Prologue

Ash rained down from the blackened sky like confetti on New Year’s Eve. There was not even a hint of sun. The air was thick with acrid smoke. William Giles removed his helmet and wiped the sweat from his tired brow. He pursed his lips and frowned while he surveyed the canyon in front of him and the devastation beyond. He had been within a half an hour of ending his shift when the initial call came. It had taken only a few hours for the fire to grow to mammoth proportions. The winds were high and almost constantly shifting. Despite everyone’s efforts to control it, the fire raged on. It was unrelenting, consuming fuel, destroying lives. It was the worst he had ever seen and yet it was only the beginning.

“Giles! You were supposed to leave an hour ago,” shouted Captain Conner.

“You need the help. There’s no way you’re going to contain this with the men you have,” replied Giles as he left the canyon’s edge and walked towards his captain.

“Look, Spike, there’s no way we’re going to contain it, period. We were lucky to get the area evacuated. Go home and get some sleep like a good little firefighter. I have a feeling this one’s gonna last a few days. You’ll have another chance. You should have gone with the rest of the crew. We’ve got reinforcements coming. Take the truck. No arguments,” he said as he tossed his keys to the stubborn young man.

Spike caught them and gave his captain a curt nod. “Things change, you call.”

“We’re going over to the next block and see if we can gain some ground. This one’s lost,” declared Angel.

“It’s only got the east side of this house. We might be able to keep it from spreading,” argued Spike as an upstairs window exploded and shards of glass flew around them.

“Don’t think so, man,” replied Angel as he shook his head. “See you in 48 hours.”

“Stay safe, Peaches. I’d hate to have to break in a new Captain,” said Spike with a smirk. He watched as Angel walked down the path alongside the house and climbed on board the engine. Within seconds they had pulled away, without him.

He lifted his hand to shade his eyes. Through the smoke and ash he could see a small pool house below. He didn’t remember whether he had seen anyone check it for occupants. Another window shattered from above, driving him to action. “Bugger it!”

Spike raced down the twenty or so stone steps, ran around the edge of the pool, and up to the door. He knocked loudly, and then tried the lock. The French door opened. “Hello?” he called out then listened for a response. Nothing. “Time to go home, Spike ol’boy, ” he murmured to himself.

He turned to retrace his steps and stopped dead in his tracks. There, framed in the bedroom window, lying in a white silk slip on the bed was a woman, her golden hair surrounding her face like a halo. The image was surreal. She was the picture of serenity. An untainted angel, peacefully sleeping while the fires of Hell unmercifully burned and chaos was bleeding all around her.

Will turned back and entered the small cottage through the French door. He quickly made his way through the living room, and into the bedroom. He leaned over her and rapidly assessed her condition. Her breathing was shallow, but steady. “Miss! Miss! San Diego Fire Department here!” There was no response. “Shit! Not another one!” he thought as he pulled off his glove, reached out, and placed his fingertips on her neck in search of a pulse.

The second he touched her, her eyes fluttered open and he found himself suddenly short of breath. She was alive. He had seen so much blackened death, so much charred earth, and so much pain. He had almost forgotten it, that look of lush innocence that someone can have during a rare, unguarded moment.

We’ve all had them, those moments during which you are feeling but not thinking. That space in time right before you remember who you are, before you remember your past or fear for your future, before you start to do what you should or wonder ‘what if’? That moment in time during which you are completely free and you let your soul lie bare and your heart remain open. The moment was fleeting, however, as she was overcome with panic and terror. She lashed out at him instinctually while at the same time trying her best to scramble out of reach. Her lungs were constricting from the smoke that had begun to fill the room. Her eyes were already irritated and watering.

“Stop fighting me, dammit!” he growled as he covered her body with his and lifted her hands above her head, stilling her movements. As her head thrashed back and forth in the dim light he saw the bright yellow earplugs she had stuffed in her ears. He held her head securely in place and pulled one out. “I’m with the fire department. You’ve got to evacuate. The area is on fire and has been for some time. Do you understand?”

Spike searched the woman’s face and felt relief as her body relaxed beneath his signaling her understanding.

“Yes,” she replied pulling out the other plug. “I’m sorry. I thought-”

“It’s alright. Let’s go,” he told her as he moved off of the bed and walked over to the window to assess the progression of the fire.

“I need to get dressed,” she responded as she climbed out of bed and promptly bumped into the nightstand, knocking over a lamp. “Ow!” she cried out as she rubbed her bruised hip.

“No time,” he said as he reached for her hand and pulled her along to the door of the pool house and then outside and up the stone steps.

“Oh, my God!” she moaned as they reached the top of the landing and she took in her surroundings.

He could tell that he was losing her as she stumbled backwards, her hand covering her mouth to stifle another cry of anguish. The main house was completely ablaze, the heat scalding. Before he could utter another word she began to slide, bonelessly, towards the ground.

“Bloody Hell!” he groaned as he stepped towards her, glass crunching under his boots. He caught her in his arms before she hit the ground. In a practiced move he threw her over his shoulder and ran the remaining distance to the truck. As he tossed her into the passenger’s side of the vehicle he registered the cuts on her bare feet and the slight rip in the hip of her slip. Spike quickly closed her door, rounded the car, jumped into the driver’s seat and sped away. The entire block was now up in flames. Gone. Forever.

As soon as they were out of immediate danger he pulled over onto the side of the road. He reached across her to secure her seat belt and as he did so she came to and started coughing. “Here,” he said, as he reached for a respirator and positioned it so that she could breath in some fresh, untainted air. “Breath slowly.”

She looked at him, her hair a tangled mess, her eyes red-rimmed from the smoke, her white slip smudged with ash and dirt. Wordlessly she followed his command as he drove further down the hill. She still felt groggy. Her mind was muddled and her left foot hurt. She leaned her head against the glass of the car window, closed her eyes, and let the tears silently fall.

Chapter 1

It had taken only twenty minutes for them to reach Qualcom Stadium, and in that time she hadn’t spoken a word. She seemed oblivious as he called the firehouse on the radio and asked for a list of sites offering shelter to those who had been evacuated. Spike was exhausted himself and, lost in his own thoughts, was grateful for the quiet.

“Miss?” he said breaking the silence as he pulled up to the entrance of the stadium. “Here we are.”

She turned to look at him, her deep green eyes overflowing with emotion. She reached out, opened the door to the truck, and climbed out. “Thank you seems so inadequate. You saved my life,” she said to him before closing the door.

He watched for a moment, as she stood there unmoving and looking lost. He grabbed the steering wheel and leaned his forehead against it, closing his eyes. “She’s not your bloody problem, mate. Just go on home,” he muttered under his breath before looking up at her again. She still hadn’t moved. Not one muscle. Spike watched as a man approached her. As he watched him place his hand on Buffy’s shoulder an uneasy feeling formed in the pit of his stomach.

“Are you alright? Why don’t you come with me? It looks like you’ve got some cuts that need tending to. We have a first aid station set up right over there. I’m Parker, by the way. And you’re?” he said.

“With me,” interrupted Spike as he reached for her elbow and guided her back to his truck.

Spike opened the door for her. Buffy winced as she limped the 2-3 steps and then slid back inside the truck. As soon as she appeared settled Will reached down, picked up her left foot and examined it. He could see several small shards of glass embedded in the soft tissue along with the blood, dirt and grime. “We’ve got to get this taken care of.”

She watched as he removed his coat and tossed it in the back of the truck. He unclipped his cell phone from his belt and opened it up, “Can I take you over to an urgent care center or maybe there’s a friend we could-”

“I-I’m not from here. I don’t know anyone here. It’s not that bad. I-” she trailed off, tears spilling from her eyes.

He lifted her chin so that he could look her in the eye, “I’m William Giles. They call me Spike.” He waited a moment, and then smiled. “There. Now you know someone.”

“Buffy,” she answered, “Buffy Summers.”

“The house wasn’t yours,” said Spike, more of an observation than a question.

She shook her head and looked around outside, taking in the surroundings, the people…the families. “I was going to close the house up this morning and head back home. It was my father’s. He- he died a few days ago. Heart attack. It seems that he had a massive coronary while doing his latest secretary on top of his desk. God, how my mother would have appreciated the irony of that,” she explained as she wiped the tears from her eyes.

“Where’s home, luv?” Spike asked her.

“Sunnydale,” she said. “I live in Sunnydale. My car-”

“I’m afraid it’s gone,” he told her.

Buffy wrapped her arms around her frail looking frame and shivered. “It’s so cold,” she whispered.

“You’re probably in a bit of shock,” replied Spike as he turned her body to tuck her back in the truck and closed the door. “I’d wager your foot is going to hurt like a son-of-a-bitch as soon as soon as the shock wears off.

Buffy watched as he walked around the front of the truck while dialing a number on his cell. “Hello? Mrs. Thompson? Where is she? Where’s Sam? Is he going to be alright? Christ, when it rains it pours. Thank you, Tara. I really owe you one. I-I’ll be right over,” she heard him say as he climbed inside and closed the door.

“I should stay here,” she said as she reached for the door handle.

He tossed his cell onto the dash, started the car, threw it into gear and looking up to find Parker still staring at them replied, “No. You really shouldn’t. I’m taking you home. You can get cleaned up and sorted, get your foot taken care of. Then, we’ll get you back to Sunnydale. I’m not far from here. We’ll swing by the fire station so I can get my car and then make a quick stop to pick up Sam.”

