like he must look right now. It just made him feel so happy and good about them both that he had to bury his face in the side of her neck; he felt like he might tear up from happiness and didn’t want her to see it.

“I really should get home before 8:00 AM, though, Will,” she said, her little face scrunched up in thought. “No need to tempt fate and I have a ton of things to do today.”

He looked at her, tried to smile, but only succeeded in a pout, “yeah, I know,” he sighed. “Would you come back this evening Buffy?” he asked hopefully, trying to read her face for an answer.

She twitched her pretty mouth and gazed into his eyes, thoughtfully, “yeah, I will come back tonight, Will,” she smiled. “But I can’t stay too late, I wouldn’t dare to. Can I park at the little mall again and have you drive me here? I probably could stay until say 11:00 PM or so, if that’s okay?”

Spike ran his hand down the side of her face, “that’d be great, Buffy,” he murmered, placing a chaste kiss on her warm cheek.

“I wish I could take you on a real date, Princess. Someplace real nice,” he said wistfully. “Oh, I know, too risky, someone might recognize you,” he added somewhat sadly, “just wish I could take and show you off all over.”

It was Buffy’s turn to run her fingers lightly down his cheek, “it’s okay, Will, honest. Believe it or not, I really like your place and I ‘do’ feel comfortable here. Please don’t worry about it, kay?”

He nodded then changed the subject, “what do you want to do? What do you want me to cook you?” She giggled, a delightful sound to his ears and he longed to hear it so many more times.

“Why don’t we watch movies, maybe order a pizza!” she squealed like a teenager. “Hey, I know,” she sat up, cross legged on the bed next to him and continued, “we can order a pizza and those hot wing thingy’s you use to love! You still like them, don’t you Will?”

He felt his heart stop for a minute and he had to catch his breath, ‘she remembers,’ he thought happily. “Yes, luv,” he chuckled, “I still love them and I think the bloke that invented them is a bloody genious!”

With a gentle tug, Spike pulled Buffy back down on top of him and shot her a mischiveous smirk, “that settled,” he purred, “what was that about ‘little hot naughties in your ear?”

Buffy hurried into her house, via the back door. It was nearly 9:00 AM and she needed to get out of yesterday’s clothes and into another shower before it got too late. The answering machine by her bed blinked two messages at her and she felt her heart jump up into her throat.

“Oh shit,” she hissed, “please, please let it not be Angel, please!” She didn’t suspect it was Angel, since he would have called on her cell phone or at least called Willow’s and since her friend never called Buffy, she was pretty sure all was safe on that end.

After punching the listen button, she heard her mother’s voice, “Buffy, it’s Mom. I haven’t seen or heard from you in ages. Is everything okay there? Give me a call when you can, dear. Love you.”

Willow’s voice was on the next message, but it turned out to be her friend just letting her know that ‘all was clear’ (leave it to Wills to be cryptic!) and that she’d discussed the Gallery thing with Tara.

“Give us a call later today, Buff,” Willow chirped, “maybe you can drop by and talk more to Tara?”

She called her Mom back first and had a nice long chat with her, ending the conversation by promising profusely that she would come up to Santa Barbara and visit, soon. Joyce Summers would probably not visit them in Sunnydale, Buffy knew her mother disliked Angel, deeply.

After making herself some coffee, Buffy settled down to return Willow’s call. Tara answered and told Buffy she would be happy to give her references, but that she would need her transcripts and records from the University. More importanly, Tara assured her that she’d help set up an interview with a Curator, who was a good friend of hers.

“Olivia D’ Brisset is a wonderful woman, Buffy,” Tara gushed. “She’s smart, married with two kids, but really independent and knows where she’s going. She’ll just love you Buffy, like we all do.”

Buffy made plans to go to Willow and Tara’s for lunch and chat the whole thing over. “This is so cool,” she sang. The shower felt great and she decided to wear a pretty sundress to their apartment, so she could go to Will’s later, kind of dressed up. Today felt so special to her that she wanted to look special too and kind of thought that Will would like her in the little powder blue sundress. Buffy just couldn’t wait to talk to the girls about the position at the Gallery.

Tara answered their apartment door when Buffy got there about 1:00 PM that same day. Willow was somewhere in the kitchen and Buffy could hear the banging of pots and pans as she prepared their lunch.

“Well, do you think you might like to interview with Olivia, Buffy,” Tara asked as she sipped a soda right from the can.

“Like!” Buffy squealed, “I would so ‘love’ to have an interview at the Gallery. My Mom worked there you know, well before she left for Santa Barbara, after I got married and all,” she finished on a sad note. The young woman sitting in the chair across from Buffy gave her a sympathetic look, but said nothing.

“You’ll need your transcripts from the University, like I told you. That would normally take a little while for you to get, but I’m going to get them sent to Olivia on Monday. In fact, I’ve already talked to Olivia today and she’s all set to speak to you as early as this Tuesday. I mean if you really want to?”

Buffy couldn’t believe her ears and began to squirm around on the couch with unhidden excitement, “oh Tara, do you think I could! That would be so awesome, I mean just to get into an interview that soon would be fantastic!”

Right then, they were interrupted by Willow who came flying out of the kitchen door with a platter of something and place mats.

