¤

August

¤

“Ms. Summers, are you alright?”

She waved the concierge away, stepping into the elevator and pressing the button of her floor. The wall behind her was made of blank polished steel and she studied her appearance with a soft wince. It was worse than she had thought.

“So much for the friendliness of Canada,” she muttered as she brought her keycard out and slipped it into the lock of her door. “Please, work,” she said and the green light appeared as a soft answer to her prayer. “Thank you,” she sighed, pushing down the handle and stepping inside.

A second after the door had closed there was a knock on it and she paused.

“I’m not here!” she said.

There was another knock and she grumbled, turning around and opening the door with a:

“Look, I’ve had a pretty rough...”

The sentence hung unfinished as her eyes met Spike’s.

She was smiling, she knew she was. Shocked and still so stupidly pleased to see him.

“Can I come in?” he asked, smiling the shadow of a smile as well.

She opened the door wider, leaving it for him to close as she continued into the small room. The door clicked shut. She walked up to her suitcase, bringing out her first-aid kit and throwing it on the bed as she pulled her sweater off. He wasn’t wearing his duster, but a thick gray sweater and gray trousers and he looked like he had stepped out of some sort of catalogue and in a way it was awesomely sweet and in another it was terribly horrifying that it would have come to this, that she would be reduced to this sudden insecurity when she looked at him.

Their first meeting those few months ago had been so simple. The handful of meetings following it seemed to have proclaimed themselves to follow that simple pattern. That things wouldn’t be messed up between them this time. That it would run its smooth course, until they tired.

Why couldn’t she have tired?

He was observing the cuts on her back.

“Friendly neighborhood,” she smiled, hoping the tremor in her voice wasn’t audible; even to him.

She was in her bra, but didn’t feel self-conscious about that. What got to her was the galloping sensation of her pulse, of her heart, of her mind scrambling to find something witty to say, some excuse as to why she had been keeping herself away from him for the past month. When she opened the kit he was at her side, stopping her movements and making her stand with her back to him as he began cleaning the wounds in silence.

His hands were gentle, his fingers working meticulously, stroking her skin and sending soft waves of quivers through her.

Once he was finished he turned her around, putting one hand under her chin and having a good look at her face. There was a nasty cut by her right eye and he brought a wad of cotton to it. The fluid it was drenched in stung worse than receiving the cut had, but it was over in a second.

“If you wanted to end it you should’ve told me,” he said, beginning to put the things away.

She swallowed, unsure of how to respond.

“Or is there someone else? Because I’m fine with it if there is, you know that, but bloody well tell me. Don’t go scurrying off like a frightened rabbit, hiding. Just tell me.” He sighed at her expression, closing the kit and pushing it aside to sit down on the bed. “Being with you has always been... You know. A cataclysmic experience.” She smiled at that, taking the seat next to him. “But I was hoping we’d both be able to be honest this time around.”

“I was,” she said. “I still am. There’s no one else, Spike.” She had to smile at the thought even having entered his mind. Then she finished: “And... I wasn’t sure if I wanted to end it or not, for a while. Wasn’t sure... about much. But you’re here. I’m glad you’re here. I don’t want to not see you. I like our cataclysmic experience.”

He laughed at that.

“So do I,” he admonished.

She smiled again, and then made a face, her right hand going to her ribs.

“I’ll be alright in a couple of hours,” she said at his concerned expression.

“Come here,” he said, helping her to scoot up and pulling the covers over her. “Sleep for a while,” he encouraged. “I’ll order some food for later.”

“No,” she stopped him, her hand taking his. “Come to bed.”

He held her gaze for a moment, then removed his shoes and climbed in to lie down next to her. She put her head on his chest and he carefully held her to him. She smiled to herself, relaxing despite the slight throb of pain which originated in her back and insisted on slowly grinding through her.

“How’d you find me?” she mumbled, already drifting off.

“Willow,” Spike answered. “I asked, she told.”