“Sam?” she asked.

“My daughter,” he replied as he pulled out of the parking lot back onto Friars Road heading west.

She noticed for the first time the plain golden wedding band on his left hand, “Maybe you should call and warn your wife that you’re bringing home a mangy stray?”

He swallowed hard and looked straight ahead, “It’s just Sam and I.”

“Oh,” she replied taking in the pained look on his finely chiseled features. “Divorce can be hard.”

“Death is harder,” he told her, turning to look at her as he stopped for a light. “She died three and a half years ago. I’m sorry about your Dad.”

Buffy looked down, unable to hold his intense gaze, “We- we hadn’t been close in a long time. My parents divorced when I was thirteen. My mom, she passed away just six months ago. Brain tumor.”

He head snapped up. “Drusilla had brain cancer,” he whispered solemnly, almost as if it were a secret. Before she could respond he looked away an added, “I’m sorry. I don’t usually talk about it.”

“It’s alright,” she replied as she studied him. “Talking is good. It sounded like maybe something was wrong,” she added nodding towards his cell.

“My neighbors watch Sam while I work. They’re an elderly couple. Apparently Mr. Thompson fell and broke his hip last night. He’s in the hospital,” explained Spike.

The light changed and he drove onto the 163 heading south towards Mission Hills. Within minutes they were pulling up to the old fire station on Goldfinch. “Wait here. I’ll get my stuff and my car,” he told her as he turned off the trucks engine and hopped out.

Buffy closed her eyes and leaned her head back, against the headrest of the seat. She watched the neighborhood traffic. A young woman was pushing a stroller and walking her dog. A homeless man was standing on the corner, talking to himself and compulsively shuffling a deck of playing cards. Two older women were standing just a few feet away having an animated conversation with one another in Italian. It seemed an almost surreal scene considering the destruction of homes that was going on just miles away.

Buffy was startled when Spike opened the door. “Didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said as he offered her his hand and helped her transfer to his Desoto. “It won’t be long now. I’m just a few blocks away.”

“Some car,” observed Buffy, neutrally.

Spike smiled. “She’s a classic. I suppose you’re used to driving around in fancy sports cars.”

“The BMW was my father’s. The old, beat-up Volkswagon Bug was mine,” replied Buffy as she silently wondered how she was going to replace it.

After a couple turns Spike pulled up in front of a small craftsman. The single-story bungalow was painted a cheerful yellow and surrounded by a white picket fence. “Let’s get you settled first, then I’ll go pick up Sam.”

“Trusting a stranger alone in your house? Not very smart,” she teased him.

“I’m not worried,” he chuckled. “I’m pretty sure I can take you. Besides, Buffy Summers, you are no longer a stranger. Wait here a second.”

She watched as he transferred his gear from the trunk of his car to his porch and then unlocked the front door. Within a few minutes he had moved everything inside and had returned to the car. “Think that you can make it inside?”

“Sure!” she said cheerfully with false bravado.

The minute her left foot hit the pavement she winced. Her cuts were angry and swollen now, the pain increasing by the minute. “Up you go,” he said as he scooped her up effortlessly and walked up the walk to his house.

“You don’t have to carry me,” she said quietly as she blushed crimson and looked away.

“Can’t have you walking on that foot now, can I?” he replied as he climbed the stairs to his front porch and paused. “Could you grab the mail, luv?”

“Hmmm,” she teased as she pulled the contents from the box that hung by the door. “Something in a plain brown wrapper?”

“That would be Sam’s,” he said quickly as he walked over the threshold and into the living room.

“Just how old is Sam?” asked Buffy clutching the magazine to her breast. “You don’t really expect me to believe this is hers?”

Spike looked at her pointedly. “Four. And, just for the record, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.”

Buffy laughed as he carried her the short distance down the hall and into the bathroom. She had barely made notice of the interior of the house. He set her down and immediately turned on the taps to fill the bath. She set the mail down on the bathroom counter and limped over to sit on the edge of the tub. Leaning over she reached inside and pulled out a naked Barbie. “Sam’s?” she asked.

“Um, no,” he said grabbing it from her. “That’s mine. But, if you’re nice I might be willing to share,” he teased as he took the Barbie from her and tossed it into the empty sink. “Why don’t you soak your foot? I’ll run across the street and pick up Sam, then we’ll see about getting those shards of glass out,” he said before turning to leave.

“Spike?” she called out to him.

He turned back to face her, “Yeah, pet?”

“Do you, um, maybe have something else I could wear?” she asked.

Spike frowned. “My mum talked me into finally getting rid of most of Drusilla’s things a couple months ago. I’ll find something. You get cleaned up,” he said before closing the door.

Chapter 2

Elizabeth sighed as she watched the tub fill up. She took a moment to look around the bathroom. The tub, sink, and commode were of plain white porcelain. The floor was covered in white tile. The same tile lined the shower and went two-thirds of the way up the wall. The walls themselves were painted in a red and white stripe and matching red towels were hung neatly on the towel racks. There was a basket of bath-toys on the floor next to the bath and an Elmo toothbrush on the sink. She leaned across the tub, picked up a container of bath salts, unscrewed the lid and inhaled. The soothing scents of rosemary and lavender were almost instantaneously calming, relaxing. She poured in a generous amount, pulled her slip off, and then carefully climbed into the bath.

With some awkwardness she was able to sit down. Buffy hissed as she slipped her foot into the water. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the end of the tub. Allowing her shoulders to sink below the level of the water. She breathed deeply and with relief felt the pain diminish. Soon she found that her thoughts were drifting. The past six months had been unbearably hard. She had lost so much. First her mother had passed away. Within a month she found that she was struggling financially and had to sell the house and move into a rented apartment. There was simply no other way after paying off the hospital bills that she could support herself, pay for Dawn’s college tuition and expenses, plus maintain the house. It was a hard decision nonetheless. Leaving the home that held so many memories. Then there was saying goodbye to Dawn as she left for Berkeley. And, most recently, there was the phone call about her father’s death. Buffy quickly shampooed her hair, lathered her body, and then submerged herself in the bath rinsing off the soap.

“Sam, wait a mo’ luv!” she heard Spike call out just as she broke the surface of the water.

Buffy heard a little voice shout back, “I got to go potty!” right before the door to the bathroom crashed opened.

“Sam!” shouted Spike from the doorway before quickly averting his gaze, turning, and stepping back into the hall.

“Dad! Barbie’s alive!” she shouted out, excitedly as soon as she saw Buffy sitting in the bath.

Spike hung back in the hallway, pacing like a caged animal. The image of Buffy rising up out of the water burned into his mind. “Sam, come on out of there. Sorry, Buffy! Remember our talk about privacy, poppet?”

“I don’t care if Barbie’s in here while I go potty,” answered Sam as she climbed up onto the toilet. “Really, I don’t.”

Spike could hear the curtain being drawn. “Spike, it’s alright. Just close the door. And, it’s Buffy sweetie.”

“Oh! She talks too! Wait till I tell Gillian!” said the excited little girl as he awkwardly reached back, blindly looking for the door.

As soon as his hand connected with the doorknob, he quickly pulled the door to. “Good God!” he whispered as he looked down at his slightly trembling hands. “Get hold of yourself,” he said as he slid down the length of the wall. “It’s just the smell of her bath salts,” he murmured, from his position on the floor, as he struggled to overcome his feelings of arousal and guilt. Spike looked down at his wedding ring and closed his eyes.

“Daddy,” asked Sam, “is your feelings hurting?”

Spike quickly wiped the tears from his face and climbed to his feet, “I’m good, poppet. Just a bit tired is all. No worries. Let’s get you some breakfast. ”

“I ate with Tara and Willow,” replied Sam as she brushed her long dark-brown hair out of her eyes. “Tara makes pamcakes in funny shapes. They made me laugh. Oh! Miss Buffy is stuck. She needs help.”

“Stuck?” he repeated as he turned towards the door. “Sam, you go get dressed. Tara and Willow will be here to pick you up soon.”

He heard her walk down the hall and open the door to her room. He raised his hand to knock on the bathroom door and paused. Spike exhaled deeply, tilted his head to the side to crack his neck, and rapped on the door. “Everything alright?”

“I’ve managed to get out. It was touch and go there for a while. I could use a shirt or something though,” he heard her say through the door.

“One shirt coming right up,” he replied relief flooding him as he walked back to his bedroom and quickly pulled a white dress shirt out of the closet.

When he returned to the bathroom the door was open and she was standing there in the doorway balancing on one foot, the bright red bath sheet wrapped around her. “Do you have any Band-Aids?”

Spike handed her his shirt, “Did you clean the wounds and get all of the glass out?”

“You said to soak. I soaked,” she said, motioning for him to turn around. “Well, and shampooed and conditioned. A near-death experience shouldn’t be an excuse to let one’s hair go.”

Spike turned his back on her and waited patiently.

“There. It’s safe to turn around now,” said Buffy as she finished rolling up the sleeves on his shirt.

Spike scratched the back of his head. “Sorry about the interruption earlier. We’ve really been working on the knocking thing. She doesn’t quite have it down yet.”