“Slops on!” she cried cheerily, “hi Buff!” Tara and Buffy both jumped up to help the red head set the table and serve their lunch, which seemed to consist of a totally vegetarian diet. Which of course, was just fine with Buffy, especially when the whole time they ate, they talked about the Gallery, her chances of working there and art.

Willow never once brought up the subject of last night’s covert operation in which she’d played a part of. Either she trusted Buffy to tell her everything when she felt it was time, or had decided not to discuss it in front of Tara at this time. The afternoon just flew by, and Buffy heard the ‘Felix the Cat’ clock on the wall meow four times, signaling that it was now 4:00 PM.

“I should go, guys,” Buffy said, standing to prepare to leave, “I’ve got some plans and I really should get going.” Tara waved goodbye from the couch, Willow stood up to walk Buffy to the door.

“Buffy,” Willow said to her lowly just before she left the apartment, “please be careful, we really care about you, kay?” Buffy nodded and gave Willow a warm hug of thanks and left.

On the way home, Buffy dialed Will’s number; he answered on the second ring and sounded so pleased to hear her voice.

“Can I come over about 5:30 or so, Will,” she asked shyly, still embarrassed about calling men in general.

“Of course, Princess,” he responded warmly, “come when you like. I’m just here, waiting for you. Just ring me before you get to the mall, I’ll come over and pick you up.”

Buffy smiled, ‘why do you pamper me so much William Giles’ she thought to herself, ‘and do I really deserve this?’

“I’ve got an interview with the Gallery Curator on Tuesday, Will,” she crowed into the phone, too excited to keep it to herself any longer. “We can talk about it when I get there, over our pizza and hot wings, but it looks pretty good and all. I just can’t wait!”

She heard his pleased chuckle from the other end of the line, “that’s wonderful, Princess,” he said sincerely. “I’m sure you’ll knockem off their feet, luv.”

When she pulled into her driveway, it dawned on her that Will’s reaction to her good news was exactly how she wished Angel’s could be. But, the truth was that her husband would never be that elated about it, not in a million years.

Sunday morning came way too early for Buffy. As promised, Will had seen that she’d gotten herself home before midnight, even following her on his Harley to the end of her block. However, it was only half past 7:00 AM and Buffy heard the sounds of the back door being opened, with a key naturally, evidence that her dear hubby was home from LA.

She had not mentioned anything to Will about her uneasiness regarding Angel’s reaction to the job interview, which was probably the best thing. Will seemed to bristle at Angel’s name and that seemed reasonable enough, he was sleeping with the man’s wife after all. Buffy had also come to the conclusion, however deceitful, that she would not mention the possible position at the Gallery to Angel, at least not until it was a sure thing. There was no need to rock the boat anymore, especially since the Gallery thing might not work out.

If and when she got the position, then Buffy would come up with a plan to ease Angel into the idea as gently as possible. After all, it would do none of them any good to get all worked up over it; she was going to take the position, if it was offered to her, and that was all there was to it. Angel’s ‘pride’ be damned.

“Hey Buffy,” Angel nodded at her when he entered their bedroom, “how’s it going?”

He tossed his Armani overnight bag into the walk-in closet and set at the end of their bed.

“Okay,” she mumbled, not looking at him, “how are you?” If Buffy didn’t know better, she’d think they were a couple of teenagers on a first date; they were that uneasy with each other now.

“Okay,” he sighed and flopped back onto the bed next to her, “all of them started to get on my nerves, Dad, Tofutti,” and he chuckled here which caused her to smile, “and even dear little Dawnie.”

Buffy looked over at her husband and tried to remember when they’d been really happy together; it seemed like an eternity ago.

“When will Dawnie come home,” she asked quietly, not sure she even cared anymore.

“Not sure,” Angel responded, “her big birthday thing that Mom has planned for weeks is in a couple of months; I’m sure she’ll be around for that. Also, the fact that Connor will probably bug her until she gets back will be a big draw for her.” Buffy flinched at the name of Connor, but pushed it aside as best she could.

“Well,” she sighed, “maybe it’ll be good for both Dawn and your Mom to be apart for a while. I know that when I was seventeen it was pretty rough between my Mom and me. Give them some time, it’ll work out.”

Angel reached over and took her hand in his, “I missed you, Buff,” he murmered.

“Good,” she responded, “remember that the next time you ‘try’ to stomp all over my feelings and my pride.”

Before either of them could say more, Buffy jumped up and rushed into the bathroom, “I’m going to take a bath,” she called out, “if you want coffee it’s all set up to go on the kitchen counter. Maggie and Jenny should be back in a couple of hours and they can make some breakfast.”

She thought she heard him say something like ‘sure babe’ but she couldn’t be sure, she’d already turned on the bath water.

All of Sunday night and Monday evening, Angel and Buffy side stepped each other pretty successfully. Of course he had work to go to on Monday morning, so Buffy was free to just have some alone time and think about her interview at the Gallery on Tuesday. Like she’d promised herself, she hadn’t told Angel anything about it and she intended to keep it that way, until at least, she got the job.

By Monday night, Buffy had been victorious in avoiding any physical contact with her husband, sexual or otherwise. Not that he had pursued the issue; no, he seemed more then willing to avoid the physical aspect of their home life, completely, which was fine by Buffy. As much as she’d like to fix her marriage, the thought of having sex with her own husband simply annoyed her at the moment and she couldn’t explain why, even to herself.