“So you came here for me?”

“You weren’t taking my calls!”

She smiled again.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” he said softly. “Go to sleep.”

¤

Four days later she was back in England, unpacking the light luggage she had brought and having a constant smile on her lips. She didn’t know how he felt; and based on the facts, it seemed he was fine with the way things were, but she didn’t care. She felt better than ever.

“Well?” Willow said; standing leaned against the doorframe.

Buffy turned to her.

“You devious little witch,” Buffy smirked and Willow smiled.

“I take it he showed.”

“He showed,” Buffy nodded contentedly.

“I’m glad,” Willow said. “So, you’ve come to a decision?”

“Not really,” Buffy replied evadingly.

“Buffy,” Willow said, catching her friend’s gaze. “You have to tell him.”

“Why? Things are good the way they are.”

Willow shook her head at her in the infuriating way she had adopted over the past two months and Buffy raised her eyebrows in aggravation.

“What?” she demanded.

“Things could be better,” Willow pointed out.

“Or they could not be there at all,” Buffy retorted. “I don’t want to do anything stupid that I’ll regret later.”

“Telling someone you love them isn’t doing something stupid.”

“But telling someone you love, that you love them, when they might not love you back... I don’t want to do that, Will. No,” she stopped the protest she could see resting on the tip of the Wicca’s tongue, “just try to understand that. Please.”

Willow huffed disapprovingly to the Slayer’s sentiments, but said no more.

¤

“Buffy! Phone for you!”

She came into the den and grabbed the receiver from Willow.

“Thanks. Hello?”

“Hello, gorgeous.”

She smirked.

“Hi, handsome. What’s up?”

“Just wanted to talk to you.”

“Really? Spur-of-the-moment, pick-up-the-phone talk to me?”

“Was it that obvious?”

“Anything special you had in mind?”

“Well, for starters – what’re you wearing?”

She smiled, glancing around.

“I’m in the den.”

“Location comes later.”

She giggled.

“Stop,” she mumbled, the heat rising through her body at the thought of having his eyes on her as she slowly undressed.

“I also wanted to ask you if you’re going to Athens next Friday. Angel mentioned something about it.”

She smiled, the heat turning into a different kind of warmth.

“Wanna see me, huh?”

“Just a little.”

“Well, then I’m sorry, ‘cause Athens was canceled.”

“How about me stopping by England?”

“That would be lovely, only I won’t be here. I have to fly to Cuba on Wednesday and then for a delegation in Houston on Sunday. I’m going to Stockholm on the Tuesday after that and then straight to Cairo for five days.”

“That brings us into September.”

“I know,” she sighed. “I regret taking so much on, but some of it was planned six months ago, or even further back, and I can’t cancel...”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, pet.”

She smiled again.

“I would,” she admitted. “I’m tired of living out of a suitcase.”

“So choose a country.”

“I know. It’s not so easy. I don’t want to be too far away from anyone.”

“But you’re ready for it?”

“A home of my own, what, are you kidding? I’m a kid at Christmas. I’m a whirling dervish. I’m a gooey piece of candy that can’t wait to be eaten. I’m a cookie, finally out of the oven! I’m running out of cute metaphors for ‘yes, I’m ready’.”

He chuckled.

“Guess I won’t see you for a while then, huh?” he wondered silently and she sighed again, this time in defeat.

“No. Guess not.”

¤

Cairo was too busy for her exhausted mind to deal with. She wanted to be in the makeshift home she had made herself at Giles’. She wanted to be in her bed. She wanted Spike to be sleeping next to her. She hadn’t felt so lonely for a long time and she was heartsick with the knowledge that she wouldn’t see him for probably another month. The casualness of their affair was catching up with her, making her sad. She wished he wasn’t so far away.

Arriving at the hotel it was already ten o’clock, and she just barely made check-in. Getting her key she thanked the lady behind the counter as politely as she could, asked that her luggage would be brought up, and dragged herself to the elevator.

