CHAPTER SEVEN

It was drizzling rain when Buffy emerged from the Gloucester Road tube station. Pulling her hoodie up over her head to keep off the damp, she shoved her bag higher on her shoulder and glanced up the street. In any other year, at any other time, she'd have been coming to Kensington or to Knightsbridge to answer the siren song of shopping or sightseeing. Harrod's and nearby glittering specialty shops were only a short distance away, but it scarcely mattered --the last thing on her mind was racking up stylishwear charges on the Council's credit card.

Her stomach felt queasy with dread and anticipation while the headache that had begun on the train from Bath to Paddington had blossomed to full strength. Ignoring both, she crossed at the nearest light and found herself in Queen's Gate Terrace. The large, uneven paving stones were worn and full of puddles. Trying to avoid the deepest, Buffy peered fitfully at the numbers on the columns standing before each house. Number 2...Number 4....What do I do if he's there? And what do I do if he's not there?

Her steps slowed as she approached number 16. A small lorry was parked in front of the house. While Buffy watched, a workman in overalls emerged from the back with two large spools of electrical wiring. Slamming closed the rolling door, the workman carried his booty inside the house and left the front door ajar.

Taking shelter beside a tree growing at the curb, Buffy stared at the open door. She had only a few more feet to go, up the steps and across the threshold to discover...what? As it was, her Slayer senses didn't bother waiting for her to gather the courage to go the distance.

Vampire! her instincts shrieked. Like a paranormal bloodhound, she could sense a vamp inside that house. And not just any vampire. Spike had a specific signature, and that signature was beating her temples in double-time with Buffy's headache.

Stepping further around the tree as though its slender presence would shield her, she swallowed hard. He's really in there. Why is this so difficult, other than the fact that I don't know if he even wants to see me?

Daring to creep up to the steps, Buffy leaped back out of the way when the workman barreled back out the door, intent on retrieving his tools.

"Get by, miss," the man muttered.

She retreated to her tree once more and bit her lip. This is ridiculous. How hard should it be to just go up, knock on the door, and call out Spike's name?

Ultra-hard apparently, because her feet stayed where they were. Curling her arm around the tree, Buffy continued staring at the open door to number 16.

~ ~ ~

Slayer! Spike's senses screamed.

Bloody hell, he thought. She's outside the house.

"Handle it like we discussed, mate," Spike told the electrician and backed out of the first floor bath. "Need to be somewhere else right now."

Whirling, he strode down the hall and nearly ran over a second workman coming up the stairs. Zigging, the vampire vaulted the balustrade and jumped to the ground floor, oblivious to the man he left gaping in his wake. Poking his head out the front door, he saw that it was still trying to rain. He also saw Buffy trying to hide behind a tree a little way down the block.

So now's the moment when we suss out whether she really missed me, he thought, or whether all she's been feeling is guilt and some misplaced mourning. She's here and we've got to deal. How you gonna play this, mate?

I've no idea, it all depends on the girl in question, doesn't it?

Stepping into the drawing room long enough to grab his duster, Spike shrugged into it and left the house to saunter down the sidewalk toward his Slayer. Buffy's eyes widened at his approach, and she moved away from her tree. Spike thought her eyes were sad and grown-up as they'd never been before. His Slayer was sleek and beautiful, if too skinny, and she never took her eyes off of him as he walked right up to her.

Deliberately invading her personal space, Spike tilted his head and smiled. "Hello, Buffy."



"Oh, my God." Her hand was shaking as she reached for him, but she faltered before touching him.

He heard her heart rate increase, her breathing grow labored. Spike thought tears would be next unless he did something. Stepping closer, enfolded her tightly in his arms and tucked her beneath his chin. "Hush, pet. It's all right, I've got you."

Her hands dove beneath the duster to hug him so hard, Spike thought he felt his ribs creak. Her nose was against his throat, her fingers made fists in the material of his t-shirt to inadvertently pull it out of his jeans. Pressing closer, she breathed him in.