They ate their Monday night meal in total silence and soon afer dinner Buffy headed up to bed. She could hear Angel downstairs, listening to some Barry Manilow ( ‘Mandy’ for God’s sake) and probably drinking himself into a stupor. When he stumbled up to bed, almost after 11:00 PM, he plopped into their bed with a heavy thump.

“Buff,” he slurred drunkenly, “I wanna’ play.” She feigned a very deep sleep and he eventually passed out

Buffy’s appointment with Olivia at the Gallery was at 10:00 AM, sharp.
After Angel had gone to work at 8:30, Buffy frantically tried to pull herself together enough to make some kind of a positive impression on the Art Curator. She’d chosen a simple navy blue skirt, the hem line hit just above her knee, with a sleeveless white silk top and two inch pumps. Tara had called her Monday night to tell her that Olivia had indeed received her transcripts from Sunnydale U. and was very impressed with her.

Buffy choked down a piece of toast and some of Maggie’s famous coffee and rechecked her look in the mirror for the twentieth time. Her hair was up in a loose bun, the make-up was definitely subdued and she had to admit, she looked pretty darn smart, even to herself.

“Here we go,” she bolstered herself and headed to the Camaro.

Olivia D’Brisset was everything Tara had said she was and much more. The woman was stunning in looks and stature. To Buffy, Ms. D’Brisset resembled a beautiful Egyptian Queen; tall, dark and self assured. She’d seen statues of Cleopatra VII and Olivia came about as close as a living model could to that formidible woman. Not only was she beautiful, Olivia had the most interesting British accent, a mix between upper class English with just a hint of Jamaican to it.

“You come highly recommended Buffy,” Olivia was saying, “I put a lot of stock in what Tara McClay has to say and she says you are perfect for this position. But, I’m curious, what do you say, Buffy?”

Buffy hesitated just a moment then stated with a new found confidence, “I say I’m perfect for the position also, Ms. D’Brisset.”

The lovely Curator smiled warmly, “I do believe I agree with both you and Tara, Mrs. Travers,” she responded. “Now, here’s the problem; the position is part time and doesn’t have medical benefits or pay exceptionally well, but I think you might be quite happy in it. What do you say Buffy, you want to give it a go?”

With a shake of her golden head, Buffy assured Olivia that money was not a priority for her, neither were medical benefits.

“I see,” mumbled Olivia, “that says a lot Buffy. You seem to really ‘want’ this position and it’s important that you develop a true love of the work. You will start off assisting me, part time, here at the Gallery. Eventually you’ll be taking on more responsibilities as I will be going various places to purchase art for the Gallery. I think you have the right stuff Buffy, in fact, I know you do.”

“So what do you say, Buffy?” Olivia D’Brisset asked again.

“I say when do I start?” Buffy answered with her own excited question. Olivia showed the Gallery’s newest employee around the premises, starting with ancient studies to the works of the Dark Ages.

They came to a painting that struck Buffy as particularly ‘dark and gothic’ and she just had to ask her now employer, “who’s that? This painting looks circa 15th century and ‘he’ looks really evil.”

With a sigh, Olivia assured Buffy that yes, the man in the painting was more then evil. “That, Buffy,” she said softly, “was Vlad Tepes, or Vlad the Impaler, the son of Vlad Dracul of Romania.”

Buffy nodded, “I know this guy, he’s the one Bram Stoker based his Dracula on, right?”

Again Olivia nodded, “too true, unfortunately, this monster in the painting was more of a horror then any man could imagine.” Buffy shivered and they passed on to the next piece of art.

Buffy left the Gallery, her heart beating a mile a minute and she felt like she was on top of the world.

“I got the job,” she sang in her car, toodling down the main highway, “I got the job!”

Then, she suddenly burst into happy tears and had to pull over to the side of road. She needed to talk to someone, the people she cared about most. Her first instinct was to call Angel at the office and tell him her wonderful news, then she remembered, he wouldn’t think the news so wonderful. Willow and Tara would be in the middle of their summer classes and she hated to bother them. Mama would be at her own museum position in SB and frankly, Buffy wanted to talk forever with her about her new job.

That left one important person, perhaps the one that supported her the most about her new found career in her field, William. She dialed his number, nervously, hoping he’d answer his cell phone.

“Giles,” came his clipped accent and masculine voice.

“William?” she sobbed uncontrollably.

“Buffy!” he cried, concerned, “what’s the matter? Are you alright? Talk to me, where are you? Buffy dammit, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Will,” she choked out, “everything’s great, honest. I got it Will, I got the position! Can you believe it?”

Spike gasped in relief, he’d been a wreck when he first heard her tear choked voice at least until she could explain why she was crying.

“Yes,” he responded fairly calmly, “I can believe it Buffy. I can believe in anything you want to do, because I believe in you Princess. Always have.”

There was a pause between them as Buffy apparently tried to catch her breath, “I start Thursday! I know I’m going to love it and I can’t wait to get started!”

He took a deep breath, not really wanting to ask the next question, but compelled to, “what does Angel say, luv?”