“She’s beautiful,” said Elizabeth as she picked up a comb. “Do you mind?”

“No. Go on,” answered Spike as he leaned against the doorjamb. “She looks like her mother.”

Buffy’s eyes connected with his in the mirror, “She has your eyes.”

An awkward silence filled the room. Spike shoved his hands inside his pockets and studied the floor. “I should look at your foot.”

“You’re not going to put the stinging stuff on her boo boos, are you?” asked Sam as she approached wearing only a pair of panties. “Which is better, the pink or the yellow?” she posed as she held up two otherwise identical sundresses for Buffy to inspect.

“I like the yellow,” answered Buffy with a smile.

“Me, too! Can we play later? When I get back from the zoo? I’m going to meet the new panda,” she said as she struggled to slip the dress over her head.

Spike knelt down beside her and tugged the dress into place. “Go get your bag with your hat and your sunscreen. And no ice cream unless you have real food first. Got it?”

“Does popcorn count as real food?” asked Sam looking up at her father, hopefully.

Spike touched the tip of her nose with his fingertip and said, “No, but good try.”

Sam frowned and walked back down the hall towards her room.

“You’re good with her,” observed Buffy.

Spike looked up and grinned as he slipped his arm around Buffy’s waist to offer her support. “You’re just buttering me up so that I don’t use the stinging stuff. You see I wasn’t born yesterday, Miss Summers. Come on. Let’s go out on the back deck where the light is good. Then I’ll get the first aid kit.”

As they moved slowly down the hallway Buffy, walking gingerly on heel of one foot, was able to notice his house for the first time. Directly across from the bathroom was a small linen closet. To the left of that was the doorway to what appeared to be a fairly large kitchen. There were two bedrooms as far as she could tell, the one at the end of the hall where Sam had disappeared to and the one adjacent to the bathroom. The living room that they had entered through was back down the hallway to the right. The walls of the hallway were covered practically floor to ceiling, in drawings.

“You have quite the budding artist,” observed Buffy as they walked towards the kitchen.

“You have a keen eye,” he teased.

“I should,” she answered. “My mother adored art. It was her passion.”

“What about you?” he asked as he unlocked the French doors that led out to the back deck. “What’s your passion?”

Buffy stepped out onto the deck and limped over to the chair that Spike pointed to. The morning sun had already warmed the wooden boards beneath her feet. “I don’t think I’ve found it yet,” she said as she looked around the small, enclosed space. “This is beautiful.”

Spike emerged carrying a first-aid kit.

“You really have a first-aid kit?” she asked.

“Firefighter,” he replied, as if that should explain it. “Got an earthquake kit to.”

“Like with drinking water and cans of Spam? I thought those were just some urban legend,” she said as she took in her surroundings.

Across from the table and chairs there was an alcove, tucked away under a massive vine-covered arbor. Under the arbor were a white wicker loveseat, chaise, and a small endtable. There was a rustic fountain in one corner and the space was filled with plants and flowers. To the right of the table was a set of three steps, which led to what appeared to be a built-in hot tub.

“I put a lot of work into this place. More than I should have,” he admitted as he watched her look around. “Had I known then what I do now? Well, let’s just say my priorities would have been a bit different. Let’s have a look,” he said as he lifted her foot into his lap. He scooted his chair back and then leaned forward, inspecting it closely. “There are a couple shards of glass in there. That’s probably why it’s still hurting so badly.”

“Nurse Sam reporting for duty!” announced Sam as she bounced out onto the back deck.

Spike chuckled, “I think the patient’s going to live. Honey, can you go get Daddy’s glasses? They’re on the nightstand in my room.”

“Right away, doctor!” she yelled as she ran through the house in search of his glasses.

“Aren’t you a little old to be playing doctor?” asked Buffy coyly.

“Yeah, well, I like a little variety. Candy Land. Candy Land. Candy Land. Doctor Spike and the Naughty Nurse. Candy Land. Candy Land,” he said dryly as his daughter ran back out onto the deck and handed him his glasses.

“I’m not naughty. I’m a good nurse!” she declared.

“Yes, you are, precious,” he agreed as he put on his reading glasses and picked up a pair of tweezers. “You’re aces, you are.”

“Those look dangerous,” said Buffy, staring warily at the tweezers.

“Here, you can hold my hand,” offered Sam.

Buffy reached out and took Sam’s little hand. “You are a good nurse.” She winced slightly as Spike removed several small shards of glass that were embedded in the cuts.

“Here’s the bad part,” said Sam. “I can help blow.”

“I think I’ve got it,” answered Spike as he sprayed on the antiseptic and lightly blew on the bottom of her foot.

He heard a sharp intake of breath and his eyes looked up, connecting with hers. “It burns,” she whispered.

He pursed his lips together and again lightly blew over the cuts. “Better?” he asked as he reached for a roll of gauze and expertly wrapped her foot.

As he secured the bandage and began to return the supplies to the first aid kit Sam said, “Now for the best part.”

“Best part?” asked Buffy.

“Daddy will give your boo boos the magic healing kiss and then you get a spoonful of ice cream for being brave,” Sam told her.

“Sam,” began Spike obviously embarrassed, “I don’t think-”

“I was awfully brave,” teased Buffy, her eyes wide in a purposeful attempt to appear innocent. “I think I deserve the full treatment. Don’t you?”

Sam looked at her father, confusion across her face. “Don’t we want her boo boos to get better?”

Spike slid one hand up, over her calf, placed his other under her heel, raised her foot, leaned down, and placed a soft slow kiss on her exposed ankle. “That we do, poppet,” he said as he pulled back, looking intently at Buffy.

“Any other boo boos that need kisses?” asked Sam.

Buffy smiled a slow smile and watched as Spike, suddenly appearing almost flustered, broke off eye contact and stood up.

“I’m gonna grab a quick shower,” he said, as he gently placed her foot back on the chair where he had been sitting. He didn’t wait for a response. He walked into his house, through the kitchen, down the hall, into the bathroom and closed the door. He took off his shirt and tossed it onto the floor. As he looked up he noticed his reflection in the mirror and paused. Who was that man? He looked tired.

Through the closed door he could hear Buffy’s laughter, followed by the welcome sound of his daughter’s unrestrained giggles. Alone, in private, he slid to the floor. Spike closed his eyes let his head fall back against the door, and finally…finally released the breath that he had been holding for the past three and a half years.

Chapter 3

“Hey, you must be Buffy! I’m Willow and this is Tara,” said the perky redhead at the door as her eyes took in the fact that Buffy was dressed only in one of Spike’s shirts.

“I lost everything in the fire,” said Buffy, suddenly uncomfortable as she looked down at herself. “What I was wearing got torn and-”

“W-w-we can loan you some clothes. Spike should have said something. Is there anything else that you need?” asked Tara kindly as she reached out to touch Buffy’s shoulder.

The compassionate gesture instantaneously brought tears to Buffy’s eyes. “Sleep,” she said as she sniffed. “I feel like I could sleep for a week.”

Tara smiled. “You rest. We’ll have Sam back in time for her 2:00 nap and we’ll bring you over some clothes then. Sam! Come on!”

“Wait!” shouted Spike as he flew out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist, his face half shaven and his wallet in his hand. “Lunch money,” he said as he pulled a ten-dollar bill out of his wallet and handed it to Willow.

“Daddy, where’s my zoo past?” asked Sam as she tugged gently on the towel.

“Fridge,” he answered as he cinched it more securely around his waist then turned to walk back towards the bathroom. “Run and grab it and you be a good girl for Tara and Willow. I’m gonna finish up.”

“Wow, who knew Spike was such a hottie?” asked Willow as she craned her neck a bit and watched him walk back into the bathroom.

“I’m cured,” teased Tara, as she moved to follow him. “I want the boys, now.”

Willow reached out to grab her hand and the two dissolved into laughter as Sam ran back into the room. “I’ve got the past!”

“Great sweetie, let’s go,” said Willow as she picked up Sam.

“Oh!” called out Spike as he again emerged from the bathroom, this time wiping the last of the shaving cream from his face. “I told her no ice-”

“Cream. We know,” said Tara.

“Real food first,” added Willow as they proceeded onto the porch and climbed down the steps. “Try to get some sleep, Buffy.”

The sound of the clock ticking was almost deafening in the silence that followed. Buffy turned to look at the antique clock that sat atop the mantel over the fireplace. It read 10:00 AM, four hours.

“You take the bed. I’ll take the sofa. Just give me a minute to get dressed,” said Spike.

She gave him a minute and then proceeded down the hall towards his room. The door to the bedroom was partially ajar. “I don’t want to kick you out of your own bed. I’ll lay down in Sam’s room.”

Spike opened the door to his room. He had slipped on a pair of sweatpants. “First of all, Sam is still in a toddler bed, it’s too small for anyone to sleep comfortably in. I keep meaning to get her a twin, just haven’t gotten round to it. Secondly, I’m bound to be out on the sofa in twenty minutes anyways. I…um…I don’t sleep anymore, he confessed. Please, take my bed.”

“What do you mean you don’t sleep?” asked Buffy.

“I nap, an hour or two at the most, here and there,” he said as he unmade the bed and grabbed a pillow. “The sheets are clean.”

