-Sunday, July 14th. 3:04pm-

Buffy nearly talked herself out of going.

Twice.

Once while she was scrambling to get dressed, wondering what one was supposed to wear to a meeting of the minds on why your boss-mentor-pseudo lover couldn't divorce his serial cheating wife. She'd settled on jeans and a plain white t-shirt, thinking the more unassuming the better. And once again, while she was trying to navigate her way through Beacon Hill. She felt completely out of her element as she wandered down the older cobblestone streets, periodically peeking down at the map she had on her phone to make sure she wasn't totally turned around. It was one of the swankier parts of town, Buffy knew, because it was one of the neighborhoods Faith walked dogs in on weekend afternoons.

She was surprised to find the address Spike had sent her was to a house. A townhouse, more specifically. A two story brick townhouse with a red door and black shuttered windows complete with window boxes, filled with bright bunches of daisies and vibrant red poppies.

She wasn't sure what exactly she'd been expecting, but this little townhouse…it hadn't been it.

Likewise, she wasn't sure what to expect when she approached the red door and pressed her thumb into the doorbell.

But the stunning, ethereal looking woman with dark hair and cat-like eyes who opened the door a moment later…definitely wasn't it.

"Hello," the woman said whimsically, her eyes open, expectant. Very, very blue as they raked over Buffy's face, pinned her to the doorstep with a quiet kind of intensity that shocked her with its strength.

"U-umm," Buffy stammered, stunned. Unsure how she'd managed to get so turned around even after being so careful. "Hi. Sorry, I-"

"Who are you looking for, little girl?" The woman with the magnetic eyes asked, cutting Buffy off. She didn't say it condescendingly. She said it gently, her voice melodious and lilting with the hint of an accent as she pressed one delicate hand to the side of the open doorjamb, cocked her head to the side.

And Buffy was frozen.

"I'm…I'm sorry." She leaned over, glanced at the address to the side of the door. Checked it once more against the text message open on the screen of her phone to make sure it was the same. It was. Which did approximately nothing to soothe her confusion, or unfreeze her legs. "I must have gotten the wrong address."

"Mmm," the other woman purred softly, righting her head again. A soft smile curved her lips. "You do look a bit lost."

Buffy had the distinctly unnerved feeling that she meant more than just physically lost. It might have been the knowing way the older woman was staring at her. Like she knew her already. Like she knew everything about her, could see right through her skull and directly into her brain. Read her thoughts.

All she could so was stare and blink a lot as she murmured, "I'm supposed to be meeting someone."

"Oh, yes," the woman said, pulling her hand off the doorjamb and smiling more widely. Still doing that thing where it felt like she was seeing a whole lot more than what was simply in front of her. "You're exactly where you're supposed to be."

Frowning deeply, Buffy opened her mouth to speak again, to apologize once more for having gotten the wrong house, when another voice sounded from somewhere inside the house.

"Oh, for bloody's sake, Dru," Spike's voice was a welcome surprise, cutting through the spell that had inexplicably wrapped itself around Buffy in the time she'd been glued to the door step, making her jump. Her eyes instinctively shifted to look at him from over the dark haired woman's shoulder. He wasn't looking at her, though. His eyes were fixed on the other woman. "You're goin' to scare her off."

The woman, still smiling, turned around and gazed at him over her shoulder. Spike narrowed his eyes at her. "Haven't you already done enough?" he asked, his voice low, verging on a growl. The woman, the one he'd called Dru, made a short little mewling sound at him, something between a huff and a giggle, then turned back to give Buffy one last knowing smile before floating away from the doorway. Buffy stared after her, watching her disappear into the house and leaving Spike in her place, his hands in the pockets of his jacket, his eyes turned down to the ground. She wasn't sure where to look. If she should try and force eye contact, or if she should just stand there and wait until he was ready to look at her.

Things were awkward. So much more awkward than she'd expected them to be, and she felt like she didn't know what to do with her hands. Alternating between gripping her purse strap, stuffing them into her jean's pockets, hooking her thumbs through her belt loops.

After the much too long moment of silence, Spike sighed, turned his eyes up to meet hers.

And the wealth of different emotions she saw reflected there nearly took her breath away.

"Hi," he said stiffly.

"Hi," she said back.

Another extended, awkward moment passed between them as they gazed at each other. She kept her eyes glued to his, trying to read, decipher what she was seeing there. Remorse, pain, bare flickers of anger…though Buffy couldn't tell if it was directed at her now, the way it had been last night, or at someone or something else.

Finally, Spike shifted out of the open doorway and gestured with his arm. At her furrowed brow, he said, "You should come inside."

Buffy did as he asked without really thinking about it, stepping up off the doorstep and into the townhouse's foyer, letting Spike push the front door shut behind her as she did. She took a minute to glance around. There was a narrow whitewashed wooden staircase straight ahead that led up to the second story, a hallway to her right that looked like it led into the main living space and a room to her left that looked like the library, maybe, stacked floor to ceiling in books from what Buffy could see.

She jumped when Spike suddenly placed his hand on the small of her back. He leaned toward her, his voice low in her ear. "In here," he said, exerting the slightest hint of pressure on her back to guide her through the foyer and through the open doorway to her right, into the next room. She allowed him to steer her, still feeling just a little too confused by what was happening, who's house this was, who exactly the beautiful dark haired woman was and why exactly Buffy was here to argue with him about any of it as they stepped into the sitting room.

Her eyes scanned the room quickly, taking in as much as possible. A large, old fashioned settee in a pink floral pattern sat against one wall, a baby grand piano sat in the space in front of a bay window. Two tufted chairs in lush green fabrics, an antique coffee table set up with a china tea set on top of it. Three tea cups on top of that. And the graceful dark haired woman standing at the center of the room, hands folded expectantly in front of her, mesmerizing eyes glued to Buffy.

And she figured it out, then. That whoever this woman was, this was her home.

"Right then." Spike pulled his hand away from Buffy's back, leaving her feeling bizarrely cold as he stepped around her and came to stand in between the two women. "I s'pose some introductions are in order. Drusilla," he said her name stiffly, like he was irritated with her as he gestured with his hand, "this is Buffy Summers."

"Lovely to finally meet you," Drusilla hummed, unfolding her hands to extend one out to her, the fingers long and pale and elegant. "You're even brighter than I expected you to be."

The compliment caught Buffy off guard even as she stepped forward instinctively, slipping her hand into the older woman's. Brighter than she'd expected. What did she mean by that? It was strange. This woman was strange. Alluring and warm, obviously friendly.

But strange.

"Buffy, this is Drusilla," Spike completed the introduction, his eyes were narrowed to nearly to slits now as he focused on the darker woman. "My sister."

Buffy replayed that in her head once. Twice.

His sister. Oh.

Whoa.

Buffy frowned and glanced back and forth between the two of them, immediately looking now for the family resemblance. It was easier to spot now that she knew what to look for. Brother and sister. That actually made sense. They had the same hypno eyes, the same high cheek bones and strong jaws. And Spike's eyebrows were so dark, she figured his hair was naturally probably the same nearly black as Drusilla's was.