Another long pause, “I wouldn’t know,” she quipped, “I haven’t told him yet, although, I doubt if he’ll be as thrilled as you are.”

Trying to suppress a growl, Spike thought to himself, ‘he better not deride you, my love. He better not berate you, chastise you or even raise his voice to you. If he does and I find out about it, I’ll rip his throat out and shove it up his arse, twice!’

“It’ll be fine, Buffy,” he said instead, “and I’m so proud of you Buffy, you have no idea.”

“Hey,” he said suddenly, “why don’t ‘you and I’ celebrate, Thursday after your first day? Peaches will be golfing with Captain Cardboard, you and I can do something special, anything together. What do you say Buffy?”

Buffy giggled soft and low, “I say okay, Will, but answer me something. Just why do you call my husband Peaches?”

He thought about it for a moment then finally answered, “I guess it’s something I came up with to describe his ‘peachy’ personality, luv,” he laughed.

“Riiighght,” Buffy responded drawing out the right. “I’ll see you Thursday Will,” she promised.

“See you Thursday, Princess,” he answered, “I’ll call you tomorrow and we’ll set something up, okay?” She confirmed it and clicked off the phone, never hearing his last sentence; “I’ll miss you until then, Princess.”

 

Chapter 26: ‘Miracles’




Buffy was so stoked that night, she could barely wait until Angel got home from the office to tell him about her new job at the Gallery. She tried to keep her uneasy feelings at bay, the ones that said ‘he won’t care; he’ll be angry; he’ll put you down’ and most of all “Travers women don’t work Buffy” speech!’

“He’ll be happy for me,” she tried to convince herself, “he’ll love the idea that I’m getting on with my life and not nagging him about babies he’s not ready for.”

‘Yada, yada, yada,’ the bad little Buffy voice whispered in her ear, ‘he’ll tell you that any job you have or position you hold will be beneath you Summers!’

“Maggie,” Buffy shouted suddenly, trying to dispel the bad Buffy voice, “do we have everything to make Chicken Marsala?”

Angel came home, tired and edgy, as usual, so Buffy tried to lighten things up a bit around the house. She had Maggie making Chicken Marsala, she had some generic pop music playing on the stereo and she herself was wearing a pair of beautiful silk house pajamas, the ones Angel had bought her in Maui years before.

Her husband grabbed the new mail, first thing, and began to thumb through the papers quickly, “what’s for dinner?” he asked, not bothering to look up at her.

“Chicken Marsala,” she answered, somewhat posing by the stairwell, hoping to catch his eye.

Finally, he looked up at her, “wow,” he whistled softly, “you look great, babe!”

Buffy refrained from breaking into the Halleluja chorus from the Messiah and scampered over to her husband, “I’ve got something to tell you,” she said excitedly, “but I want to tell you at supper, kay?”

Angel nodded his large dark head, yes, and followed her into the dining room.

They were eating their wonderful Chicken Marsala and drinking a rather lovely Rodney Strong Cabernet when Buffy decided to broach the ‘Gallery subject’ to Angel.

“I have a really big thing to tell you, Angel,” she said giddily, “I mean it’s so cool and all so please let me just tell you and then we’ll discuss it, okay?”

Angel grinned, happy to be eating pasta again, and nodded for her to continue.

“I’ve taken a position at the Sunnydale Gallery!” she squealed, unable to contain her excitement any longer. Her husband looked like he looked when he didn’t win Prom King back in High School, then he slammed his fork down and stood up from the table.

“You what?” he roared angrily.

“I’ve taken a job at the Gallery,” Buffy whimpered, much less giddy then before, ashamed of herself for her weakness.

“Are you insane!” he shouted wildly, actually throwing his arms about.

“Not the last time I checked,” Buffy quipped back, somewhat irritated by this reaction of her husbands, no matter how expected it might have been.

“Why do you feel the need to humiliate me and my family, Buffy?” Angel asked, his hands clenched into fists.

“Why is it that my taking a job is such a ‘humiliation’ Angel?” she retorted, her anger level was getting dangerously close to ‘ballistic’ by this time.

“I give you everything you need, Buffy,” he growled through clenched teeth, “why is it you have to prove some femnist power bullshit and take a job when you know how ‘small’ it makes me feel?”

It was Buffy’s turn to stand up and push the chair back behind her, “I’m not trying to make you feel small, Angel,” she hissed at him, “if you feel small it’s because you have the problem, not me. I just want to do something with myself, my time and energy. I can’t just sit around here, getting pedicures and hair weaves to pass the time. I need to do something constructive with myself!”

Angel threw his napkin on the table, “if you’re so God damned bored,” he spat, “why don’t you go down to the Public Library and volunteer your time to reading to the toddlers? You love kids so damn much, go teach them to mind or something!”

“I can see this was a mistake,” Buffy shook her head sadly, “I should have known.”

Angel grabbed her arm and pulled her into the living room, “yes, your going behind my back and taking some podunk job in a stupid two bit gallery is a mistake, babe. So you just go and call whoever you have to and tell them you’re no longer interested.”

‘But I am interested’ she screamed in her head, ‘I deserve to have a dream for myself!’.

“No,” she said out loud, “I’m not going to give up my new job, I need it to keep my sanity at the very least!”