“Why don’t you sleep?” asked Buffy as she slipped between the clean white sheets.

He paused in the threshold of the door, his back to her. “I don’t know,” he said quietly.

“Yes, you do,” murmured Buffy as she lay her head down on the pillow and closed her eyes.

As he sat on the sofa in the living room, watching the news, her words rang in his head. When had he stopped sleeping? He used to sleep. That time of his life seemed so long ago now. It was another world. He was another man. The images flashed across the screen of the television without notice. He had no idea what the newscaster was saying. He didn’t need to know. The pictures were enough.

His mind drifted back to the first time he saw her, framed in the window of the pool house. An angel spread out before him. He had been drawn there to that place, to her. Spike stood up and silently walked down the hall towards his room. The door was only half-closed. He pushed in open further and then paused.

Spike nibbled nervously on his bottom lip as he quietly crossed the threshold venturing inside, his bare feet silent on the polished wooden floor. “Like a moth to a flame,” he thought, as he crouched down at the edge of the bed. He could smell the scent of her shampoo and could feel the warmth of her breath as she exhaled through her nose. Her golden hair, almost completely dry now, was spread across his pillow. He imagined for a moment what it would feel like to run his fingers through it.  As his hand move slowly towards her his eyes glimpsed his wedding ring. Spike swallowed down the lump in his throat, stood up, and turned away.

She immediately felt his presence as he pushed opened the door and walked into the room. She could sense his anxiety, his anguish. She waited patiently. She knew from experience that it was important to be comfortable with the silence, with those spaces in between. He was on the verge. She could feel it. And then, the moment passed. She opened her eyes. “You’re just going to walk away?” she whispered.

He froze in place, halfway between the bed and the door. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I know. You were just watching. Checking,” she replied. “That’s why you don’t sleep. You’re afraid.”

“I’m not afraid!” he protested, his voice louder and sharper than he intended as he turned back to face her. As soon as he laid eyes on her, there in his bed, leaning up on one elbow his expression softened. “I’m not afraid,” he repeated. He closed his eyes, turned his head away slightly and began to nervously finger his wedding ring, stroking it with his thumb so that it turned around and around on his finger. The gesture wasn’t lost on her.

“It started with Drusilla?” she asked as she slipped out of the bed and walked over to him.

He nodded. His body tense, his heart rate increasing, his eyes still tightly closed, pushing back the memories, guarding against the pain.

He felt her lift his hand to her cheek and he opened his eyes. “I’m right here. I’m fine; thanks to you. You can rest, Spike.” She pulled him back towards the bed.

He pulled his hand away as if he had been burned. He looked at the bed sheets, rumpled and no doubt smelling like her, “I- I can’t.” His face turned red with shame and he turned to walk away. She rounded on him quickly, stepping in front of him and blocking his path.

“You need to sleep,” she told him. “Just…lay down… sleep.”

Spike just shook his head.

“Say more. Help me to understand?” she asked him.

Buffy watched as his eyes flitted to the chair behind her, “Understand? I don’t even understand! And, why would you even care?”

Buffy looked around the room with it’s light blue walls, the floral chintz overstuffed chair, the vanity, the white eyelet comforter and dust ruffle and asked, “Have you changed anything in here since she died?”

“What?” he replied with a tone of complete and utter disbelief. Amazed that she would have the audacity to even ask such a personal question.

“I know you said that the sheets were clean and that your mother removed Drusilla’s clothes. But, otherwise, it’s still her room,” said Buffy, gently.

“What’s your point?” he asked, his voice taking on an edge that she had yet to hear from him.

“I’m making you angry,” Buffy observed.

“Look, Goldilocks,” he replied sarcastically as he walked around her, “the fact that I let you sleep in my bed doesn’t entitle you to start poking around in my personal life.”

Buffy couldn’t suppress the spontaneous smile. “Sit,” she commanded as she gave him a gentle shove and he fell into the overstuffed chair.

“I could let you get away with that. But, I’m not going to. That,” she said turning back towards the bed and pointing, “is not your bed.”

“Course it’s my bed. Have you gone daft?” replied Spike.

Buffy shook her head. “It’s her bed. You still see her there.”

Spike ran his hand over his face and rubbed his tired eyes. “What are you feeling?” she asked.

Spike started to laugh, he wasn’t sure why. “What are you, a shrink?”

“I’m a therapist,” she replied as she crouched down in front of him. “I work mostly with adolescents in the school system. Tell me about the chair.”

He sobered quickly, a look of betrayal crossing his face, “I’m not one of your patients, Miss Summers. Or, is it Dr. Summers? Either way, I’m not telling you jack. I’m going to go back out into the living room and get a few hours of shut-eye. My daughter will be home soon and I’ll have to be here for her.”

“No, you’re not a patient. I’m not sure what you are, frankly.” Buffy shook her head then stood up and returned to the bed. As she climbed back in he couldn’t help but notice the way his dress shirt rode up on her thigh. She leaned back on one arm, her long thin legs curled up underneath her. “But, whatever it is, I think that you could be more.”

He averted his gaze and let his head drop back against the top of the chair, “Maybe I should join the goddamned Army- be all that I can be.”

She smiled and stretched out, “It’s getting warm in here.”

Spike stood up, walked over to the window and threw open the sash, “The sun shines on the front of the house in the afternoon, but there’s always a nice breeze.”

She had half expected him to return to the living room. She watched, surprised, as he returned to the chair and sat back down. He propped his feet up on the edge of the bed and as he stared at the white curtains fluttering in the breeze he said, “I would sit here with her, Sam asleep on my chest. I didn’t want her to die alone. So we sat here, Sam and I. Sam was just a baby. We sat here. And we waited.”

Chapter 4

As she began to waken she became aware that he was there in the bed with her, his body curved protectively around hers, his arm draped around her waist.She remembered that after his confession he leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and fell asleep. She had drifted off shortly after. At some point, he had moved from the chair to the bed. She wasn’t sure when. She leaned up so that she could look at the clock on his nightstand, 1:30. He tightened his grip on her as she moved, his hand migrating so that his thumb grazed the underside of her breast. The steady sound of his breathing told her that he was fast asleep.

She looked at the chair across from the bed and imagined him sitting in it, holding vigil, night after night with his infant daughter in his arms. Watching. Waiting. Waiting for his wife to die. She detected a faint odor of smoke in the air and realized that she had yet to call Dawn to tell her not to worry. If the fires were still burning, she knew that it was likely the story would be on the news. Just then she heard a car pull into the driveway. Seconds later she recognized the voices of Willow, Tara, and Sam as they approached the house.

Buffy carefully lifted Spike’s arm from around her waist and slid from the bed. Almost immediately it seemed that he felt her loss. He rolled onto his back and then resumed his prior position on his side, his arm searching for her. Buffy tugged the pillow that she had been sleeping on downward and watched as in his sleep he grasped it and hugged it to his chest. The tender moment was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening. “I’m home!” called out Sam.

Buffy quickly left the bedroom, pulling the door to. “Shh, sweetie. Daddy is still sleeping.”

Sam’s eyes became huge with surprise, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” said Buffy, crouching down to soothe the alarmed child. “He’s still tired.”

“But, Daddy doesn’t sleep!” she said turning back to face Willow and Tara. “Never! Daddy never sleeps!”

“It might seem that way, honey, but I’m sure your Daddy-” began Willow.

“No,” said Sam, shaking her head vehemently.

“Sam, you’ve never seen Daddy sleep?” asked Buffy as she reached out and placed her hand comfortingly on the child’s arm. “Want to peek?”

Buffy stood up and held out her hand. Tara and Willow watched as Sam trustingly took hold and walked down the hall towards Spike’s room. Buffy lifted her finger to her lips indicating that Sam should be quiet and they cracked the door open. After a few seconds she gently pulled it closed and then looked down at the little girl. Sam turned to Willow and Tara and announced in a loud whisper, “Daddy’s sleeping!”

“I hear that you are quite an artist,” said Buffy. “I’m wondering if I could persuade you to draw me a picture about something that you saw today?”

“If I do, will you braid my hair later?” asked Sam.

Buffy appeared to think it over carefully, “Hmmm, you drive a hard bargain. I guess I can manage that.”

“Do you know how to make the French kind like Gillian’s mommy does?” she asked skeptically.

“Yup!” replied Buffy becoming more and more enchanted. “Do we have a deal?”

“One drawing coming up!” promised Sam and she ran into her room. “No peeking until I’m done!”

“Clothes?” said Willow holding up a couple shopping bags. “We stopped and picked you up a few things.”

“I so owe you!” said Buffy. “Do you think Spike would mind if I used his phone to call my sister and the bank? I thought maybe I’d see if they would overnight a new debit card. I can pay you back. I should probably call my insurance company about the car. And then there’s my father’s house. Oh, God, I have no idea what to do about that!”

“Spike told us about your father,” said Tara. “It sounds like it’s been a tough year for you.”

“Tara’s a grief counselor,” offered Willow.

Buffy turned to her, “Really? I’m a therapist too. I work in the public school system.”

“School social work,” lamented Tara, “now there’s a challenge.”

“Are you off for the summer?” asked Willow.

Buffy started to look through the bags of clothing, “One of the advantages,” she replied.

“Your father’s attorney should be able to help weed through the issue with the house,” suggested Willow. “I’m assuming it’s yours now?”