"It's you. You're really, really here." She tightened her grip even more. "Don't let go, okay?"

"Won't ever let go." Pushing back the hoodie, he stroked his fingers through her hair and rocked her a little. "I've got you now, everything's fine."

She rocked with him, and he felt her rigid muscles start to relax. Buffy's hold eventually lessened so that Spike dared lean back a bit and take another good look at her. "Clever thing, you've let your hair grow."

That earned him a watery smile. "What's so clever about growing hair?"

"All of you is clever and beautiful. Your hair is too, Goldilocks."

Her smile became more certain. "You haven't called me that since--"

"Since you cut it out of sheer spite." He shrugged and tugged on an errant curl. "I figured if you were going to be so contrary, I'd stop mentioning things I didn't want changed."

"I promise not to spite again." Her eyes searched his. "I love you--you know that, right?"

"Yeah. You know I love you too, pet."

That earned him another hug, but not so tight and desperate as what had come before.

"Is it okay that I'm here?" she asked.

"More than a bit of all right, yeah." Nestling Buffy beneath his shoulder, Spike began walking her back to the house. "You up from Bath for the day?"

"For the weekend. I came looking for you, and I know that's probably pushy, but I couldn't wait any longer. Is this your house?"

"Yeah. Been in the family about 150 years, give or take a few. My Da bought it before he married my mum. You hungry?"

"Starving. I was too nervous to eat on the train."

"There's a Caffé Nero close on--coffee and sandwich bar--if you're up for that?"

"Coffee in London? Is it good coffee?"

"Don't know, haven't been here long enough to try it. Think there's a Starbucks about as well. What can I say, you Yanks have corrupted us."

"Giles will hyperventilate when I tell him. Coffee and a sandwich sounds good. But what about--" She pointed up at the still-clouded sky. "What if it clears?"

Spike shook his head. "Won't clear, will spit at us all day, bet you. I'll take the chance, any road." Going to share the day with her even if it tries to kill me. He captured her hand and held onto it. "Not to worry, Buffy."

"Not worrying," She glanced down at their interlocked fingers and smiled. "You're here, and nothing bad is going to happen."

"Won't let anything happen." Leaning in through the front door, Spike shouted up the stairs. "Oi!"

A workman shouted back, while Buffy squeezed in beside the vampire to glance around the entry hall. "Ooooh...pretty Victorian."

Buffy cringed when Spike bellowed, "Going out for a bit, mates. If'n I'm not back when you're done, lock up behind, yeah?"

The workers shouted their acknowledgment, and Spike closed the door practically on Buffy's nose.

"Can I have a tour?"

He nodded and captured her hand again. "Later. Food first, then play."

~ ~ ~

Spike led Buffy and her lunch to a booth in the back of the cafe. Pulling off his duster, he tucked his shirt back inside his jeans before sitting down. He was startled to find the Slayer pressing close after him.

"Touching good," she said softly. "I want to sit by you."

The edges of her ears were pink, and Buffy didn't meet his gaze as she transferred her lunch to the table, then shoved the tray so that it fell onto the opposite, abandoned seat.

With a sort of quiet triumph, Buffy settled Spike's tea before him. "There."

There, indeed, thought Spike as she tucked into her Chicken Caesar Panini.

"I have something for you." Leaning away from her, Spike retrieved the gift from his coat pocket before gathering his duster and half-rising from the seat to toss it over the table and onto the discarded tray. He set a small, carved frog beside her plate. "I got him because the pigs weren't cute enough. He also seems to illustrate what we both felt a lot of the time back in Sunnydale."

Ducking his head and wincing, Spike mimicked the frog with his fingers curled like claws over his ears as if to avoid everything without, and Buffy nearly choked on her food.

"Sorry, love." Spike rubbed her shoulder.

Buffy took a sip of Coke before picking up her gift. She laughed after inspecting all sides.

"You're right, he's perfect." Turning her head, she pressed her lips briefly to Spike's. "Every time I look at him, I'm going to remember this moment and how you nearly made me spew my sandwich all over the table."