"Your…sister," Buffy echoed numbly, pulling her hand out of Drusilla's colder one and back to her own side.

"Oh, don't tell me," she vibrated, voice low, amused. She turned back toward Spike. "He hasn't mentioned me? Of course he hasn't." Drusilla pouted. "Honestly, William, you'll hurt your sweet sister's feelings."

Spike gave Buffy a look then turned around, met his sister's eyes unwaveringly. "I'd be far more worried about hurting your feelings, Dru, if I thought you had any."

"Spike," Buffy reprimanded him immediately, without thinking, shocked at the callousness in his voice.

But Drusilla merely tutted at him, unfazed, turned back toward Buffy with a wry smile quirking her lips. "Don't mind, Willie," she said, turning her back and moving in a graceful gait toward the floral settee. "He's just sour because he hadn't planned on inviting you over here to have our little chat until I talked him into it."

"Talked me into it," Spike repeated, his voice rising in pitch as Buffy watched his eyes flash. "That's what you call what you did?"

Drusilla whirled to face her brother, the smile falling from her lips, her eyes narrowing in turn at the anger in his voice. "I was tired of you hemming and hawing over it. The poor child deserves to know what's going on."

"So you trick her into showin' up here," he snapped at her impulsively, hands curling into fists at his sides.

And it only took a moment for Buffy to figure it out. To put two and two together.

"Those texts," she murmured, casting a sidelong glance at the man standing beside her. "They weren't from you."

Spike turned back toward her, his eyes softening around the edges as they took in the expression on her face. He sighed, shoulders sagging.

"First one was," he admitted, his voice softening just as his eyes had as he continued to look at her. "Nipped into the kitchen for all of five sodding seconds, left my bloody phone out here." He gestured back toward his sister with a jut f his chin and said, "Didn't even realize what sack of hammers over there had done until you rang the bell."

"Oh, please," Drusilla breezed, dropping down in a fluid spin onto the settee, folding her hands across her lap. "You'll thank me once all is said and done." Her eyes shifted to Buffy. "You both will."

And that had Spike growling, actually growling, the muscle in his jaw flexing as he turned back to face his sister again. "When was the last time you recall me thankin' you for gettin' involved in something that isn't any of your sodding business?"

Drusilla eyed him steadily, eerily unflappable as she said, "My family is my business, William."

He raised his eyebrows a little like he wanted to sayis that so. Instead, though, he planted both hands on his hips and demanded hotly, "And that involves Buffy how exactly?"

And her eyes widened in response, dark lashes fluttering. "After all it sounds like you've put her through, she deserves to know the truth." She emphasized the word in a weird way, a way that made the hair on the back of Buffy's neck stand up. "The truth about you, that wife of yours. Your situation, Will—"

"Dru," Spike said, his dropping to a dangerous low as he cut her off, pursing his lips and hollowing his cheeks out.

Ignoring her brother's growing ire, Drusilla leaned forward and picked up the elegant rose patterned china teapot, tilting it down to fill one of the cups with steaming, fragrant liquid. "And you deserve to have some of that giant weight you're carrying lifted off your shoulders."

And he leaned toward her in return, one hand braced on his hip and the other jabbing a hard finger in her direction. Biting out a harsh, "That isn't your decision to make."

"Hoo-kay," Buffy said quickly, interrupting before either of the bickering siblings could get another word in edgewise. Starting to back up as two equally too-blue pairs of eyes turned toward her. "So, I've clearly walked in on some sort of family…thing." She hiked her purse further onto her shoulder, shakily tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I really don't want to interrupt. So I'll just…" she trailed off, turned on her heel and fled back toward the foyer.

Not surprisingly, Spike caught up to her before she could make it to the front door. One warm, firm hand wrapping gently around her arm to stop her as he said, "Buffy, wait."

"Why?" she asked on an exasperated sigh, letting him pull her back around to face him. "You didn't actually even want me here."

"Well, no, I didn't," he said quickly, but adding just as quickly before she could say anything, "But that's…I meant what I said, yeah? I am sorry about last night." Spike let go of her arm, tucking his hand back into his jacket pocket and ducking his gaze. "About what I said to you."

She watched him for a minute, taking in the set of his lips, the way his shoulders sagged forward. He looked so tired to her in that moment. Different than the night before. Not anguished or angry, just…tired.

And Buffy felt tired, too.

Sighing, folding her arms across her chest, she said, "But you still aren't going to explain all this to me."

And then it was his turn to sigh, letting his eyes fall shut as he shook his head. "It's for your own good, Buffy."

But she was starting to believe that less and less the more he said it. After hearing what Drusilla'd had to say, the way she'd insisted Buffy deserved to know the truth of Spike's situation. Those words were sticking with her now.

"Well, your sister doesn't seem to think so," she argued, tightening her arms. Watching with a raised brow expression as Spike's eyes fluttered open and found hers again.

"My sister," he rumbled, "shouldn't stick her nose where it bloody well doesn't belong. My private relationships, included."

The words struck her as odd. Private relationships. They made her feel weird, dirty. A weird, dirty secret. Which she guessed she kind of was. Which also didn't exactly sit well with her, and then there was the fact that his sister very obviously knew about her being his weird, dirty secret. That was starting to rattle her a little.

What all had he told her?

"So, she knows…" Buffy trailed off, suddenly uncomfortable about bringing it up. She cleared her throat and glanced toward the front door, eyes trailing over the wood grain. "About your private relationships, I mean."

Spike jumped on that instantly. "Did I say relationships? Silly. I meant relationship." She turned back to look at him, met his eyes briefly as they caressed her face, lips curving up slightly for the first time since she'd arrived at the door step as he murmured, "Just the one."

Her heart swelled a little at the words, but she shoved that down immediately, forced it away. Hated that she wanted so badly to take the words and wrap herself up in them. Instead, she ignored the heart swelling thing, forced herself to acknowledge the fact that the words didn't really mean anything. Couldn't mean anything as long as he couldn't get a divorce, and that was why she was here anyway, wasn't it? To find out exactly why that was.

"I'm not sure we can call what's going on between us a relationship, Spike," she said softly.

"You know what, you're right," he agreed, nodding. "Dirty, adulterous affair it is." And now His eyes were suddenly doing that twinkling, dancing thing she'd seen them do so many times before.

"Funny," Buffy said wryly, fighting the urge to eye-smile with him. Trying to remember her frustration. Trying to remember how tired she was of his deflecting. "My point was that…she knows about me. About us." She shifted from one foot to the other. "About what we've…"

"She does," Spike filled in the rest for her, whether because he saw how uncomfortable saying the words out loud was making her or because he didn't want to hear her saying them, she wasn't sure. "Drusilla and I, we…" He paused then, tilting his head to the side. Thinking about what he wanted to say, maybe. A beat passed. Then, "Will you think less of me if I admit to tellin' my older sister everything?"

And Buffy laughed at that. At him. A short little sputtering sound, because he looked so sheepish and so childlike, with his dancey eyes and his awkward half-smile, and she just nodded. "Believe it or not, I actually totally get that." She bit down into her cheek, quirked her lips. "Except I'm the older sister in the scenario."

Spike's voice was very soft when he asked, "Yeah?"