“I’m not really sure. Attorney? I don’t even know that he had one. We weren’t very close. His business partner offered to go through his papers-” said Buffy.

“I could look into it for you, if you’d like,” offered Willow. “Unless you really trust his business partner. He might not be the most objective person to advise you.”

“Willow’s an attorney,” added Tara.

“You’d be willing to help me?” asked Buffy.

Willow nodded. “Absolutely. Tomorrow’s Sunday, I can come over sometime in the afternoon and get some information from you.”

“Tomorrow,” repeated Buffy. “I’m not sure I’ll still be here.”

“I heard on the radio that there are sections of the highway that are closed. The fire’s spreading really fast. There’s talk about stopping all but essential travel,” explained Willow.

“The air quality isn’t good, not even here. That’s why we ended up leaving the zoo early,” added Tara.

“I’ve got to call Dawn,” said Buffy scanning the room for a phone.

“There’s a cordless in the kitchen,” offered Tara. “Our number is on the list on the fridge. Call if you need anything else?”

“Thanks,” replied Buffy as she walked them to the door and saw them out.

Buffy quickly slipped on some underwear, a pair of workout pants, and a white tank top that she found in the bag. She then made her way to the kitchen to call Dawn. Just as she was hanging up from leaving a message on Dawn’s machine, Sam ran into the kitchen waving the drawing she had finished high in the air, “Look!”

“Let’s see, Sam,” said Buffy as she pulled out a chair and sat down. Sam crawled into her lap and placed the drawing on the table. “What do we have here?”

“Gorillas,” said Sam. “Look, the mommy holds him just like a real baby. I don’t have a mommy. My mommy’s in heaven.”

Buffy felt a pull on her heart as she looked down at the little girl, “I heard about that,” said Buffy softly as she ran her fingers through the little girls long dark-brown locks.

“I was a baby when she died. She loved me a whole lot, though. I just have a Daddy,” said Sam as she leaned back and studied her own drawing. “Can we braid my hair now?”

“Sure,” Buffy answered. “Bring me a brush and a band. We’ll do your hair and then we’ll see about starting dinner. What does your Daddy like to eat?”

“Frozen stuff,” she replied. “He eats a lot of frozen stuff.”

Buffy chuckled, “I think we can do better than that.”

It was shortly after 5:00 PM when Buffy finished overseeing Sam’s shredding of the lettuce. “Is this enough?” asked Sam.

Buffy looked over her shoulder and peered into the bowl. “I’d say so.”

“Your pisghetti smells really good,” she said as she pulled one of the chairs closer to the stove and climbed up.

“Our spaghetti,” corrected Buffy. “Careful, the stove’s hot.”

“I want to stir,” said Sam.

“How about we do it together,” suggested Buffy as she placed Sam’s hand on top of hers and finished stirring the sauce. “So, what kind of pasta should we cook?” asked Buffy as she picked up Sam and set her back onto the floor. “The long, skinny noodles or the short, curly ones?”

“I like the curly ones,” answered Sam definitively. “Are you going to give me my bath?” asked Sam, suppressing a yawn.

“Oh, my. I completely forgot about your nap,” said Buffy.  “Let’s get your bath done so that we can tuck you in after dinner. What do you say?”

“Okey dokey,” said Sam, agreeably. “I’ll get my P.J.’s.”

Buffy turned down the flame under the pot of sauce before following her out of the kitchen. “I’ll meet you in the bathroom.”

Thirty minutes later while they were negotiating whether or not to unstop the bath Sam’s tummy ended the debate, “My tummy is growly,” observed Sam as Buffy pulled the plug.

“You shouldn’t have let me sleep so long,” said Spike.

Buffy glanced up at him. He was standing in the doorway, his hair sticking up in disarray, wiping sleep from his eyes.

Buffy held Sam’s hand as she stepped out of the bath. “You needed the rest,” she said as she wrapped a towel around Samantha.

“You were sleeping!” declared Sam.

“That I was, baby,” said Spike. “Hey, something sure smells good!”

“Buffy and I made dinner. Are you hungry?”

“Yes, actually,” replied Spike, more than a little surprised. “You have clothes.”

“Courtesy of Willow and Tara,” explained Buffy as she helped Sam into her nightgown.

“Tara let me pick out the panties! They’re really pretty!” came the muffled voice from deep inside the nightgown.

“And here I was about to say that I liked the other outfit better,” said Spike as he ran his hand through his hair trying to tame his now unruly spikes while he looked at his reflection in the mirror.

“And look,” added Sam as she turned her head, “Buffy did my hair.”

Spike turned. “It’s beautiful, poppet,” he told her, his eyes connecting with Buffy’s.

“What do you say we put on the pasta, kiddo?” asked Buffy still looking at Spike. “We kind of forgot about the nap. She’s tired.”

“But you made dinner? Actual dinner?” he asked. “You can cook? Maybe we should keep you.”

“It’s not frozen, though, Daddy,” Sam admitted, anticipating disappointment.

“Thank you,” said Spike, feeling a bit overwhelmed all of a sudden. “Sam, put your clothes in the hamper? Then we’ll have dinner.”

“Aye-aye Captain,” she said, before giving a mock salute, gathering her clothes up off of the floor and scampering off to her bedroom.

“It was nothing,” said Buffy as she folded the bath towel and hung it over the rail.

“It was something,” said Spike, placing his hand on her shoulder. “You’re something,” he added.

“Flirt with me all you want, mister,” teased Buffy as she looked over her shoulder and winked. “I cooked. You’re doing the dishes. It’s only fair.”

“Gladly,” he said as he bowed and backed out of the bathroom, never breaking eye contact. “I am but your willing slave, Miss Summers.”

Chapter 5

“Night, poppet,” said Spike as he turned off Sam’s bedroom light.

“She’s so sweet,” whispered Buffy. “You must be very proud, Spike.”

He looked up to see her leaning against the wall in the hallway.  “She’s everything to me. I wish-”

“What?” she prompted as he turned away.

“I wish I could give her what she deserves,” admitted Spike turning back and looking her directly in the eye. “There are so many ways that I fail her.”

“It’s normal for parents to doubt themselves. Let me assure you, you’re doing a fine job,” she said as she walked towards his bedroom.

“She should have more,” he whispered, glancing back towards Sam’s room.

“Shh,” hushed Buffy as she crooked her finger, beckoning him into his room. “Close the door.”

Spike turned towards the door and with great trepidation pushed it partially closed.Buffy rummaged through the shopping bag until she came up with a toothbrush, “Be right back.”

Left alone in his room he was at a complete loss as to what to do, so he followed her. As she cupped her hand under the stream of water, capturing some so that she could rinse her mouth she noticed him standing behind her in the doorway.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” he said quietly after watching her jump.

Buffy finished rinsing her mouth and then started to wash her face. “It’s alright.”

“I’m…not sure what to do,” he confessed, obviously uneasy.

“About?” she asked as she patted her face dry with the towel.

“The sleeping arrangements,” he said, embarrassed and unable to make eye contact.

“Huh,” she said. “Do you have any moisturizer?”

“Men don’t moisturize,” he protested.

When she responded with a raised eyebrow he caved, “In the medicine cabinet, nothing fancy mind you.”

“Of course not,” she agreed as she opened the medicine cabinet, reached for the bottle and poured a dollop into the palm of her hand and then rubbed it on her face. Before she could finish the lights went out, shrouding the small bathroom in darkness.

“Power failure?” she asked nervously.

“No. I- I can’t do this with you looking at me,” he said, his heart hammering in his chest.

“Do what?” asked Buffy turning towards his voice in the darkness.

“I want to sleep in my bed,” he whispered into her ear as he stepped behind her wanting desperately to place his hands on her shoulders.

Buffy smiled as she leaned back into his hard chest and tilted her head to the side, exposing her neck. “I can take the couch,” she replied in a hushed voice.

“You don’t have to,” he told her, longing to run his index finger up the length of her neck.

She stayed still, “No?”

“I feel like I’m suddenly back in junior high. My heart is beating so hard I swear it’s going to break my chest. I can walk through fire, but I can’t bring myself to…” Spike trailed off.

Buffy turned around to face him and found herself essentially trapped between his body and the bathroom counter.  “To what?”

“To touch you,” he whispered.

Buffy smiled. “You’ve already touched me, Spike. Was that…hard?”

“It was necessary, something I had to do,” he said, feeling foolish, as he stepped backwards and moved towards the door. “I promised Mrs. Thompson that I’d pick her up from the hospital. I’ll be-”

Before he could finish his sentence Buffy reached up, took his face in her hands, and crushed her lips to his in a smoldering kiss. Caught off guard he stumbled back into the bathroom door, effectively closing it. He gasped as he heard it slam, concerned momentarily that it might have woken Sam. But then he felt her tongue brushing across his lower lip, begging entrance. Then he felt her fingers pulling his head in closer, weaving through his hair. It had been so long and she tasted so sweet.For a moment he was overwhelmed with grief and sadness as he realized that he had almost forgotten how good it felt. How essential it was to be touched. How deeply satisfying it was to feel wanted.