He towered over her anyway and right now his large lumbering frame would be intimidating to Attila the Hun.

“So,” he snorted, “just like that. You’re going to defy me and take some second rate job to what Buffy? Prove yourself?”

She nodded in her defense and added, “I don’t have to ‘prove’ myself, Angel but if you, as only a Travers could, consider this an act of defiance, then so be it!”

“You know,” Angel sighed, “I have that golf tournament on Friday, the one in San Diego. I was going to ask if you wanted to go this time. Riley Finn is going, of course, and Cordy wanted to join him. Thought you’d like to go along and maybe keep Cordelia company while Riley and I tag team the other doubles and kick their asses. But I guess you might be a bit too busy, huh? Your new job and all?” His sarcastic voice just grated on Buffy’s last nerve.

Buffy tried not to scrunch up her face in an ‘ewww’ expression at the mention of Cordelia and Riley.

“Yeah, I’ll be too busy at my job,” she lied. Actually, she wasn’t expected at the Gallery except on Thursday, Saturday afternoon and then again on Monday morning. Instead of berating Angel for his non-support, Buffy asked innocently, “when do you leave for San Diego?”

Angel brooded for more then the usual alloted time then responded, “Thursday night. Riley and I were going to drive down and take Cordelia and you with us. Make a real turn around of it, thought you gals might like to see Sea World or something.”

Buffy couldn’t help it, she just had to roll her eyes in sarcasm, “so you and Retro Riley Finn thought that Cordy and I would be content to go see some dolphins do tricks? Watch you good old boys knock balls around the greens?”

It was his turn to roll his eyes and shake his head, “you know, Buff,” he mumbled, “it was just this kind of thing that your Mom pulled, that finally drove your Dad away from her and from Sunnydale.” Buffy had to think about this one, yeah, for like a nano second or so.

“No, Angel,” Buffy sighed, “my Mom didn’t drive my Dad away from SunnyD. I believe the real culprit was a dye job red-head named Candy, behind the wheel of a Mazda Miata that finally literally ‘drove’ my Dad away from Sunnydale. As I recall,” she continued snarkily, “the skank drove right up to our house on Revello Drive and……”

Angel interrupted her trip down memory lane, “so you’re not going to support me at the tournament?” he asked in disbelief.

“So you’re not going to support ‘me’ in my new job?” she retorted in even more disbelief. He couldn’t answer that; just hung his head down like a whipped puppy and couldn’t or wouldn’t even face her.

“Go to the tournie, Angel,” she muttered in defeat to him, “just go and have a real good time. I’ll go to my new job, enjoy the hell out of it and hope that my new boss, Oliva D’Brisset finds it in her heart to maybe treat me to a celebration on Thursday night.”

She felt so beaten down right now, so kicked and run over by her own husband. But without missing a beat, “Oh, Angel?” she called back to him, even as she walked away, “tell Cordy to say ‘hi’ to Shamu for me.”

Spike lay in his massive bed, feeling lost and alone without Buffy by his side

“I really need a healthy hobby,” he told himself. “Maybe I should start putting model airplanes together or something?” he laughed bitterly. He got up from the cold, lonely bed and found a pack of cigarettes on his coffee table.

“Wonder what’s going on in the Travers’ house tonight,” he asked himself for the hundreth time. A part of Spike wanted Buffy to be at peace in her own home, the other part wanted, no needed, for her to be at war with Angel.

“I wonder,” Spike said to thin air as he took another drag of his cigarette, “I wonder if Buffy knows how really devoted I am to her. That there’ll be no one else for me now that she’s back in my life?”

He took a swig of some Jack Daniels right from the bottle, “does she think of me in her pious, righteous marital bed? Does she think of me when that prick husband of hers is shaggin’ her senseless? Does she know how I restrain myself from going over there and kicking the fuckin’ door in to drag her out of that prison he’s built for her?”

He finished off the bottle and tossed it onto the couch next to him, “do you wonder what I’m doing when we’re not together, Princess,” he mumbled sadly as he stumbled back to bed.

Buffy lay in her big King sized bed and stared at the ceiling above her, more indifferent then ever to it.

“Wonder what Will’s doing?” she thought. “I wonder if he misses me at all?”

‘Of course he does you simpleton,’ bad Buffy voice whispered in her ear. ‘Don’t you get it yet, Buffy the Brainless?’ nasty little Buffy voice taunted.

‘Okay, girl,’ the annoying little voice continued, ‘I’ll spell it out for you…..L is for the way ‘he’ looks at you; O is for the only one who’s so true blue; V is very very extraordinary and E is even more then anyone you ‘think’ you adore! ‘And LOVE is all that William has for you….’

Buffy covered her ears with her pillow, “shooooshhh!” she whispered at the taunting little voice, “who said anything about LOVE anyway?”

‘He did,’ bad Buffy voice retorted, ‘you heard him, when you pretended to be asleep, remember? I certainly do!’

“Do you know how damned annoying you are bad Buffy voice?” the real Buffy asked in exasperation.

The next day, Angel left for the office way more then too early and Buffy had to accept the fact that her husband was pissed beyond words.

“Over what?” she thought indignantly, “me wanting to have a career? Keep busy? Have a life for God’s sake!”

At around 10:30 that morning, Buffy dialed Will’s cell phone number, again, a bit gun shy of calling a male at all.