Buffy nodded again, uncrossing her arms. "Yeah. My little sister, Dawn. She tells me everything, too."

I'm the one who's big with the secret keeping, she thought guiltily, thinking of the conversation she'd had with her sister earlier that day.

Spike's eyebrows shot up and he stepped almost imperceptibly closer to her. "I didn't know you had a sister."

No, of course he hadn't. Because Buffy hadn't actually shared anything private with Spike at all.

"Guess that makes us even then," she said simply, then noticed the way he was looking at her. Like he'd never actually seen her before. She frowned, asked him, "What?"

Smirking at her knowingly, he inched a little closer to her and looked at her through his lashes. Looking like he'd just read her mind. "Is Buffy Summers actuallysharin' something?"

She raised a brow at him. "Me having a little sister isn't exactly a deep, dark secret." Then she switched tactics, amending quickly, "Unless you think it is, and now we're all uneven again. In which case you should probably share your deep, dark why-I-can't-leave-my-marriage secret with me now."

"Nice try," he told her sardonically, then paused, sighed. "We all have to have someone we can talk to, yeah? Nobody quite understands what it's like for me." He tossed a glance over his shoulder back toward the sitting room, to the woman still in there. "Not like Dru does."

He had to stop saying things like that. He had to stop saying such quietly sincere things. Had to stop sounding so sweet and gentle, and he had to stop looking so sheepish and adorable.

Buffy's tongue darted out to wet her lips and she rubbed them together. Then, not entirely sure where the sentiment was suddenly coming from, she said softly, "I could."

Spike snapped his head back around, stormy eyes meeting hers. "Buffy—"

"I could understand," she insisted, some kind of last ditch effort to get him to come clean with her. "Or I could try to at least, if you'd just tell me what it is that's really going on here."

"Nothin' good can come from me tellin' you, luv," he told her seriously, dropping his voice to a low purr. And he inched closer to her again. He was so close now that they were nearly nose to nose. "I don't see why you can't just trust me."

"I do trust you, Spike," she half-shouted, suddenly incensed. His words had struck a chord with her. Made her angry. Reminded her that she was angry. "That's the problem. That's why I got up and rushed all the way over here the second I got a text from you, or…thought I got a text from you, or whatever. Because I trust you." She shifted backwards, away from him. Needing the space. "Because I thought you were finally going to tell me the truth."

"I did tell you the truth, pet," he said, refusing to raise his voice to match hers. His eyes open, way too earnest as they searched hers. "Last night. I told you the truth."

"No," she countered, drawing the word out. "You only told me the partial truth. You think I'm shutting you out? Please. Try being on the not knowing end of all this." She waved her hand around them, encompassing the entire stupid, twisty situation.

"Better'n bein' on the knowing end," Spike said gruffly, his jaw clenching as he looked away from her.

"No, Spike," she told him, shaking her head. "It isn't. It really, really isn't."

Because it wasn't. She firmly believed at this point that not knowing was far, far worse than knowing.

Not that Spike would probably ever agree with her if the way his eyes were blazing as he looked at her now was any indication.

"What good is tellin' you gonna do me, Buffy?" Spike demanded passionately, still not raising his voice but sounding like whatever grip he had on his control was beginning to slip. "What good is it gonna do you?" He scoffed then, shaking his head. "The truth isn't goin' to change anything, pet. Believe me, if it were, I'd'a told you a long time ago."

But that answer just wasn't good enough for Buffy anymore.

"What about what Drusilla said?" she asked, leaning around him, gesturing back toward the sitting room demonstratively. "About getting some of the weight off your shoulders, or whatever. Sounds like it'd be helpful to me."

Spike raised his brows, tilted his head back to look at her. "And what about you?"

"I don't know," she murmured thoughtfully, tearing her gaze away from his. "I think…maybe I wouldn't feel so guilty if I knew…"

"What?" Spike snorted, and she could picture the look on his face, the narrowed eyes and the set of his lips, even with her eyes averted. "Knowing my wife sleeps with other blokes every chance she bloody gets innit enough to make you feel less guilty?"

Annoyed, sucking her cheeks in, she glared up at him. "Or maybe it'd make me feel guiltier and we could just stop this whole thing now, I don't know!" She paused, took a deep breath. "I just can't be in this weird limbo anymore."

Spike reached for her. Both hands wrapping around her elbows, tugging her toward him. He leaned down to catch her eyes, lowering his voice. "I told you before, Buffy." He squeezed her arms gently. "This isn't what's wrong here."

She forced herself to hold eye contact with him and whispered, "If you really believe that you'll tell me why."

His eyes flashed. "I can't."

Her eyes narrowed. "Can't or won't?"

"What's the bloody difference?" he asked, his jaw clenching hard.

"You know what, fine," Buffy said, pulling her arms out of his grip and turning away from him. She stepped toward the door. "Forget it."

"Don't be cross with him, lovely," Drusilla's dreamy voice floated to Buffy's ears, stilling her progress forward. She stopped, turned back around to see the older woman standing in the entryway to the sitting room, her eyes focused on Spike. "My William so rarely ever knows what's good for him. Why we're in this mess in the first place, you know."

"This mess," Buffy repeated, drawing the words out, pinning Spike with a hard look. "Meaning the marriage you can't get out of?"

He nodded but didn't meet her eyes. "That'd be the one."

"Yes, yes, the marriage he can't get out of," Drusilla tittered, her eyes bright, lips curved in a wide smile. "Oh, but there's so much more to it than that."

Frowning, Buffy hissed, "What, does being cryptic run in the family or something?"

"Dru just likes her riddles, is all," he muttered derisively, eyes focused on his sister.

"And he quite enjoys his games," his sister returned simply.

Truer words have ne'er been spoken.

"Seems that way," Buffy muttered, looking back and forth between the two of them before finally sighing, reaching a hand up and pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. "Alright, William," she said slowly, drawing his given name out specifically as she dropped her hand down. "Are you gonna tell me, or should I just go?"

"Brilliant," Spike muttered, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. "Now I have you two gangin' up on me?"

Drusilla shared a knowing look with Buffy, smiling softly at her even as she turned around and disappeared back into the other room, leaving Spike and Buffy alone in the foyer once more.

"What are you so worried about?" she asked him finally when she couldn't handle the silence anymore.

And she was fully prepared for him to make something up. To come up with another stilted excuse about how he was worried about her, how he was keeping the truth from her for her own benefit.

So she was surprised when Spike dropped his eyes to the floor and admitted, "I'm worried about what you'll think of me after I tell you."

Buffy frowned deeply, confused all over again. It was like they just kept talking this in circles. "You just said telling me wasn't going to change anything."

Spike sighed, turned his eyes up toward hers again. "Said it wouldn't change the circumstances, pet." He tilted his head to the side and dropped his voice to a whisper, his eyes searching hers. "Didn't say it wouldn't change how you feel about me."

"How I feel about you," she echoed, the words feeling a little like a challenge as she said them. Like he knew so well how she felt about him? Buffy wasn't even sure exactly how she felt about him.

Except she sort of was sure.

She just wasn't sure she wanted to be.