"What can I say? I'm evil, creating messes is what I do."

"Sometimes, yeah. You clean them up sometimes, too, but I won't tell. He's cute, and so are you." She stroked his cheek. "I'm sorry, but I can't seem to stop touching you. It's like I need constant reassurance that you're--"

"Real?" His voice was low, remembering all of the times she'd said he was dead and couldn't possibly be real.

"That you're here," she contradicted, tracing one sharp cheekbone. "You've always been real, Spike. I was just too much of a judgmental, stuck-up Slayer to admit it."



"You did what you felt you had to do, love. I understand that."

She kissed him again, sweet and affectionate and tasting of chicken salad. "You're far too tolerant and understanding, mister."

"Hey, nothing says I'm going to put up with that attitude again." Mindful of her fragility, Spike was careful to keep his tone light. "That's what froggie here is for. You start feeling the pressure, Slayer, you look at him, and he'll make you laugh."

"I'll carry him with me always." Reaching beneath the table, she tucked the carving into her carryall. "I have something for you as well."

She set a key with a black ribbon on the table. "You said this is to your house? I think I need to give it back."

"No. You keep it." He closed her fingers around it. "Use it whenever you want, Buffy. I don't mind if you drop in on me. Got nothing to hide."

"Are you sure? About my keeping the key, I mean. Not the hiding part. I didn't mean to imply--"

"It's fine." He stroked the inside of her wrist and watched while she took a deep, calming breath. "Where's your keyring? We'll put it on properly."

She retrieved her keyring without more argument, and it occurred to Spike that she had definitely changed from the Buffy he had known. Seems to be respecting me now, he thought. Edges don't seem as abrupt or jagged as they were in Sunnydale either. She's keeping my key, almost as if she wants her life to meet mine somewhere.

"You feel different." He handed the keyring back to her after securing the house key

Her brow creased with worry. "Good different or bad different?"

"Seem softer, less Slayer. Vulnerable but not weak, if that makes any sense."

She went back to her sandwich. "No-frills Buffy, that's me. You've read it all, Spike. Either you'll still want me after what I wrote or you won't. It's not like I can take it back."

"Would you want to?"

"No."

"I'm still me, pet. Still a vampire."

"I like vampires. Well, one vampire. You."

"You didn't used to."

"I know." She stroked his cheek again and then had to wipe it clean. "Hold still, I've mayoed you. I was scared, Spike. I used to be stupid in love with a vampire who had a soul, who couldn't love me without a soul." She winced. "I was messed up because if I had ever admitted that you were loving me when you didn't have a soul, then that would lead to all sorts of questions about why Angel couldn't love me without a soul. I wasn't ready for that."

He pondered that for a moment. "Makes total sense. Not something your Watcher or the Scoobies wanted to look at either. Much easier to stay in the safe places and hate old Spike. Have you told Rupert about our letters yet?"

"Not yet. But that's not because I'm ashamed of you--I'm totally proud of you, and happy you're not ashes. The minute everyone knows you're back, they'll want a big, grand reunion, and I'll lose you to the adoring crowd."

"Always deserved an adoring crowd. Nice to know Rupert and the others know that now."

She giggled, and Spike stared. Never heard that come out of her before. Wonder what I could do to make her do it again?

"Their adoration will choke you, Spike. Behind it will be a plea that you sell your soul to the new Watcher's Council and teach the new Slayerettes."

He shook his head. "There's always a catch."

"Always. Anyway, I told Giles only that I was coming to London for the weekend. He was glad I was getting out." She played with Spike's fingers. "I'm tender because you died, but I'm not uncertain of you. I'll never be uncertain of you again."

Glancing down at their entwined fingers, Spike saw something on her ring finger that made him grab her hand. "What's this?"

"It's the wedding ring you had made for me back in Sunnydale, remember?"

"Yeah."

"I put it on the day I found it in your writing box." Buffy curled her fingers around his.

