CHAPTER 33 - NO REGRETS
Toward morning, bodies finally came apart as exhaustion and deep sleep overtook them.
Before dawn, Spike awoke, and gently disentangling himself from Buffy, he quietly got up and went to the desk in the living room, unlocked the top drawer and took out the lock box he'd taken from his crypt the night he saved Buffy from the junior vamps.
He opened it and counted the money, estimating what the jewels might be worth. He counted out about what he figured he 'owed' Xander and Giles over the years, plus an extra thousand dollars.
He then wrote two notes:
Dear Clem,
Please drop this off with Edna to give to Lawrence Jr.
Thanks for everything you've done this weekend and over the years for me, mate.
I appreciate it.
If I don't make it, please look after Buffy and Dawn. I've left this place to them, with the clause that you can stay on as long as you like.
In any case, you have your investments and will be set, whatever you decide to do.
Hopefully, it won't come to this.
Your Best Mate,
Spike
P.S. Don't come back to Sunnydale, stay here! Things are going to get really bad; it may not even be safe here...if that's the case, pack up and head north!
He then wrote a second letter.
Dear Lawrence,
I forgot to mention a couple of things when we talked.
I'm leaving a lock box with about $50,000 cash and jewels with Edna. Please invest this in some sort of college fund for Dawn Summers. If you need her SS#, I'm sure that can be provided. Make her sister, Elizabeth Anne Summers the guardian of the trust fund, unless...then please either be the guardian yourself, or have the bank distribute it, until she's 21 years old. She's 16 or 17, now.
Thank you, as always.
Your friend,
William Worthington
Spike sealed the letter in an envelope and addressed it to Lawrence McKennitt and placed it inside the lock box.
The other letter he addressed simply to 'Clem,' and put it above the mantle, in front of the lock box.
He took a pack of smokes from end table and lit one, as he looked at the burning embers in the fireplace.
He walked over to the door of the bedroom and looked in. Spike watched the gentle rise and fall of the blankets, under which Buffy slept. His angel. His heart. His only love.
He threw the butt of his cigarette into the fireplace, then quietly got back under the covers with Buffy. She murmured his name softly, as they found their place in each other's arms again. Weary from the night and coming morning, Spike closed his eyes as Buffy's warmth lulled him back to sleep.
An hour later, Buffy woke to the birds singing. She smiled to herself at that small, blessed pleasure; a normal pleasure, for a 'normal' girl.
Buffy looked over at Spike, asleep in her arms, nestled down between her breasts. She kissed him softly on the top of his head, and he nestled further. She lay there stroking his back for a few minutes, regretting that nature was strongly calling out to her. She didn't want to get up and leave Spike, but if she didn't she was afraid she would wet herself.
Regretfully, she pulled herself loose from his arms, replacing herself, with a pillow for him to rest against, and got up.
She used the bathroom and decided to take a quick shower. While drying off, she decided to surprise Spike with breakfast in bed.
Using the adjoining door to 'her room,' she quickly got dressed, then went out to the kitchen.
The early morning sun was beginning to shine brightly now. Buffy went out onto the porch to see how Snowman Spike was faring. He was still standing, but he was getting a little melt-y around the edges. If it warmed up much more, along with the sun, she knew that he'd be done for. It made her sad. She wanted to think of Snowman Spike standing as a sentry, when they left.
Until...they returned? She shook the fantasy out of her head, knowing it was more than she could ever hope for.
She returned to the kitchen and started looking around for things to make for breakfast. "Ummmm," she said when she saw a loaf of 'Dudley's Bakery, Sourdough Bread' in the bag Edna had sent over. "French Toast it is then!" she decided, "Or do they call it Freedom Toast now?" she laughed at the absurdity.
Buffy found a can of coffee and started the old fashioned percolator, perking.
She decided to wait a while before making breakfast; let Spike sleep a while longer. She took a cup of coffee and went out into the living room. Sitting down on the couch, she drank her coffee and looked around at the room, trying to remember everything about it, so that she would never forget each and every detail. This place; Spike's place, the house that 'William built,'where she'd realized who she really was, as a woman; what she could become, if only...