But Spike just nodded, entirely unfazed. "How you feel about me."

Well, that was something at least. That was something that felt true. Honest. That he didn't want to tell her because he was afraid it would change the way she looked at him. That made sense.

Made sense, and also had the anxious, twisting knots that had been hanging out all morning in her stomach back in all their twisty, knotty glory.

"So you think if you tell me I won't like you anymore?" she asked him, nibbling thoughtfully on her lower lip.

Spike chuckled a little at that, but it sounded slightly too strained to be honestly amused. "Something like that, yeah."

Now they were finally getting somewhere.

Buffy reached toward him instinctively, looping the index finger of her right hand around the index finger of his left. She looked up to meet his eyes, taking in the look on his face as she told him simply, "There's only one way to find out."

-Sunday, July 14th. 4:31pm-

Buffy sat in one of the green tufted chairs, a cup of tea she felt like she wasn't even sure how to drink balanced in its matching saucer on her lap. Drusilla had draped herself across the settee, her elbow propped on the edge, hand resting against her temple. Spike was pacing back and forth in the open space in front of them both, looking like he had no idea what to say. Where to start.

Looking already like he regretted agreeing to this.

"If I were you," the dark haired woman began once the ticking of the grandfather clock had gotten to be too much, too loud in the room, making a show of examining her perfectly manicured nails, "I would just come right out and say it."

Spike stopped his pacing just long enough to cast his sister an annoyed look before turning and finally settling his eyes on Buffy. He inhaled a deep breath through his nose, let it slowly out through his mouth. Then asked, "How much do you know about Pratt Publishing's history?"

Frowning, her head already leaping forward, imagining all the ways Pratt Publishing could be involved in all this, she shook her head. "Umm, I know a little. I know when it was founded. I know that they used to only print text books. Umm," she dropped her eyes down to the cup in her hands, tapping her fingernail absently against the china, "I know that it wasn't exactly…majorly successful or anything. Not for the first fifteen years or so, at least." She glanced back up at him. "Not until—"

"Not until I bought it," Spike said, cutting her off.

Leaving her stunned.

She gaped at him, opening her mouth to say something. Closing it. Opening it again. Finally, she shook her head, furrowed her brow and asked, "What?"

"'Not majorly successful' is putting it very nicely, pet," he told her, a tight smile playing across his lips and his eyes never leaving her face. "It was drowning. The company itself was hemorrhaging money, and Dad had tied up all his assets in it. He was going to lose it all. Everythin' he'd been workin' toward. Days away from declaring bankruptcy." He paused then and tore his gaze away from hers, dropping his voice to a low whisper. "And it would've been my fault."

From over to her right, Drusilla made a soft mewing sound drawing Buffy's attention away from the bleached blonde in front of her and over to the other woman.

"Can you see it, Buffy?" she asked pensively, her wide, blue eyes focused intently on the slight sag of Spike's shoulders as he continued to stare at the floor. "Just there. That spinning blue and green orb...the entire world seated on his shoulders."

Buffy took the cue and turned to look again, and when she did this time, she felt like she could see it.

But Spike just shook his head and said, "You know it's true, Dru."

"How?" Buffy asked, not understanding how Henry Pratt nearly going bankrupt could have anything to do with Spike. Spike hadn't even been living in Boston at the time.

"Uh, after Mum got sick she..." He allowed the sentence to trail off, straightened his shoulders and forced himself to look Buffy in the eyes again. "Started out as little more'n a beauty mark on her cheek. By the time they found the cancer it was everywhere."

Buffy felt her breath catch in her throat. Sticking awkwardly, unable to make it down to her lungs. She coughed. Just the sound of the word on his lips enough to make her stomach roll. Cancer. It was all too familiar. The look of abject grief on his face was all too familiar. It made her chest tighten and ache, brought up too many things she'd spent the last month and a half trying to repress. Trying to run from.

But this wasn't about her. And Spike was still talking. He was still talking, so she couldn't go there now. Not yet.

"Stage IV malignant melanoma," he said quietly, looking away from her again. "Spread to her liver, lungs and brain. She had to have so many operations, and I..." he sighed deeply. "There was no insurance coverage."

Buffy knew immediately, without him having to say anything else at all, how horrible that must have been. How scary. How desperate. Facing cancer treatments were scary enough even without having to worry about the money. True, Buffy didn't know much about the health care system back in England. Honestly, she still felt like she didn't know much about the one back in California. But she knew enough about surgery in general, about cancer treatments, to know that not having insurance was something very, very bad. Potentially devastating.

"Mum never wanted us to tell daddy about the illness, you see," Drusilla hummed in agreement, meeting Buffy's eyes steadily as she filled in the blanks. "He was here and we were there, and it had been years since we'd spoken with him. He didn't know. Didn't know she was sick until William rang. Simply rang and asked if he might-"

"I didn't ask," Spike corrected her stiffly, bringing Buffy's attention back to him as he glanced up again. "I begged. I begged him for help. Used practically his entire life's savings to cover Mum's medical bills. Did it happily, mind you. Wanted to do anythin' he could to help." He reached a hand up and feathered it through his platinum curls, loosening some of them from the gel. "I think he felt responsible in some way, you know?"

No. That part Buffy didn't know. When she and Dawn had called their father to tell him that Joyce was sick, he hadn't done anything to help. Not really. Hadn't offered to come home and take on some of the responsibilities. Hadn't offered to help with the medical bills, or the mortgage on the house, or the funeral arrangements. True, Joyce had had plenty of health insurance to cover the operations she'd needed, but Buffy and Dawn had needed their father. They'd needed an adult. And they hadn't had one.

They hadn't had anyone.

"But that was money he should have been usin' to keep Pratt a float," Spike continued. He'd dropped his hand down from his head and begun pacing again, but more slowly this time. Not frantic and panicky, but absently. Like it was helping him think. Or helping him get the words out. "Then Mum died anyway and he didn't have anythin' left. So I asked Cecily to marry me."

Wait.

"Wait." Buffy frowned, feeling like she'd suddenly missed something. Blinking quickly, trying to force away the sudden burning in her eyes that all the cancer and the daddy talk had caused, she said, "I don't…think I'm understanding where the two fit together."

Spike's eyes met hers again, and he looked for all the world like he'd rather be doing anything, literally anything, other than standing there in front of her preparing to say what he was about to say. He opened his mouth to speak, reconsidered his word choice. Finally, he settled on, "Cecily comes from…family money." Buffy watched him swallow and duck his gaze. "Quite a bit of family money."

And just like that, it all started to make sense. It all started to make a horrible, gut wrenching kind of sense. Started to paint for her a picture she didn't think she was ready to look at. But she'd been the one to ask. She'd asked, and he was telling her.

And a small sounding "Oh" was all Buffy could manage.

"And money was what I needed," Spike pressed on, as though she hadn't spoken. He couldn't even bring himself to look at her now. He'd stopped pacing again, was standing stone still in the middle of the sitting room with his eyes down, his voice strained and low and full of shame. A deep seated, hollow kind of self-loathing that left Buffy feeling frozen all over. "It was…wrong. And it was selfish, but at the time it seemed like the only thing to do. So I asked her to marry me. And she was young, and just as foolish as I was. So she said yes." He paused, barked a short, harsh laugh and shook his head slowly. "Wasn't 'til later that she admitted it was partially just to piss off her old man."