Spike tilted his head. "And you haven't taken it off since."

"No. Not going to, either. Giles has looked at me funny a couple of times, but he hasn't had the nerve to ask about it, and I'm not volunteering any info." She spun the ring on her finger. "I feel really possessive of it--and you --these days. Go figure. But wait. How did you know I haven't taken it off?

Spike tugged gently at the ring. "May I?"

She hesitated, clearly meaning what she'd said earlier about not taking it off. "Only if you promise to give it back when you're done."

"You know it, love." He slid the ring from her finger, only to have it collapse into four separate, interconnected rings between his fingers.

"Spike! You broke it!"

He laid the pieces between them on the table. "It's a puzzle ring. Can you put it back together?"

She glared at him, and for a moment Spike glimpsed the old Slayer that he knew--irritated and impatient, wanting the problem to go away now rather than to find a solution.

"I don't know how," she said, poking the links, "and I've the feeling that if I bend one of those rings with my super Slayer strength, it'll never go back together." Her green eyes pleaded with him. "You can put it back, right?"

"Yeah." He took up the loops.

"Wait. There's an inscription inside. Quod dev...what?"

"Quos deus conjunxit homo non separet," he read. "It’s Latin for what God did join, let not man separate." He played with the links. "Puzzle rings are based on gimmal rings. From the Latin gemelli, meaning twins. The Elizabethans used them as wedding rings. Thought someone couldn't cheat on their husband or wife without taking off the ring, having it fall apart, and putting it back together afterward. Was sort of a symbolic reminder to not send a marriage into pieces."

In a matter of seconds, Spike had the ring relinked. Sticking out her hand, Buffy made a desperate sound that Spike knew translated to, "Back on my finger, NOW."

He slid it into place and then kissed her hard because it was either that or squeeze her so tightly, she wouldn't have been able to breathe. She tasted of Coke and herself and responded with a desperate welcome that he'd never sensed from her before. Releasing Buffy eventually, Spike kissed the tip of her nose and then between her eyes.

"I love you, Buffy."

"I love you, too," she whispered, licking her upper lip as though to get all of him.

He tilted his head and looked at her. "After everything we've been through, you think it's as simple as that between us?"

"I think it might be if I let it." Her green eyes were warm and hungry for him.

Drawing back, Spike only just realized his Slayer was wearing an outfit more reminiscent of his own with a t-shirt, jeans and sneakers. She wore less makeup than he remembered as well, which made her look younger than her years.

He nudged the bag between her feet. "For someone who's staying a couple of nights, you didn't bring much."

"New Buffy knows how to travel light. I wanted to find you, not worry about what I was wearing. If I need more, I can always buy it." She smirked. "This is London, after all. I have a Council credit card, mister, and I know how to use it. Know any good five-star hotels around here?"

"Yeah. My Victorian's just down the street, you're staying with me. Got plenty of rooms."

Her eyes searched his. "I don't want you to feel obligated to let me into your home. We didn't exactly talk about meeting, and I know you're remodeling so I wasn't sure you'd even want to see me this early."

"Early?" He snorted. "Buffy, we've known each other for years. I've seen you naked and self-destructive, you've seen me pathetic and sniveling. I've stalked you, you've staked me, and you think I'd want you to stay with me out of obligation?"

"Since you put it that way...." She giggled again, and Spike grinned.

This was a Buffy who didn't want to lead the dance all of the time--a Buffy he'd gotten glimpses of from time to time, but only enough to intrigue and frustrate him. This was the Buffy he'd dreamed of being with, the one he'd always suspected lurked beneath the weight of the Slayer's world, the anger and the fear she'd felt.

He stole her pickle, and she protested. "Hey!"

"What's the problem? You weren't going to eat it."

"That's not the point--it's the principle of the thing."

"Still evil, pet." He drank the last of her Coke, and then nudged her out of the booth. "Come on, Slayer. Let's go home."



[End of Part 1. To be continued in Part 2.]