“Giles” his masculine voice echoed over the line. “Will?” she asked shyly, “it’s Buffy.” She could ‘feel’ the change in the man’s demeanor in seconds, “Buffy, luv!” he purred, his silky voice sent shivers up her spine.

“I just wondered,” she stammered, “I mean about Thursday and all. Did you still want me to come over to you know, celebrate? I mean I don’t want to intrude or anything.”

He practically shouted his delight, “of course, Princess! I was even thinking that maybe we could ‘go out’ somewhere. Not some posh place, of course, know you wouldn’t want to be recognized, but maybe someplace more low key, like that bar that’s called Clems’?”

Buffy pondered this offer a moment, “yeah,” she sighed, “I’d like low key for once. But, do you think they’ll have those hot wing thingys you love?”

William chuckled low and soft, “I know they will, trust me, Princess,” he answered warmly. “And Buffy,” he added softly, “you could never be an intrusion.”

Again, Buffy and Angel succeeded, brilliantly, in avoiding each other all of Wednesday evening right on into Thursday morning. It was made simpler, by the fact that Angel didn’t even come up to sleep in their bed on Wednesday night, he sacked out in one of the guest rooms. Which was just fine by Buffy. When she awoke on Thursday morning, Angel had already left for work and left behind a note explaining his plans for the next two days:

‘Buffy,’ it began simply enough, ‘I’ll be back on Saturday afternoon. I’ve packed already and we’ll just be leaving this afternoon, around 3:00 PM, to drive to San Diego. I really wish you could have come with us, I’ll miss you and I’m sure that you and Cordy could have had a blast together. Try and ‘rethink’ this decision of yours and when I get back, we’ll talk.’ Love, Angel.

“Oh yeah, Angel,” Buffy hissed, “I’m sure Cordelia Chase and I could have a real hoot together. Maybe even discuss ‘your’ sexual techniques.”

After conjuring up that little scene, Buffy was more then pissed with her husband again, she was furious and couldn’t wait to ‘go out’ with Will that evening. Buffy was supposed to drive to a park close by Will’s place, where he’d pick her up and drive her to this Clem’s Bar. She had no idea why he liked this place so much, it seemed kind of rough to her, but she supposed he could handle himself in any situation. And, of course, there was no way in hell that anyone in this ‘pseudo biker bar’ would ever recognize her or know who she was married to.

Anyway, Buffy wanted to go out and have some fun, get loose and drink beer, maybe even play pool with Will and eat way too many of those hot wings he loved so. She would have to wear some nice pants to work, maybe a short sleeved sweater and her black satin like Gloria Vanderbilt pants and her leather boots. “That should be appropriate for work and just cool enough for Clems,” she reasoned happily.

Her first day at the Gallery was everything she had hoped it would be. Olivia was the utmost in cool, at least so far, and practically exhausted Buffy in just a couple of hours, showing her around the Gallery and explaining what was expected of her.

“I think you’re going to like it here, Buffy,” Olivia commented at the end of the day. “I think I’m going to love it here, Olivia!” Buffy responded enthusiastically.

When it was time to leave, Olivia told Buffy to have a good time at her celebration that night, with her husband. Buffy had told her that she was going out to celebrate her new job that night and Olivia just assumed it was with Angel.

“Yeah like Angel would ever celebrate this!” Buffy thought to herself as she drove to the park to meet William. He was waiting for her when she pulled into the designated spot for them to meet each other.

“Hi love,” he murmered softly, “you look great.”

Buffy really did look great to him, but she always did and she always did just what she was doing right this minute. Blushing like a school girl, looking at anything but at him, “hi Will,” she responded softly.

He held out his hand to her and she took it shyly to let him lead her to his Harley, ‘still shy with me,’ he chuckled to himself, ‘after everything we’ve done together, said to each other. God I love you, Buffy.’

She let him get on first, then slipped onto the seat behind him; he could feel her nervousness.

“Bike won’t bite, Princess, but I just might,” he laughed at her gasp and started the motorcycle, grateful for the tightness of her little arms about his waist. Halfway to the bar, Spike had an inner debate with himself. Either he would have to pull off somewhere and kiss Buffy senseless or he'd have to forcibly ‘move’ her hands up from where they were now settled.

Her tiny little hands weren’t exactly on his crotch, actually they were just above it. The problem was, Buffy only had to talk to him or be ten miles within his radar, and he got turned on, so having her warm hands on his stomach caused him to practically jump out of his skin. Fortunately, Clems was not too very far from there, so he just had to force himself to practice some self control and wait until later, when hopefully, he wouldn’t have to be so restrained with her.

“Uhm, Will,” Buffy stammered when they pulled in to the parking lot, “that’s an awful lot of bikes out here. You think we’ll be okay in there?”

Spike burst out laughing, “yes love, I think that we’ll be fine. I promise these guys won’t bite you, most of them have their wives or girlfriends with them. Anyway, you’re with me, I promise ‘no one’ will bother you. Except me of course,” he added with a smirk.

With a roll of her green eyes, she took his arm and reluctantly allowed him to lead her into the rather ‘rustic’ looking place.