Her eyes fell to rest on the Shakespeare book that Spike had read from the night before. Setting down her coffee cup, she picked up the book, "Well, I can read, too, right?" she asked herself.
Skimming over some of the plays, she came to the sonnets. Picking one at random, she read:
SONNET 32 If thou survive my well-contented day, When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover, And shalt by fortune once more re-survey These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover, Compare them with the bettering of the time, And though they be outstripp'd by every pen, Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme, Exceeded by the height of happier men. O, then vouchsafe me but this loving thought: 'Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing age, A dearer birth than this his love had brought, arch in ranks of better equipage: But since he died and poets better prove,
She swallowed hard.
SONNET 35 No more be grieved at that which thou hast done: Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud; Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun, And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud. All men make faults, and even I in this, Authorizing thy trespass with compare, Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss, Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are; For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense-- Thy adverse party is thy advocate-- And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence: Such civil war is in my love and hate That I an accessary needs must be To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me
Shaking, now, she read on.
SONNET 81 Or I shall live your epitaph to make, Or you survive when I in earth am rotten; From hence your memory death cannot take, Although in me each part will be forgotten. Your name from hence immortal life shall have, Though I, once gone, to all the world must die: The earth can yield me but a common grave, When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie. Your monument shall be my gentle verse, Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read, And tongues to be your being shall rehearse When all the breathers of this world are dead; You still shall live--such virtue hath my pen-- Where breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men.
Tears now freely coursed down her cheeks.
Breakfast now forgotten she stood up and went to the bedroom door. Trembling, she looked in at Spike, peacefully sleeping.
Slowly she walked over toward the bed and looked down at him, his features soft and relaxed, she stood silent, memorizing each exquisite detail of his face, as if that could keep him safe; within her. Tears streamed down her eyes as she imagined him here, lost, alone, lonely, afraid, bereft - all because of her.
Shaking, she reached out softly to put her hand to her face, when all of a sudden blue eyes opened. A slow languid smile started forming around his mouth, until he saw her face.
He shot bolt upright in bed, "What's the matter?" he asked in alarm.
"Spike, oh God Spike!" she said, a sob escaping her lips, "what have I done to you?"
"What are you talking about? You haven't done anything to me, Buffy!" he said, scared at the wild-eyed state she was in. Pulling her toward him, she collapsed onto the bed, into his arms.
"I have, I have," she sobbed against him.
"You haven't, luv. Buffy, what's the matter? Tell me!" he pleaded with her.
"You'll be lonely! I've made...you'll be...when I'm gone..." she cried, "don't you see? I should never have let...I don't want you to be...alone!"
"What are you talking about, Slayer? I'm not alone! You're not alone! We're here, together. You're not going to..." he stopped, all of a sudden knowing what she meant.
"NO! You are NOT going to die, not again! You can't! I won't let you!"
"You can't stop it from happening," she cried, "you can't! But I could have stopped this..."
"Stopped what?" he asked, angrily, "stopped yourself from loving me? Stopped me from loving you? Fat chance! Tried that already, luv, didn't work! Just went out and got a soul. For you, remember?" he said, bitterly.
"Now you want to what? Quit? Want to tell me not to love you? NOW? Know what?" he asked, sitting up, angrily.
"What," she asked in a small, scared voice, knowing he was going to tell her she wasn't worth the bother.
"I don't care what you say! I'm going to love you, until one of us is dead, and hopefully, that will be me, first, until...until the ends of the earth. You can't stop me from loving you, not anymore, not now!" he said, shaking her.
Buffy was crying, part relief, part sorrow.
"I know I can't Spike, it's just...just...," she cried, holding on to him as if he were life, itself, "I don't want you to be alone, lonely. I can't stand the thought that I'll be responsible for that. I love you, Spike, I don't want to leave you, not ever, don't want..."