His cock hardened instantly, straining against his jeans as Buffy deepened the kiss. As her tongue began to rhythmically stroke his he felt like he was on the verge of losing control, and it felt wonderful. Spike wrapped one arm around her waist, slipped his other hand around the back of her neck and then pulled her flush to his body. He reveled in the feel of her, the little gasps and moans, the panting sounds she made as he turned, pressing her against the door, pushing her knees apart slightly so that he could get even closer to her. He felt as if he were about to explode as she broke off the kiss and began to claw at his t-shirt, pulling it out of his jeans.

“Buffy, wait, I’m-” he started to whisper.

“So help me, if you say you’re sorry I’m going to punch you in the nose,” she said leaning her head back against the door, closing her eyes.

Spike leaned down and growled, “Hardly!” before attacking her neck. A moment later he stepped back, his breathing ragged, his voice low and raspy, filled with desire, “It’s just that I’m going to be late if I don’t leave now. I’ll be back in a half an hour. Promise you won’t move?”

“I’ll be waiting,” chuckled Buffy as she caressed the side of his face.

“I-” he started to say and then trailed off, turning away, suddenly uncertain.

Buffy waited a moment and then as she entwined her fingers with his she said, “I’m not her, Spike.”

“I know,” he said as he moved in again, this time merely leaning his forehead against hers.He stood there a moment, collecting his thoughts and then he realized, “And, amazingly enough, I don’t want you to be.”

Chapter 6

Spike sat inside his car in the driveway, nervously wiping his sweaty palms on the tops of his thighs. He shook his head, his shoulders slumped in defeat, remembering how on the way to the hospital he had pulled into a 7-11, spent five minutes staring at the various condom packages, and then left with only a bottle of red wine. He felt horrible about the ride back. As Mrs. Thompson filled him in on the details of her husband’s medical condition images of Buffy kept invading his thoughts. It had been a full ten minutes since he had seen Mrs. Thompson to her door with a promise to drive her to the hospital on Sunday morning. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed the house. If he listened carefully he could hear the phone ringing inside.

“Giles residence, Spike’s hostage speaking,” she answered saucily.

Spike almost dropped the phone as his mind’s eye was filled with the erotic image of her tied to his bed. “You’re not my hostage. And what if this had been my mother calling?”

“Then you’d have some explaining to do,” replied Buffy matter-of-factly “Fortunately for you, you happen to have caller ID and the display said ‘Spike’s Cell’.”

“You are not my hostage,” said Spike.

“No? Let’s see,” countered Buffy as she walked back towards his bedroom, “you essentially kidnapped me from my bed and drove me to a strange town. I have no money. I have no way of escaping. Screams hostage to me…”

“I rescued you from a burning building. That was clearly not a kidnapping,” said Spike.

He could see the silhouette of her body through the window as she walked into the bedroom, her hand searching for the light switch. “Don’t turn the light on,” he said, his voice low.

Buffy froze, a chill of excitement running down her spine, “Where are you?”

Spike pushed his seat back so that he could stretch his legs out in front of him, “I’m in the driveway, in my car.”

Buffy walked over to the window and looked outside, “Why?”

She had moved away from the doorway into the darkened room. He could no longer see her. “I- I was wondering if maybe we should slow this down a bit.”

Although the porch light wasn’t exceedingly bright, Buffy could clearly see him sitting in the car, one hand holding the phone to his ear, the other grasping the steering wheel.

“You want to slow this down?” she asked.

“No,” he replied, letting his head fall against the window. “I don’t want to slow this down. I think maybe we should.”

Buffy watched him in silence for a minute, waiting for him to explain, but he said nothing further. “Do you want me to leave?”

His head snapped up and he looked at the window, “What? No!”

“What do you want?” she asked him.

“Ask me again, only make your voice a bit more breathy,” requested Spike.

“Are we having phone sex now? What happened to Dr. Spike and the Naughty Nurse?” asked Buffy.

Spike shrugged, “Old hat. I like to keep things fresh. So, how long have you been working at 1-900-IMABabe? Do they offer a decent benefit package? Pension plan? 401K?”

“The benefits suck,” she said. “Come inside, Spike,” she added, softening her voice soft.

“I stopped on the way to the hospital to buy condoms. That’s what people do, right? Everyone’s supposed to use condoms. Only I didn’t buy them. I left with a bottle of red wine instead.”

“Although useful if you want to break down inhibitions, not an effective barrier against STD’s,” said Buffy.

“I’m a complete idiot,” he said, leaning his head against the glass window. “I wasn’t even thinking about that. I was thinking about birth control. And I can’t even believe that we are having this conversation!”

“So, start a new conversation,” she said.

“Should I have gotten the condoms?” he asked.

“Hmmm. I don’t know about you, but to me this is already sounding suspiciously like the old conversation,” observed Buffy. “Are you always this obsessive?”

“Only about sex. And only when I’ve been without for a really long time,” he said. Then after a long pause he admitted, “Well, that’s not exactly true. Even when I was getting it regularly, I thought about it a lot. Truth be told, the Playboy is mine, not Sam’s. And…I tend to skip over the articles. Did I mention how much I wish I were holding you right now?”

“Which brings up a good point,” said Buffy. “Why aren’t you?”

“I’ve never been good with casual sex,” confessed Spike. “I’m thirty years old. It’s been 12 years since I’ve been with anyone other than my wife, than Dru. The moment I laid eyes on her I knew she was destined to be mine. That she was going to irrevocably change my life.”

“You’re still very much in love with her,” replied Buffy.

“I’ll always be in love with her,” he whispered.

“I see,” said Buffy.

“Do you?” he asked, sounding relieved.

Buffy sighed, “No, not really. That’s one of those phrases we therapists use. It demonstrates that we’re listening and gives us time to think. I’m still trying to figure out why you didn’t buy the condoms.”

“I was standing there in the aisle looking at the boxes wondering if you’d prefer the ridges, trying to decide on what size box to buy. And it hit me. You may not even be here tomorrow,” explained Spike.

“But I’m here now,” said Buffy.

“Where are you, exactly?” he asked, lowering his voice a notch.

Buffy smiled, “In your bedroom.”

“Are you still dressed?” he asked.

“For now,” she replied, coyly.

“I can still feel your kiss,” he told her.

“Where can you feel it?” she asked.

“I can still feel your lips on mine, your tongue in my mouth, hot and moist. You have a beautiful mouth,” he told her.

“Oh!” she moaned.

“What?” he asked.

“You’re kissing my neck. I can feel the warmth of your breath as your lips glide across my throat. You’re tugging at the hem of my shirt, pulling it up,” she said.

“Help me, Buffy. I can’t get it off fast enough. I want to see you, taste you,” he confessed, the pace of his breathing increasing with his arousal.

“Wait! Oh, yes! Just like that. You’re hands on my breasts, they feel so good,” panted Buffy.

“Christ! You’ve got me so fucking hard, baby. Tell me you want me make you come,” said Spike. “I want to hear you scream my name.”

He felt her hesitation and smirked. “Getting shy, princess? Maybe I should have asked for one of the other girls tonight.”

Another moment went by and still there was no response. “Are you still there, Buffy? Is this freaking you out?”

“No! Maybe, it’s freaking me out a little. Alright, yes.” she admitted finally.

“Why?” he asked, patiently as he readjusted himself.

“I barely know you. Your four-year-old daughter is asleep across the hall. I’m standing stark naked in your bedroom and you’re asking me to talk all dirty to you while you sit out there in your car… Don’t you see anything wrong with this picture? Aren’t you the least bit uncomfortable?” she asked.

“Yes, now that you mention it. I think you should ask me to unbutton my pants,” he said.

“Unbutton your pants?” she repeated.

“Oh, thank God!” he gasped as he unbuckled his belt and quickly unbuttoned his jeans, freeing his erection.

He saw the light turn on to his closet. He could see her, nude, standing in the closet doorway, her back to him, still holding the phone to her ear. “What are you doing?” he asked as he stroked his fully engorged cock, pausing for just a moment to lick the palm of his hand before rubbing it across the head.

“Looking for the shirt I was wearing earlier. What are you doing?” she casually asked.

“It’s on the floor,” he said and watched, expectedly, as she bent over to retrieve it. “Christ you have a luscious ass.”

Buffy gasped as she grabbed the shirt and spun around to look at the window holding the shirt over her protectively. “You can see me.”

“Well, not now. You’ve got the damn shirt in the way. Please, luv. I’m so close. Help me out here. I need…I need…” he saw the light go out in the bedroom. Dropping his head back onto the top of his car seat he murmured, “You’ve gone and done it now.” The porch light went out, shrouding him in complete darkness. He lifted his head, just in time to see her run out the front door towards the car, wearing nothing but his shirt.

“Foot’s better, I see,” he said to her as she opened the passenger door and slid inside.

“Enough talk,” she said as she tossed the cordless phone that she was carrying into the back seat and crushed her mouth to his in a passionate kiss. As she pulled away from his lips she nuzzled her cheek against his and wrapped her slender hand around his shaft, “Now tell me, what do you need?”

He hissed and looked away as he placed his hand over hers, intending to removed it. “You should go back inside. This…isn’t good.”

She gave his cock a little squeeze, “Show me how you like to be touched.”