Her body was aching in a way only a bad airplane seat could make it ache.

Tomorrow she had an early meeting with the slayer branch based in the city. She had been looking forward to it, since she hadn’t seen them for over two years, but now every muscle in her body told her to lay still or they would snap and her head was pounding with an ever strengthening headache.

The bellboy opened her door for her and she tipped him probably a little too generously before she smiled and said goodnight, bringing her suitcase inside the small hall of her room and closing the door behind her. She leaned against it with a huff.

Then she frowned.

“What in the world...?” she mumbled at the sight of the candles placed on either nightstand of the bed, which, in turn, stood in the room beyond the hall.

Flames danced seductively, providing the only light.

“You’re here!”

She jumped high with surprise as Spike stepped into her line of sight. She gaped, unable to process this unexpected presence for another few moments.

He was smiling, tilting his head to the side as he eyed her.

“Here,” he then said, stepping forward and grabbing her suitcase, carrying it into the next room.

Returning he pushed open a door to her right, revealing the bathroom. More candles. And a drawn bath. With bubbles. She could have cried. But she was still staring too hard at him to do anything else. He put a hand behind her back and urged her into the bathroom. Then he simply turned and walked out again.

Her eyes went to the bathtub, her limbs rejoicing even at the mere thought of the hot water it most surely contained. She blinked, suddenly torn between that thought, and the one of his arms around her. God, he was there. She must have done something very right to deserve him being there, when that had been all she had wished for on the plane, and on the plane before that, and the plane before that.

“Slayer,” he said and she turned her head to him where he stood in the doorway. “Pardon my asking, but why are your clothes still on?”

She smiled, turning fully to face him.

He was holding a mug and her eyes went to it.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “There’s tea, if you’d like. Coffee too.”

“I love you so much right now, it’s not even funny,” she said lightly, smiling away the truth of her words.

He watched her face, then smirked, daring:

“Prove it.”

She stepped up to him, her arms going around him as she kissed him, deepening it as she moved him around to lean against the wall. He put the cup down on a nearby shelf before putting his hands on her back, pressing her to him.

¤

“Did you get to see any of Cairo?” he asked, moving the sponge he had in one hand lazily over her left shin.

The bath had contained water of the hottest kind, and sitting facing him she felt every last string of stress slipping off her.

“Nope,” she answered his question. “I’ve been here before, though.”

“When?”

“A few years ago.”

“Do you like it?”

She smiled as his hand moved upward.

“I’m not complaining.”

He smiled as well.

She was so completely revived. If it was the aroma of the bubble bath, or being near him, she wasn’t sure. She moved to sit on her knees, straddling him in doing so. The sponge slipped up her back and she closed her eyes, her mouth finding his and she kissed him slowly.

“What was that for?” he wondered as she pulled back.

“For the bath,” she answered with another smile.

“I’ll have to remember that,” he murmured, his lips brushing hers.

¤

“Spike?”

“Mh?”

She opened her eyes.

“You asleep?”

“Almost, love.”

“Did you...?” She hesitated. “Did you come here for a reason?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“Because it’s a long way to come if you don’t have one.”

“Just said I did.”

“Right.”

She was silent a while, then mumbled:

“What was it?”

He didn’t answer, but after another moment he moved her over on her back, kissing her softly. When he ended it she rested her eyes in his, taking them in before wrapping her arms around him in a hard embrace.

What if he woke up tomorrow and didn’t want her anymore?

Willow had been right. He had to know how she felt. Even if it meant giving him up it was better knowing now, than being left behind later.

I’ll tell him, Buffy thought. Tomorrow.

¤

“Spike...”

He met her gaze with a quizzical expression, waiting for her to continue. She looked at him and realized that she wouldn’t be able to. Not right now. Not after last night. Not getting to have that again was too painful a notion. She’d do it soon enough. She just had to wait for that moment when she knew it was time.

“Never mind,” she smiled, going back to her dinner.