“Oh,” she said, surprised when they stepped inside, “this isn’t so bad, is it? Do you come here often?” This time Spike just smiled and pulled her further into the well lit bar room, “not a lot, but let’s just say I know people here, and no, before you ask, ‘those’ people do not know you, promise.”

Two guys at the first pool table called out, “hey Spike,” and Buffy raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow at him, “I thought you didn’t come here ‘a lot’ she asked him skeptically.

“Coincidence,” he mumbled. “Hey Spike,” called another local from the bar, “who the hell is that?”

He felt Buffy stiffen slightly and began to wonder if this was such a good idea to have come here. “My girl,” he shot back, coolly, not even looking at the guy.

A loud burst of laughter broke out amongst five or six of the patrons, “Jesus, man, it’s about time! We were getting concerned about you. Jack over there had a bet going that you had a thing for Clem here!”

They began to laugh louder and Spike could feel the red heat of anger begin to creep up into his face.

“Bugger off, mate!” he growled back at them. Buffy squeezed his arm, “they’re just playing, Will,” she whispered, “please don’t start something. I wanna’ play pool and drink beer. It’s okay, I promise, just laugh along with them, for me.”

He stopped in his tracks and looked at her, ‘God, what a woman,’ he thought to himself in awe. “I’d walk through fire for you Buffy,” he whispered in her ear, then pulled her close and kissed her passionately.

Buffy was somewhat lost in the moment and didn’t hear the whistles and cheers from the crowd around her, right away that is.

“Oh shit, Will,” she hissed, “everyone’s watching us!” She pulled away quickly, but couldn’t help but giggle and blush, “I think these people like you Will,” she said softly, “they seem to be happy I’m here with you.”

Will smiled down at her, ignoring the loud laughter and good natured remarks of the patrons, “yeah, guess they do, Princess,” he murmered and nuzzled her forehead with his lips. A dark haired stocky man behind the bar, presumably Clem, piped up, “that’s enough, guys. We’ve all seen a lady before, let’s not act like a bunch convicts out on a pass from prison.”

The other customers seemed to accept what this guy had said and went back to their activities, not so much less loudly, but more focused on what they were doing. William led Buffy up to the bar, “this is Clem, Princess,” he introduced her to the apparent owner, “this is,” he hesitated, “my girl,” he finished abruptly.

“Hi Clem,” Buffy smiled at the serious looking man behind the bar.

“Hey, Spike’s girl,” he chuckled, shooting William a dubious look.

“Two Fosters on tap, nachos and those hot wing thingy’s,” Will ordered, winking at Buffy warmly. “Uhm, Will,” she whispered as Clem went to place the order to the kitchen, “I have to go to the potty, where is it?” She glanced around nervously, more then a little apprehensive to go into the bathroom, much less alone.

“Well,” he smiled, “the potty as you so charmingly put it, is right through that entryway there, by the phone. And don’t worry, I’ll watch you all the way to the door and back again, I cross my heart.”

He looked so serious, well kind of serious anyway, that Buffy had to stand on her tippy toes and kiss his cheek tenderly, “I know you will,” she murmered and headed to the ‘potty.’

Clem came back with the two mugs of beer and set them in front of Spike, careful not to spill any of the contents.

“So,” the shorter, darker man leaned over the bar and looked Spike straight in the eye, “you ever gonna’ tell ‘your girl’ that you own half this place?”

Spike glared at his best friend and business partner, “someday,” he grunted, “but not today mate.” The bar tender shrugged and concentrated on a spot on the bar between them. As he wiped the area slowly, he seemed to be deep in thought.

“Spike. Have you thought any more about what we discussed, I mean this plan of yours to get Buffy away from her husband?”

With a nod of his blond head, Spike sighed deeply, “yeah, I have, about a million times. But it’s like I said before Clem, it’s Buffy’s call and right now, she’s not givin’ me any ‘destroy Master Angel’ vibes. But when she does, mate, I’ll slip in and have me that one good day.”

Clem nodded his understanding, “yeah Angel O’Connor is a first class prick, that’s for sure. I never understood Buffy and him, she always seemed too smart to get taken in by him. You know, Buffy’s prettier then she was in College, not that she’d remember me or anything. My wife Sophie used to have a couple of art classes with her, always said that Buffy had a natural eye, or something like that.”

Spike sighed sadly, “yeah she did, but somewhere along the line, our Buffy got lost and forgot her dreams. Hopefully, she’s findin’ them again.”

“I want to dance!” Buffy was on her third beer, hadn’t touched the nachos or the hot wings and was feeling more then ‘happy’ right at the moment.

“I want to dance Will!” she cried a bit too loudly, even she knew that.

“Uh, love,” William was saying, much too softly for William really, “this isn’t The Bronze there’s no dance floor?” He gave her a kind of ‘are you okay’ look.

“Oh,” she pouted, “you’re right, there is not a freakin’ dance floor, is there?” Will was saying something about ‘eating’ something or something like that, “don’t want to,” Buffy whined, “I wanna dance, don’t care about a stupid dance floor!”

Some disembodied voices began to chant ‘yeah Spike, the lady wants to dance’ and ‘dance with her Spike’ someone else shouted ‘I’ll dance with her if you won’t, man.’