“This is too real! It…burns,” he said, removing her hand, tears welling up in his eyes. “I can’t do this!” he yelled, frustrated, as he turned away from her. “I don’t know what I was thinking,” he groaned miserably as he tucked himself back into his jeans and buttoned them. “I can’t afford to hope. I promised myself. I’ve cried too many useless buckets of salt, a lifetime’s worth. Never again! I’ve been to the bloody circus, luv. I had it all. And I watched it wither and die,” he said looking down at his hands, tears silently falling. “I watched it all just slip through my fingers.”

Suddenly she saw him in perfect clarity. Hero, all cock and swagger. Father, nurturing and tender. Man, isolated and grieving. All of them struggling, desperately fighting against the demons within. Fighting to hold on. He was so brave and yet so afraid. He was afraid to risk, afraid to lose, afraid to live, but most of all afraid to love.

Chapter 7

When she had reminded him that Sam was alone inside the house he quickly wiped the tears from his face, pulled the key from the ignition and stepped out of the car. If it hadn’t been for the fact that he paused to hold the door open for her she would have thought that he had forgotten about her altogether.

She watched as he walked over to the set of built in shelves and cabinets that housed the entertainment center and began looking for something. “Ah ha!” he said pulling out an old bottle of scotch.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Gonna get pissed and have myself a nice long soak in the hot-tub. If I’m lucky I’ll have a stroke,” he said walking towards the kitchen with the bottle of scotch. “Now, which plastic cup to choose? Powerpuff Girls or Barbie? Decisions, decisions!”

“Okay,” she said slowly, “why are you doing this.”

He turned to look at her, the expression on his face one of total incredulity. “Are you kidding? You were right there,” he said as he waved the bottle in the general direction of the driveway and then poured himself a healthy drink. “Do you know CPR?”

“No,” she said as she pulled out a chair, her foot suddenly hurting again.

“Good!” he declared as he unlocked the door and walked out onto the back deck.

She watched as he unlocked the safety latch on the hot tub, knocked back his drink, and then stripped off all of his clothes. God, he looked glorious. She stood there, transfixed, as he poured himself another scotch and climbed into the water. Steam rose, evaporating into the cool night air and she shivered. “It’s cold out here. And the air is really smoky. I don’t think you should be breathing this.”

She heard him inhale deeply, “Maybe I’ll asphyxiate. Nod off and drown. That’d be a good way to go.”

“That’s it!” she declared as she grabbed the drink out of his hand and took a swallow herself. “Blech! Look at what you’ve done! You’ve driven me to drink!”

He couldn’t help but smile. “God, you’re adorable!”

“Oh, no! Stay on topic! No more sweet talk,” she said as she took another swallow. “And no sexy talk either. I’m too tired to take another ride on Spike-the-emotional-roller-coaster tonight. Damn, you’re a lot of work!”

He turned away from her slightly.

“And- and no pouting!” she said before finishing his drink and slamming the cup down on the edge of the tub. “Now you’re in trouble, mister,” she said before sitting down on the edge.

“Why’s that?” he asked.

“Because I think I’m drunk,” she said as she raised her fingers to her lips. “My lips feel funny.”

Spike looked up at her and frowned. “You can’t possibly be drunk after two sips of scotch,” he told her even as he watched her lean her head back to look at the stars.

“Well, they were big sips! And look,” she signed wistfully, “the stars are so beautiful. But there are only a few…”

“It’s the smoke. You can’t see most of them,” he explained. “They’re still there.”

“I used to love to wish upon the stars when I was a little girl. Do you ever wish upon the stars, Spike?” she asked.

Spike saw that it was going to happen. As she tilted her head back she lost her balance and slipped, the upper half of her body falling into the hot tub, “Oomph!”

“You caught me,” she said, gazing up into his eyes.

And there it was, that openness again. He felt his throat constrict and his breath hitch. He watched as the bottom of the white dress shirt she was wearing floated up and around her waist. The top half was soaked through, clinging to her firm breasts. “I turned down a hand job. There’s got to be something seriously wrong with me.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, “Is that what all the drama is about?”

“What drama?” he asked, feigning innocence.

“Please,” she said as she slipped the rest of the way into the water, reached for the bottle and poured a bit more into the cup.

“I’m not sure you should have anymore to drink, luv. And, now you’ve got your bandages all wet,” he said as he watched her set the glass down. “Besides, we can’t both get drunk. What if Sam needs something?”

“I figure if two sips make my lips numb, four will stop the pain in my foot,” she said as she took another sip and shivered uncontrollably. “Blech!”

Spike took the cup away and set it out of reach.

“So, what do you think is wrong with you?” she asked as she climbed on top of his lap, straddling his hips. “Tell me. I’m a very good listener. And a good secret keeper.”

“Did they teach you that in therapy school?” he asked, trying to suppress a smile.

“Yup!” she confirmed.

“I’m not convinced you’re even tracking this conversation,” he told her.

“Am too!” she said as she rose up onto her knees and leaned over his shoulder grabbing the bottle of scotch. The hardened nipple of her left breast as it brushed against his bottom lip distracted him momentarily, allowing her the opportunity to take another swig.

“Stop that!” he growled as he reached up for the bottle and took it from her. “You’re being very naughty! That’s enough. I’m cutting you off, Goldilocks. You obviously can’t hold your liquor.”

“You keep taking it away from me!” she pouted.

“Oh, pouty! Look at that lip,” he said, tracing her bottom lip with his index finger. “Why is it you get to pout?”

“You rejected me,” she said, turning away from him. Before leaning forward and whispering in his ear. “It was humiliating.”

Spike wrapped his arms around her. “Oh, baby. It has nothing to do with you. Don’t you see? And why am I comforting you? I’m obviously the one who is either turning into a woman or am stuck in some hell dimension where I’ll never experience happiness ever again.”

“Or,” she began sitting up and looking him right in the eye, “it could be something else.”

“Something else?” he repeated.

Buffy shrugged. “Maybe you’re experiencing a deep existential conflict. You’ve experienced what it was like to have a great love. That all-consuming, toe-tingling, I-want-to-be-with-you-forever kind of love. It sustained you. It was part of your reason for being. Without it you feel empty, soulless. Settling for something less would just be a constant reminder of what you lost. But, the possibility that you might find that kind of love again? That’s almost more frightening.”

Spike leaned back and studied her, wondering if she was as tipsy as she appeared, “How so?”

The fact that he was lost in thought gave her enough time to lean over, grab the bottle and take another swig, “Want some?”

“Yeah,” he said, accepting the bottle and taking another sip. “I’m afraid I’m completely sober.”

“You’ve boxed yourself in with your whole ‘Drusilla and I were meant to be eternal she was the great love of my life’ thing. Who can compete with that? If you let someone, does that mean you were wrong about Drusilla? Can someone be so lucky as to fall in love not once, but twice like that in a lifetime?” she asked him.

He sat there, dumbstruck for a moment as Buffy rolled on, looking around the deck. “Anyone? Anyone?”

“Maybe,” she heard him say quietly.

“But?” she prompted.

“I could lose it again?” he asked her.

“Bingo!” she said, touching the tip of his nose.

“Huh,” said Spike.

“Or, it could be the hell dimension thing. That was a good theory too. I want to dunk my hair, hold me,” she asked as she leaned backwards, dipping her head into the water so that her hair floated around her.

She was exquisite. Floating in the water, his white shirt clinging to her, transparent, her breasts jutting out as she arched her back. He knew with certainty that she had to be able to feel the length of his erection resting against the cleft of her ass. “You look like a modern day Ophelia, floating in the water under the moonlit sky.” Almost without thought he reached up with one hand and slowly unbuttoned the shirt, opening it up so that her breasts were bare before him. He ran his hand reverently down her body, resting it on her firmly toned stomach.

He watched in rapt attention as she lowered her arms into the water, submerging them. As the weight of the fabric pulled the shirt from her body leaving her naked before him he told her,

“I hold it true what'er befall; I feel it, when I sorrow most; 'Tis better to have loved and lost, Than never to have loved at all”

He lifted her up out of the water, watching the rivulets run down her neck and over her lush breasts. “Shakespeare?” she asked.

“Tennyson,” he told her as he ran his hands over her body and continued.

Maybe the wildest dreams are but the needful preludes of the truth.

Words, like nature, half reveal and half conceal the soul within.

Oh yet we trust that somehow good will be the final goal of ill!

Old age hath yet his honor and his toil. Death closes all; but something ere the end, Some work of noble note, may yet be done, Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.

Ring in the valiant man and free the larger heart, the kindlier hand! Ring out the darkness of the land, ring in the Christ that is to be!

Ring out the grief that saps the mind, for those that were here we see no more.

Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control - these three alone lead life to sovereign power.

There lives more faith in honest doubt, believe me, than in half the creeds.

'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.

“You’re a poet,” she said, softly as she traced the outline of his mouth.

Spike smiled. He was about to protest when he felt her rise up onto her knees. His erection sprang up and without moving he found himself poised at her entrance.

“Buffy,” he said, hesitantly.

“Shh,” she whispered as she lowered her lips to his and kissed him tenderly.

“Buffy, I’m not a poet. I love poetry, but the stuff I’ve written is bloody awful, and that was a long time ago. I’m just a guy-” he said nervously as she wrapped her hand around his shaft so that she could guide him inside. He placed his hands around her waist and held her in place. “And, I’ve got issues… and a daughter… and… you’ve been drinking.”