"Yes," Drusilla interjected, and it sounded like an afterthought. But Buffy figured she was actually just trying to give Spike a little time to collect himself again. "Warren Underwood never did think much of my baby brother."

Spike sighed, the sound shuddering and shaky in the silence that had filled the room. Then, he was speaking again. His voice less strained, a little more controlled than a moment ago.

"After we married, I told Cecily about Pratt. That it was going under, and she agreed that we couldn't let it. So we bought my father out as soon as we could and moved here to oversee the transition." He stopped to exhale, long and slow. "We kept the whole thing very quiet. Never told anyone. Didn't want people to think…" Spike bit down on his lip to stop whatever train of thought he'd just been on. "We just never told anyone. When I started there I started as a junior editor, worked my way up same as anyone else might've. No one thought much of it when I kept getting promoted. I was…" his eyes flickered just once toward Buffy before shifting down again, "more than overly dedicated to my work. And I was bloody good at my job."

"But all that's beside the point now," Drusilla chimed, widening her eyes as though to egg her brother on. Trying to get him to get to the real point of all this, which Buffy was guessing by the way the two of them were eyeing each other now, they hadn't quite reached.

The muscle in Spike's jaw ticked as he turned to face Buffy again. His body was facing her, but his eyes were still down. "What I'm trying to say is that—"

She cut him off quietly, the words ringing strangely in her ears as she spoke them. "Is that you own Pratt Publishing."

That had his eyes shooting back to hers. They met and held, staring each other down, trying to read each other's facial expressions. His was tight, lips forming a hard line. Eyes pained. And Buffy didn't know what he was seeing reflected in hers. She was past the point of trying to check her emotions, so it could truthfully be any number of things.

Finally he sighed, nodded his head once and said, "Technically, yes, I do. In name, anyway."

In name anyway.

Buffy's chest did that tightening thing again and she blinked. "What do you mean?"

But she was starting to feel like she knew exactly what he meant.

"I mean," Spike said slowly, crossing the space between them until he was standing only a foot or so away from her, looking down at her through his lashes, "that it's Cecily's family money that we used to buy out Pratt. It was her money, the money she brought into our marriage, under her name that we funneled into saving the company, Buffy." He lowered his voice and widened his eyes meaningfully. "Not mine. Hers." Then he sighed, turning his eyes up to the ceiling as his jaw clenched tight. "The prenup I signed made bloody sure of that."

Buffy's hand tightened instinctively around the handle of the teacup in her hand, stilling the shaking that rattled the china cup against its saucer as she swallowed hard. Whispered, "You signed a prenup."

"Which brings us back to him not knowing what's good for him," Drusilla said dismissively, a flick of her wrist in her brother's general direction. Like they've had this argument a million times and had yet to come to a resolution that satisfied her. "And how we all ended up in this mess with his horror of a wife at the reins."

Spike's jaw ticked again and he glared at her. "Drusilla, please."

"What did the prenup say?" Buffy heard herself ask, staring down at the tea in her hand. It had gone cold a while ago. She hadn't even touched it. Just kept it balanced on her lap, shaking slightly as she started to fidget. Bone china rattling against bone china. Her leg was suddenly bouncing up and down uncontrollably.

"Standard issue, from what I understand," Spike told her softly, reaching down with shockingly steady hands, lifting the teacup and the saucer out of her grasp and setting them down on the coffee table in front of her. She blinked and her eyes lifted to meet his. "The usual. His and hers assets, keeping them separate, any money acquired through the duration of the marriage to be split equally. But," he breathed, crossing his arms over his chest, "it was very clearly stipulated that anything purchased with her money, her trust fund, the money that had been in her name prior to the marriage, would remain hers."

And there it was. The proverbial kicker. The point of this entire conversation.

"So, if you were to divorce her…" Buffy said softly, letting the thought trail off, the words settle heavily in the air between them.

"Or violate in any way the terms of his prenuptial agreement," Drusilla added gently.

"Pratt Publishing becomes hers," Spike finished for them both, his face drawn, eyes unreadable. "Solely."

Buffy wasn't surprised by the words. Wasn't shocked to hear it. Had been anticipating it since he first mentioned Cecily's money. But it didn't make it feel any better. Didn't make it any easier to hear.

So again, all she could manage was a lame sounding, "Oh."

"Dad would lose everything," Spike said softly, and his voice got that weird, hollow sound to it again. "I'd lose everything. And it would all be for nothing. Saving the company in the first place, how hard we've had to work to turn things around. The last twelve years, my entire career. It would all mean nothing." Nothing. Every time he said it Buffy felt a little colder than before. She forced herself to hold eye contact with him though, even as her stomach twisted, the anxious knots she'd thought had gone away earlier returning with a vengeance.

"That's why you can't divorce her," Buffy said numbly. "She owns your family's business."

Spike crouched down in front of her, put his hand beneath her chin to keep her gaze riveted to his as he said, "And that's why Lilah and I were meeting that night at Chophouse." He pulled his hand away from her chin, searched her eyes meaningfully. "I'd asked her to go through the entire bloody thing, top to bottom. See if she couldn't ferret out some sort of loop hole. Some way for me to get out without losing it all in the process."

But there wasn't one. Buffy already knew that. She could tell by the way he was saying the words now. Would have known anyway from what he'd already told her, that night at his condo. That he wasn't getting a divorce.

Lilah hadn't found anything.

But what she wasn't understanding was why he'd wait so long to look for a loop hole in the first place. Why he'd go twelve long years just…living with all this.

"You hadn't tried looking before?" Buffy asked him, giving voice to the new surge of thoughts bumping around in her head.

Drusilla laughed softly, but the sound wasn't a mocking one. It was sad. "My brother didn't even think to have anyone read through it before signing it in the first place."

"Because it hadn't mattered, Dru," he said harshly, standing upright again, whirling to face his sister. And Buffy could see it again. That they've had this conversation probably a million times before now. "Even if I'd known at the time, even if I'd known everythin' I know now, I would've done it anyway and you know it. For Henry." Spike paused, sucking in a deep breath, eyes softening around the edges even as Buffy watched. And then he swallowed hard, cleared his throat. "It's what Mum would've wanted."

And Drusilla sat up quickly, reached her hand across the top of the coffee table and took his hand in hers. Squeezing once as she said purposefully, "I know."

She watched from her chair as the siblings shared a meaningful look, Drusilla's eyes open and earnest. Spike's misty, his lashes wet as he batted them, blinking rapidly.

And Buffy swore in that moment she could hear the sound of her heart breaking open in her chest.

He'd married Cecily because he'd needed the money. He'd needed the money to help save his dad's business, because he thought it was his fault that his dad was bankrupt. His fault that his dad had used all of his money to pay for his mom's medical bills. He'd signed a binding prenuptial agreement. He'd resigned himself to this. To a loveless marriage, to a potential lifetime of celibacy.

And then he'd looked for a loop hole.

He'd only started looking for a loop hole after he'd met her.