“Yeah, Spike!” Buffy giggled loudly, “Manny, Moe or Jack’ll dance with Buffy if you won’t!” Will was smiling at her now, his killer ‘I’m smirking at you love cos’ you’re making a total ass out of yourself but you are still adorable’ smile that she liked so much!

“Okay, Princess,” he chuckled, “we’ll dance, but then,” he added firmly, “you will eat something.”

“Okay, Will,” she sighed happily as she clasped his arm and let him lead her over to the ancient juke box against the wall.

“Why don’t you pick a song, Princess?” he purred in her ear. He watched as she scanned the selections before her, perfectly aware that she had no idea what any of this particular genre of music was.

“I don’t know any of these songs, Spikey,” she slurred, just slightly.

“I’ll pick the song,” he offerred galantly. Buffy nodded at him and whispered slyly, “something slow, Will. I want to have an excuse to snuggle up close to your killer body!”

Spike scanned the selections himself, finally coming to the perfect choice for both Buffy and him. He punched in the numbers and pulled her over to clearing in the barroom floor that had just magically appeared seconds before. Pulling her flush up to his body, he wrapped his arms about her tiny frame and prayed to God that he wouldn’t end up looking like a total ponce in front of everyone here:

(Miracles is by the Jefferson Starship; lyrics by Marty Balin)


‘If only you believe like I believe, baby
We’d get by
If only you believe in miracles, baby
So would I
If only you believe like I believe, baby
We’d get by
If only you believe in miracles, baby
So would I’

“Do you believe in miracles, Will?” she mumbled against his shoulder as they rocked to the slow beat of the song, one she’d never heard before.

“Occasionally,” he answered her simply.

‘I might have to move heaven and earth to prove
It to you, baby
So we’re makin’ love and you feel the power
And I feel the power
Then there’s really nothing that we can’t do
If we wanted to baby
We could exist on the stars
It’d be so easy
All we gotta do
Is get a little faith in you’


“I believe in miracles, Will,” she sighed dreamily, “but then again, I still believe there might be a Santa Claus and even an Easter Bunny!”

Spike grasped her even tighter, “you believe in anything you want Princess,” he murmered.


‘Oh I’ve been (to) so many places
I’ve seen some things
I know, love is the answer
Keeps holding this world together
Ain’t nothing better
Ain’t nothing better
And all the answers to our prayers
Hell, it’s the same everywhere, baby

Nothing ever breaks up the heart
Only tears give you away’


“I believe in you Will,” Buffy whispered, a lone tear trickled down her cheek and
onto William’s shoulder.

She felt him slowly run his hands down her back to the hem of her sweater and slip just one of them up under the soft fuzzy material, “I believe in you too, Buffy,” he cooed, nuzzling her hair with his mouth.


‘Then you’re right where I found ya
With my arms around ya
Oh baby, baby, baby, love is a magic word, yeah
Few ever find in a lifetime
But from that very first look in your eyes
I knew you and I had but one heart
Only our bodies were apart
(and that made me crazy)
That was so easy, so easy
I had a taste of the real world
When I went down on you, girl’

“When we leave here, Will,” Buffy purred in his ear, can we go to ‘our pond’ and cuddle all night? Angel’s gone until Saturday, can we Will? Just you and me go? I promise I’ll eat some hot wingy things and nachos and won’t drink another sip of beer.”

She felt him tense when she mentioned Angel’s name, but then Will just relaxed completely in her arms. “Yeah, we can do that sweetheart,” he whispered in her ear, causing a tingly sensation to shoot down into her neck, “all night he rasped.” .

‘I can hear windmills and rainbows
Whenever you’re talkin’ to me
I feel like swirling and dancin’
Whenever you’re walking with me
You ripple like a river when I touch you
When I pluck your body like a string
When I start dancin’ inside ya
Oh, baby, you make me wanna sing
Yeah, baby, baby, baby, baby
Oh yeah, all right!

“Buffy,” Will murmered so low she could barely hear it above
the song and noise of the bar. “I love you, you know.”

She could feel
a wetness on her face and knew those tears weren’t her own. “I know,” she whispered back, “thank you Will.”


‘Oh, Baby we’re sure doin’ it tonight
Everytime you come by, let me try
Pretty, please with sugar on it
That’s how I like it
I can’t even believe it with you
It’s like having every dream I ever wanted
Come true
I picked up your vibes
You know it opened my eyes
But I’m still dreamin’ yeah
And you’re right where I found ya
With my arms around ya.’


When the song finally ended, Spike looked down at Buffy who seemed to be in some kind of a daze or something her eyes closed tight and a smile of contentment on her lush lips. He glanced around the bar to find most of the patrons watching them intently, almost as equally mesmerized by the couple on the makeshift dance floor.

Somewhere from behind Buffy and him, somebody, Spike suspected Clem, started to clap slowly, setting off a chain reaction from the whole bar, male and female, of claps and whistles. Buffy snapped to and glanced around, the bright red blush on her face signalled the end of their little dance interlude together.

“Come on Princess,” he murmered, “let’s go get you something to eat.”

She nodded at him, “I’m hungry Will,” she sighed, “but we’re still going to our pond, right?”

Spike sat in a booth away from the crowd and pulled her onto his lap. “Oh, yeah, love,” he assured her, “we’re still going to our pond.”

 

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