Buffy pulled back and looking him steadily in the eye said, “Spike, we’ve all got issues. I’m on the pill. I’ve never had unprotected sex. You had the same partner for over a decade. I’m ready for this, in every way. I don’t know how you found me, what brought us together, but here we are. I’m not drunk. I want this. I want you.”

Spike release his hold on her and watched her face in awe as it registered the pleasure of being filled by him. He closed his eyes for the briefest of moments. Battling between the desire to regain some modicum of control and the consequence of missing the mere sight of her face.

She could feel it as his stomach muscles began to contract. “Don’t move,” he gasped, trying to stave off his orgasm. “Oh, Buffy… I don’t want…I’m so sorry…I can’t…”

Buffy tilted her pelvis up ever so slightly before lowering herself again. She leaned over, wrapped her arms around his neck, tugged on his earlobe with her teeth, and in a voice raw with emotion said, “Come for me, Spike.”

She jumped, slightly startled as she felt him grasp her head in his hands and reposition her so that he could look at her. Her gaze locked with his. “This isn’t going to last,” he told her, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead, his features showing strain.

“Yes, it will,” she said with complete and utter certainty as she watched him fly over the edge, reaching forgotten heights, and forever claiming her heart.

Epilogue

17 months later.

“What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be here until tomorrow!” said Buffy, surprised to find Spike sitting outside her office.

Spike waited until the shy-looking girl that Buffy was escorting out left the waiting area. “The principal sent me,” he said, holding up a slip of paper. “I’ve been a bad boy and you’re supposed to spank me. I’ve got a note and everything.”

“Let me see that,” she said as she grabbed the piece of paper. “Forging Principle Woods’ signature, that could get you…” she looked up at Spike and then across the hall to find her boss leaning in the doorway, a huge smile plastered on his face. Buffy rolled her eyes, “I should never have introduced the two of you. I can’t believe you wrote him a note.”

Robin held up two tickets and said, “These are Lakers tickets. Hell, I offered to spank him myself. He preferred you. You also have the day off tomorrow.”

“You’re in trouble,” she whispered as she as she yanked Spike into her office and closed the door.

Before she had time to say anything she found herself pinned against her desk, his cheek nuzzled hers as he breathed in the familiar scent of her. “I missed you this week. I kept having this fantasy about you and this desk. I just about went crazy.”

“That’s your defense?” she asked, feeling the anger drain slowly out of her. “Where’s Sam?”

“Back at your apartment with Dawn. She’s thrilled that Dawn came home for the weekend to help celebrate her birthday, by the way,” said Spike as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You done for the day, Goldilocks?”

“Yes,” she said leaning in to give him a quick kiss and then pushing him away. “Just let me log out and we can get out of here.”

“Hey now!” he protested as he grabbed her hand and pulled her back towards him. “What kind of a hello kiss is that? That was terrible. This is a hello kiss,” Spike told her as he dipped her low to the ground and kissed her thoroughly. As he stood her upright and released her he asked, “See the difference?”

“I’m not sure,” she teased. “Maybe you could demonstrate again?”

Spike spun her around, swatted her playfully on the bottom and said, “I’ll be waiting in the car. Hurry. Dawn asked that I pick up steaks at Simon’s on the way home.”

“Honey,” said Buffy, you took a wrong turn.

“No, I’m pretty sure this is right,” he said as he reached down to turn off the radio.

“This is Revello. I used to live on Revello. Simon’s is on Ash Street,” she told him. “It’s two streets over.”

“Really? This is the street you used to live on? Where?” he asked as he looked around with renewed interest.

“Just up the block. It that bro… now apparently gray house,” she said, pointing to it. “Look, it’s sold again.”

“It looks like the last owners took good care of it,” he said as he pulled over and stopped the car.

“What are you doing?” she asked as he opened the door.

“I’m gonna go take a closer look. I’m curious,” he told her, shrugging his shoulders. “Want to come with?”

“I don’t think so,” she said, sadness creeping into her voice. “I hate to think of other people living there.”

“I’ll just be a minute,” he said as he climbed out and closed the door.

She watched from the car as Spike walked up the sidewalk, across the lawn, and then onto the front porch. He cupped his hands around his face to block out the sun and then peered in the dining room window. After a few seconds he stepped back, walked over to the front door, and tried the doorknob. It opened. Spike looked back, grinned triumphantly, wiggled his eyebrows, and stepped over the threshold.

Five minutes passed and he had yet to return.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said, becoming increasingly impatient as she nervously tapped her fingers on the car seat. She checked her watch and then climbed out of the car.

“Spike?” she called out from the entry. Her voice sounding loud as it echoed throughout the empty house. “Simon’s is going to be closing in-”

“I’m sorry,” he said from the top of the stairs. “Guess I got a bit carried away. It’s a great old house. They don’t make them like this anymore.”

“No, they don’t,” she replied as she rubbed her hand along the smooth wood of the banister. “I have so many memories tied to this place.”

“Tell me,” Spike asked as he walked down the stairs to join her.

“They’re too many to count. Certainly too many to-” she started to say as she took a step towards the door.

“Don’t do that,” he said, reaching for her hand. “It’s important to talk about the memories. You taught me that.”

Buffy lifted her hand to caress the side of his face. He took it in his and placed a gentle kiss on the inside of her palm. “I love you,” he said as he lowered their joined hands, resting them over his heart.

“You do?” she asked, smiling up at him.

“Most definitely,” he told her. “I left my keys in the kitchen. Wait for me on the front porch?”

Buffy nodded. She walked out onto the front porch and sighed. Just as she was about to sit down on the old porch swing her eyes came to rest on the giant oak that stood on the front lawn. She had spent countless hours growing up, staring out at it from her bedroom window. But what she was noticing now was new.

She walked down the stairs and slowly made her way over to it. There, slightly above eye level, was a 10-inch heart carved into the trunk with the names Buffy and Spike in the middle of it. Her hand flew to her mouth and she spun around quickly only to run into the solid wall of his chest.

“Whoa! Careful, you’re going to make me spill the champagne,” he laughed.

“You bought the house!” she gasped.

“Surprise!” he said, as he held out one of the champagne glasses. “Robin called and told me he saw that your old house was on the market. I put mine up for sale Monday and accepted an offer Wednesday. Took the day off today so I could get down here and make an offer the owner couldn’t refuse.”

“You’re moving to Sunnydale?” she asked as she accepted the champagne. “But your friends and family are all in San Diego, not to mention Sam’s daycare and-”

“You’re not there,” he said as he smiled a bit shyly and touched the side of her glass with his.

He watched her eyes widen in surprise as she tilted the glass to her lips to take a sip. “Marry me,” he said, simply.

“Marriage?” she asked staring down into her glass at the diamond ring and then looking up into his bright blue eyes. “That’s a big step.”

He nodded. “Yes, it is. I’m not new to this. I know this is a big commitment. I’m an old-fashioned guy, Buffy. I want to spoon up behind you every night and feel the weight of your breast in my hand as I drift off to sleep. I want to open my eyes to the vision of your hair splayed out across my pillow. I want to raise my child with you. I want to see you in that kitchen in there, barefoot and pregnant and yelling at me as I chase you around, begging for a kiss. And, God willing, I want to sit up on that porch with you, drinking champagne and rocking in the swing as we watch the sun set together during the twilight of our lives. Marry me, Buffy.”

“Wow, that we really good,” she said as she tried to blink away the tears that threatened to spill over.

“Glad you liked it,” he said before taking a sip of champagne. “I was kind of hoping it would move you to… well… to say yes.”

“Oh!” she gasped as she started to laugh. “Yes!”

“Yes?” he repeated.

“Yes!” she confirmed, nodding vigorously. “Now, do we really need to get to Simon’s”

“Nope,” he said as he reached for her hand and led her back towards the porch. “That was all a ruse. Dawn’s gonna be by in a few minutes with Sam. They’re bringing pizza. Thought we’d have a picnic. Then Dawn’s taking Sam back to your place so that I can make uninterrupted love to you all night long.”

“Here?” she asked.

“Well I was actually thinking of the master bedroom. I’ve got a queen-size air mattress all set up. But, if you’ve got your heart set on the front porch… I’m game!” he said, grinning as he sat down on the porch swing.

Buffy sat down beside him, took a sip of champagne, rested her head on his shoulder and released a contented sigh. “I love you, Spike.”

He placed his arm around her shoulder, kissed the top of her head and whispered, “Thank you. Thank you for loving me.”

Buffy sat up and gazing into his eyes softly promised, “I will always love you.”

“You sure?” he asked her.

“Most definitely,” she said.

The slamming of a car door interrupted them and they looked up just in time to see Sam running up the walk. “What’d she say? What’d she say, Daddy?”

Spike stood up and caught the little girl as she raced up the porch steps and flew into his arms, “She said ‘yes’, poppet!”

“She’s marrying us?” asked Sam excitedly.

Buffy laughed and tugged, playfully on one of the little girl’s braids. “Yes!”

“Dawn! Did you hear?” shouted Samantha as she turned back towards the tall lanky brunette who was walking across the lawn, carrying a pizza box in one hand and a six-pack of Coke in the other. “We’re getting married! We’re getting married!”