"Buffy?"

She jumped in her chair, dragging her eyes up to Spike's. She blinked at him, only halfway registering that he'd just called her name. "Sorry," she murmured, shaking her head to clear it. Her hands feeling heavy where they rested in her lap. "I'm sorry, I just…this is kind of a lot." She stopped, thought about that for a second. Added, "A lot, a lot."

"Well now you've done it, William," Drusilla chided, letting go of her brother's hand, pressing the tips of her index and middle fingers against her temple. "Gone and overwhelmed the poor dear."

Spike fixed her with wide eyes, raised brows, the tender moment evidently over as he told her, "Funny, seeing as how tellin' her all this wasn't even my bloody idea."

"No," Buffy said quickly, interrupting them both and trying to nip another round of sibling squabbling in the bud. "I'm…okay, yeah, I'm feeling a little whelmed here. But not overwhelmed." Her words made both Spike and Drusilla smile, which she was thankful for, even if they were a lie. She was feeling very overwhelmed. And young. Really, really young. Too young to be dealing with this.

Then again, she'd probably been too young to deal with all of her own messy life stuff and she'd somehow found a way to handle that.

"So when you were talking about obligation last night, you meant…to your dad. Your family." She glanced away from Spike, dropped her voice. "You can't divorce your wife because you're obligated to your family."

Every time she said it out loud it got just a little more real.

"I got them all into this mess," Spike said in response. Simple, voice flat. Matter of fact. "I owe it to them to see it through."

Something in the resignation on his face didn't sit well with her.

"Even if it means you're miserable?" Buffy pressed him.

Without missing a beat, he answered her. "Especially then." He took in the look on her face, eyed her resolutely. Sensing her confusion, he said, "I did this to myself, Buffy."

And then a new thought crossed Buffy's mind. One that had threatened to cross it once or twice since she'd been sitting there listening to him. Listening to him explain all of this to her. Watching him hate himself, watching him struggle to admit his short comings to her.

And hearing in her head now something Drusilla had said. Violating the terms of his prenuptial agreement.

In any way.

"Infidelity," Buffy whispered, every muscle in her body suddenly tense, shaking her head. She glanced first toward Drusilla and then back up to Spike, her stomach clenching. "That's a violation, isn't it?"

Spike opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it. Stopped. He closed his eyes like he was thinking very hard about something, then opened them. His eyes were dark, impossible to read, which felt like it told her everything she needed to know.

Buffy sucked in a deep breath. "That night, with me," she breathed, keeping her eyes on his, "you violated the terms of your prenup." She laughed, the sound high and breathy. Not like anything was actually funny. "That's what you thought I was trying to blackmail you over."

"Clever girl," Drusilla said softly.

And that was why. That was why the older woman had invited her here. Why she'd pushed Spike into telling her the truth of his situation. So that she'd know what was at stake. So that she'd know what her being involved with him, in that way, was risking. What he was risking each time she allowed him to pursue her.

Everything.

And she was going to be sick.

Buffy reached up and gripped the armrests of her chair, digging her nails into the fabric. "Umm, can I…? The bathroom," she said, pushing herself to a wobbly standing position. "I just need a minute."

A brief flash of disappointment clouded Spike's eyes, but then he nodded, straightened his shoulders and said, "Of course, luv."

"It's just upstairs," Drusilla offered, indicating with a point of her too-elegant hand, "round the corner."

Buffy nodded, heading for the foyer where she'd seen the staircase. Unsteady legs carrying her, feeling like they were barely supporting her weight as she stumbled up the stairs. Her pulse pounding in her ears, a coppery metallic taste in the back of her throat.

She spent the next ten minutes on her knees on a fluffy white rug, emptying her stomach into Drusilla's pink powder room toilet.

-Sunday, July 14th. 6:00pm-

Buffy was standing out on Drusilla's second story deck.

It was nice. The high railings on either side kept it secluded, and the neighborhood it was a part of kept it quiet. She'd let herself out there after leaving the bathroom. She'd heard Spike and his sister arguing again down on the main level when she'd finally felt well enough to come out. When the weird wobbliness and the shaking in her hands had stopped. She'd stood at the top of the stairs a little longer than she should have, just listening. She hadn't been able to hear what they were saying, exactly. Or not…everything they'd been saying, anyway.

She had heard her name, though.

And she just hadn't been up to it. Hadn't been up to facing either of them, hadn't had a clear enough head to answer the questions she'd known Spike would want her to answer now that she knew. Namely, how she felt about him now. If what he'd told her had changed the way she felt about him.

And truthfully, she wasn't sure if it had. Or rather, she wasn't sure in what way what he'd admitted had changed the way she felt about him. It was what she was trying to figure out now, leaning over the deck's railing and staring out into the balmy early evening air. Her eyes lighting on the rooftops, the rows of other townhouses that spread out into the city. It was what she was trying to figure out when she heard the soft slide of the glass door on its hinges, heard the even softer inhale of breath from behind her.

She didn't turn around as she listened to the tread of his shoes on the wood of the deck, coming to a stop beside her.

"Are you alright?" Spike asked quietly, and she watched from the corner of her eye as he leaned forward and braced his forearms against the wood railing.

"Fine," Buffy responded quickly. Too quickly. She kept her eyes out on the horizon, inhaled deeply, nodded. "Just...processing."

He shifted beside her. "You want me to leave you alone?"

"No." Buffy shook her head, casting him a quick sidelong glance. Surprised by how true it was. That she didn't want him to leave her alone. Not yet, anyway. "I can still...process with you here."

He nodded to show he'd understood but didn't say anything else, which was good. Quiet was good. There had been way more than enough talking for one day, anyway. Not that Buffy didn't understand that they'd eventually have to talk it out, what he'd told her. What she was feeling. But for now, the quiet was good.

The silence stretched between them, mounting softly. Filling the space. Weaving between them, around them, until it was like an invisible string between the two of them. A string between them, pulling their shoulders together until they were gently touching. Not a lot. Just the softest hint of pressure, bracing against one another. Quietly reassuring.

And after a few very long, silent moments, Spike leaned his shoulder more firmly into Buffy's and inclined his head toward her. Dropped his voice to whisper. "Penny for your thoughts."

Buffy pressed her shoulder back into his for a second in response before pulling away completely. Putting some space between them, she turned her body to face his and said, "You should've told me."

He turned in kind, angling himself the same way. Elbow propped on the railing, eyes narrowed as they swept over her face. Then he frowned, understanding. "Knew tellin' you all this would change the way you looked at me."

"This isn't about how I'm looking at you," she insisted, cheeks flushing hot. She reached up and poked him hard in the sternum. "You should have told me there was so much at stake here, Spike."

He sighed. "Buffy-"

"Before you let me come to you," she said, cutting him off, poking him again. "Before you told me that Iwould come to you. Before you started any of these games—"

Spike caught her hand on her last poke, wrapping his fingers around hers, holding the entirety of her palm against his chest. "This isn't a game to me, luv. I told you that already." He leaned closer to her and lowered his voice. "Why do you think I only started looking for a way out after I met you?"

A way out. The way he said it, so callous. Cold. A way out of his marriage. Or out of the marriage that wasn't a marriage at all, but some backwards, twisted up business arrangement. A binding contract. The one he'd made with a woman he didn't love for her money.

"Did you ever love her?" Buffy asked him suddenly, her eyes burning up into his. Her palm still flush against his chest, the pounding of his heart under her hand steady, strong.

It took him a minute to respond, and when he finally did, Buffy wasn't sure if his answer was what she'd wanted to hear.

"I did," he said thoughtfully, slowly, drawing the word out. "Or, I thought I did. Or I wanted to. There's some kind of distinction to be made there...I'm just not so sure it matters anymore. Hasn't mattered for a long bloody time." Spike sighed, considering her for a minute. Letting go of her hand, turning back to face out toward the rooftops. "Didn't want it to be true, you know? Didn't want to be that kind of man. Didn't want to just be…usin' her. She wanted love so I tried to give it to her. It worked for a little while but I just...it was never right." He shifted his eyes back to Buffy's, his voice low. "She knew it was never right."

Buffy nodded thoughtfully, wondering why the words didn't necessarily make her feel better or worse. She inhaled, turning around and leaning back onto the railing. "Why doesn't she just leave you?"

Spike inhaled too, the next words leaving his lips on a sigh. "She could, I s'pose. I'm sure she's thought about it." He smirked a little. "But why would she when makin' me miserable is so much bloody fun for her?"

"Willing to bet your misery isn't the only factor there," Buffy murmured, hating the way her chest still tightened up and ached for him even now, even knowing he wasn't entirely blameless.

And what was worse, now her chest kind of ached for Cecily, too.

"No," Spike agreed, nodding his head. "If she left me, I wouldn't be the one violatin' the bloody prenup. She wouldn't get what she wants."

"Which is?" Buffy asked softly, having that weird feeling again like she already knew the answer.

Spike smirked drolly, swinging his head around to meet her eyes. "To see me lose everything."

Okay.

So maybe it didn't ache quite as much for Cecily, then.

"She wants to watch me lose the very thing I used her for," he said, his eyes trailing across Buffy's face again, like he was mapping it out. Memorizing it. "'S why she goes round doin' what she does. Those other men she's been with, the blackmail, the threats." He paused, pulling his bottom lip into his mouth and biting down on it. "No. It has to be me, Buffy. I have to be the one to do it so she'll feel vindicated."

She thought that over for a minute before deciding what she thought about it. "That's horrible."

Spike just shrugged, tilting his head to the side. "No more horrible than what I did to her."

It was weird to Buffy now, as she watched the different emotions play out over Spike's face. How something that had seemed so black and white wrong just two days ago now felt so grey and undecided. Spike didn't love his wife and it certainly didn't sound like his wife loved him, but they were bound to each other anyway. Stuck in a marriage that neither of them wanted but neither of them could leave. Spike, out of a twisted sense of obligation and responsibility and Cecily, out of an even more twisted need to watch him suffer. Neither of them was right, obviously.

But she couldn't quite wrap her head around either of them being unequivocally wrong, either.

It was all just a lot. Too much. Too much for Buffy's brain to handle.

So she told Spike as much. "This is all just…" she trailed off, cleared her throat. "It's really..."

"I know," he said quickly, cutting her off before she could get the words out. "I know it's a lot to wrap your lobes around."

She laughed at that. A short, half hysterical giggling sound that tore from her throat before she could stop it.

Spike glanced at her, one eyebrow raised high.

"Umm," she said, starting to try to explain, "It's not really a lot so much as it is just…big. One big, huge…thing." She closed her eyes. "That you've been carrying around with you for years. All this guilt a-and shame and…you were so..." she trailed off, turned back around to face him and smacked him hard in the arm as she said, "God, Spike, I can't believe you did this."

His eyes clouded over again, softened with the same guilt and shame she'd just mentioned. "I was foolish," he said honestly, looking away from her. "It was foolish. And manipulative, rash and stupid—"

"And incredibly selfless," Buffy finished for him. Her voice was very quiet in the stillness, her heart doing that clenching, breaking thing in her chest again when his eyes found hers. Colored in soft awe, sparking in confusion. Like it was the last thing he'd ever expected her to say to him. The very last thing he'd been expecting. And she nodded, nodded to show him that she really did mean it. Because it was true. And sure, she knew that what he'd said about it was true, too. That it had been foolish and it had been manipulative.

But it had also been what she'd said.

And Buffy watched as the awe flickered and faded away, replaced with something hard as he shifted his eyes away from hers and shook his head. The word spoken softly, barely more than a whisper. "No."

"Everything you did was for your family, Spike," she insisted, as frustrated with him now for his refusal to listen to her as she had been with his refusal to tell her any of this in the first place. "Everything you've done…you were just trying to help. You did help."

Spike scoffed at that, glancing sideways at her. "Got my family's business tangled up in my sham of a marriage so it could be held hostage. All my father's hard work, reduced to a tool my wife can use as leverage over us for the rest of bloody eternity." He shook his head and rolled his eyes up to the sky. "Doesn't seem very helpful to me."

"Man," Buffy said wryly, waiting for his eyes to drop level with hers again before saying, "Your sister wasn't kidding about all that weight of the world stuff, was she?"

"Dru needs to learn to mind her own bloody business," Spike said roughly, turning his gaze back out toward the city.

Buffy sighed, watching his profile.

"She just loves you," she told him gently, completely understanding at least that much about the enigmatic woman downstairs.

He snorted a little at that, nodding his head. "Little too much sometimes."

Buffy stared at him for a minute. Eyes moving in fluid sweeps over the set of his jaw, the impossible angle of his cheekbones as he hollowed them, pursed his lips. Wondering at how suddenly everything about this man, all the things she'd used to find so confusing, the things that had never added up, suddenly made so much sense.

And she knew then how all of this had changed the way she felt about him.

"Did it help at all?" she asked him.

"Telling you, you mean?" He asked, glancing her way. At Buffy's nod his lips quirked, and he looked away from her once more. "Feel better now I'm not keepin' things from you. Feel worse now I know you know what a manipulative sod I really am. Guess it's what I deserve, anyway."

"I don't think you're a manipulative sod," she admitted quietly.

"You should," he snapped immediately, pushing himself off the railing, turning his back on her as he raised his voice. "Bloody hell, Buffy, the whole reason I didn't want to tell you about this in the first place is 'cause I figured it'd only harden your resolve to stay away from me."

"I should stay away from you, Spike," she countered, raising her own voice to match the level of his. "At least…in that way. In this way."

He turned back around to face her then. His eyes softened again, swept over her face. He studied her for a long moment before finally asking, "Is that what you want?"

She knew what she should say. She knew she should say yes. Should say yes and turn around and leave, and have that be the end of this. But she also knew that saying yes might be a lie. And if it might be a lie, there might be a chance that he'd know it was a lie. And they'd be right back where they started.

So instead of maybe lying, Buffy narrowed her eyes and told him, "This isso not about what I want."

"That's not an answer," Spike pressed blithely, his eyes lighting up a little at the fact that she hadn't denied him outright.

Buffy stepped further away from him, the distance between them only spanning maybe three feet and feeling for all it seemed to represent like it might as well have been three miles. "I can't give you an answer."

Spike paused where he stood, didn't attempt to approach her or close the distance she'd put between them. Just eyed her thoughtfully, the way you might size up a frightened or wounded wild animal. Like he'd spooked her and was trying to figure out how to talk her down.

She watched him take a deep breath in through his nose and exhale again through his mouth. "You're gettin' scared again. And that's fine," he told her, nodding his head thoughtfully. "That's fair. This is a lot for anyone to—"

Infuriated, Buffy let out a strangled, exasperated noise. "This is so much bigger than me being afraid of becoming the other woman now, don't you get that?" she demanded, searching his eyes with hers, feeling them blazing to life in their sockets as heat flushed her cheeks. "This is your father's company. Your career. Your family. And you'd risk all of that, let me help you risk all of that?" She quieted again, still looking directly at him as she shook her head, felt her eyes beginning to burn. "God, how do you know Cecily doesn't already know what's happened?"

But that seemed to have been something he'd already considered.

"Believe me, luv," he said ominously, his expression darkening as he considered that. "If she knew I'd know it."

"All the more reason to nip this in the bud now, before the bud nips you."

Spike looked ready to argue with her some more. She could practically see the words forming on his tongue, watching him struggle to keep a hold on his temper. Eyes flashing, cheeks hollowed out as he pursed his lips.

"Did I mention that bit about not wantin' to tell you 'cause I knew you'd be bound to start pushin' me away even harder than before?" He asked her with a sardonic brow raise. Buffy made a face at him, and he sighed, leaning his elbows back onto the railing.

"Would it change anythin' if I told you I haven't given up?" He asked Buffy next, tipping his head forward and letting his shoulders sag. He didn't wait for her to respond before he shifted his eyes toward her and said, "Because I haven't, you know. Lilah's still lookin'. I haven't given up."

Buffy didn't answer. Just stepped carefully toward him, keeping her eyes on his as she approached the railing again. He didn't seem to take her silence as a dismissal of his question, or as a rejection of any kind, really. Which was fine, since she wasn't exactly sure how she'd meant the silence to be taken anyway.

"You asked me last night what I was afraid of," Spike said softly once she'd reached his side, turning around on the railing to angle his body toward hers. He tilted his head to the side, appraising her. "Do you remember?"

Buffy nodded, her own lips curving up. "Feels like kind of a stupid question now."

That seemed to surprise him. "Why's that?"

"Well, I get it," she said thoughtfully. "The whole family obligation thing. It makes sense." She sighed. "That makes sense to me."

And it really did. Buffy understood family obligation better than he could probably even imagine.

Something that she thought maybe Spike could read in her eyes now, because he just nodded and said, "Maybe it does."

It grew silent between them again as they stood face to face this time, just looking at each other. It was a different kind of silence than the heavy one from before. This felt…lighter. Aired out. Like maybe, finally, they were really starting to understand each other. Or as well as they could understand each other, what with Buffy still keeping most of her private stuff...private. She knew it would come to it eventually. That she'd have to tell him, that she'd have to tell him as much about her as he'd just told her about him. That at this point, it was only fair.

She was just hoping they could skip that part. Just for now. Just until she'd fully wrapped her head around what all of this meant.

"I lied when I told you I wasn't afraid of anythin'," Spike said gently, breaking the silence, pulling Buffy out of her thoughts. "I do owe it to my father to stay with Cecily. To do everything I can to keep him his company since it's my sodding fault he almost lost it. So in a larger sense, yeah, this all boils down to my sense of…duty, I s'pose." He cocked his head to the side, lashes fluttering as he admitted, "But there's fear there, too."

"You're afraid of Cecily?" she asked, her brow furrowing.

Spike chuckled. The soft, rumbling warmth of the sound washing over Buffy in a gentle wave, honeyed down her back. "No, pet," he said. "I'm afraid of you."

Her eyes widened at that. "Me?"

He merely nodded, smirking a little.

And Buffy was doing that thing again. That staring and blinking a lot thing. "I'm scary?"

"You," Spike said slowly, reaching a hand up to tuck a stray strand of her hair back behind her ear, "are utterly terrifying. I'm afraid of what you represent. The things you make me realize. Things you make me want." He let the pad of his thumb slide over the edge of her jaw. "I'm afraid of the possibility you've put in front of me."

Buffy was frozen to the spot. Pinned by the impossible blue of his eyes, the softness with which he was looking at her now. She swallowed once, hard. Asked, "Possibility?"

The moment that passed between them then seemed to stretch on forever as he smiled sweetly at her, kept his hand braced against the side of her face.

"That I could be happy," he told her quietly, brushing his thumb over her the curve of her jaw one last time before pulling his hand away. "Didn't think I'd get to be."

He had to stop saying things like that.

Had to stop looking at her like he was looking at her now. Like he knew he shouldn't be looking at her like he was now. Like he knew her, knew what she wanted, better than she knew it herself.

Every muscle in her body tensed for the second time that afternoon, millions of tiny sparks shooting across her skin, spiraling up in her gut. Her face felt hot and cold at the same time. Hot in her cheeks, cold where his hand had been keeping the arc of her jaw warm.

"Spike," Buffy breathed, sounding pitifully achy and desperate even to her own ears. "I don't-"

"Shh," he said, leaning toward her on impulse. Like he was going to kiss her. Just once, just the briefest of moments before he seemed to think better of it and pulled back just before his lips touched hers. He stayed well within her personal space though as he said, "Please don't say anythin'. Not yet. Just..." his eyes trailed up from her mouth, to her eyes, to the line of her hair and down again. "Stand out here with me for a little while?"

She wanted to.

She wanted to stay standing out on his sister's balcony with him and watch the sunset, and pretend like everything he'd just said to her didn't matter. But it did matter. It mattered a lot, and doing what she'd wanted so far hadn't been working out too well for either of them.

"I think I should go," she whispered, stepping a little ways away from him, out of the little private bubble they'd wrapped around themselves.

She thought he was going to stop her for a moment. Ask her to stay. Or reach for her, maybe. Wrap his hand around her wrist and pull her back to him, stop her from leaving the way he usually did. But instead Spike surprised her by simply nodding and saying just as quietly, "Okay."

Masking her surprise as best she could, Buffy nodded and offered him a sweet, small smile before she turned her back on him and crossed the wooden deck, reaching for the handle of the sliding glass door. But she paused thoughtfully once she'd reached it. Staring at the image of herself reflected back at her in the glass, the image of Spike standing at the railing behind her shoulder. He wasn't facing her. He was leaning back over the railing, shoulders sagging, head down. Buffy drummed an absent rhythm on the plastic white handle and tried to decide if she should say what it was she wanted to say.

"Spike," she called his name softly, as she turned back around, waiting for him to turn back toward her before she spoke again. "For what it's worth," she told him tentatively, pulling her bottom lip into her mouth and nibbling lightly at it. "You're terrifying to me, too."

Buffy was gone before he could say anything else, but she didn't miss the full dimple showing smile he flashed her just before she slid the door open and disappeared into the townhouse.