"Oh, Buffy! Luv! Don't want you to leave me, ever! Please, luv! Don't do this to yourself!" he said, stroking her hair. "I'll be alright, promise," he said, kissing her tears away, "don't worry about old Spike, here, luv."
Buffy's heart was breaking with the knowledge that she'd given him so little, for such a short amount of time, and that later today, they'd be going back...back to Sunnydale, back to face The First...back to the possible end for one of them...
She couldn't help but feel that she'd made this all the worse for Spike. That if she didn't make it, he would...
He kissed her, breaking her train of thought, "Don't you go all weepy on me, now, Summers! And don't you dare regret coming here!"
"I don't, Spike...it's been wonderful, it's just that..." she stammered.
"Just that if you didn't, and something happens to you now, that I'd miss you any less?" he asked.
She nodded, through fresh tears.
"Bollocks!"
She looked at him.
"Knew you loved me...well, at least hoped you did. If something happens, and I'm not going to let it, so this is just hypothetical; if something happens to you, I'll curse the fates, grieve, miss you, and still I'll always love you. No more and no less! No matter what, even if 'this' didn't happen. Don't you know that?"
She nodded, "But doesn't this, us," she said, pointing at the two of them, "doesn't it make it worse? It does for me. I fear losing you, as much as you losing me, because..."
"It's love, pet. Love. When you love someone, you always know how goddamned much it will hurt if you ever lose them. Terribly, horribly, painfully, torturously, but still...you love because if you don't, well then...you've already lost something of yourself."
"It's not fair! It shouldn't be like this, shouldn't hurt to love someone," Buffy said, through fresh tears.
"No, it's not fair, but isn't it worse to love someone and not show it?" Spike asked, "and if you love someone and never tell them, or didn't get the chance to show them, then ALL you have is regret. That's worse, I know!" he said.
"Spike...Spike," she said, clinging to him, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, allow myself to love you sooner."
"Buffy, it's alright, pet. It just had to be the way it had to be," he said, stroking her back, "no regrets, okay?"
She looked at him, at the man; the person who had loved her more than anyone else had her entire life.
"What good is it going to do either of us to have regrets now?" Spike asked her, "you love me and I love you. We both know each other's hearts. Now and forever. I can't regret this, even if the world ends for either or both of us tomorrow. Can't. Won't. You shouldn't either, Buffy," he said, as he wiped her tears away. "Don't you ever regret that you let yourself love me, not on my account! I'll never regret your loving me, my loving you. Never. Ever! Do you hear me?"
Buffy just nodded, "I won't, Spike. I promise. I do love you and I have no regrets for loving you. I won't. I...I just don't want you to hurt..."
Spike just held onto her, there was nothing more he could say. He wouldn't want her to hurt either, but it was breaking his heart that she was hurting for him, about him losing her. Losing her. He shuddered and held on to her tighter, feeling a lump rising in his throat.
Not if he had anything to say about it! He would not lose her! Not again!
He felt his eyes grow moist, but would not let himself cry, wouldn't give into her fears. He couldn't stand the thought of losing her and she knew it, but he wouldn't let her see him like this. Have to be brave, for her, his girl, his heart.
Despite her protests, Spike assured Buffy he would happily finish breakfast after she got a little more shut-eye. She was exhausted after the emotional upheaval she had just been through. He helped her gently out of her clothes and back under the covers.
He held her until she fell back asleep, then an idea occurred to him. He eased himself up and went to the living room and gathered his drawing pad, pencils, and a chair.
He came back a few minutes later, and quietly put the chair at the side of the bed.
An hour later, Buffy woke up, a sense of Spike nearby. She opened her eyes and smiled at him in surprise, "Hey, no fair! I could be drooling in my sleep!" she said.
"No, no drool...well, just a little, but I didn't include that," he joked.
She raised herself up on her elbow; "Can I see?"
"In a couple of minutes. How about I get a couple more, with your eyes open?"
"Okay," she said, and she settled back onto the pillows and looked at him, while he drew.
"Spike?" she asked, having had an idea.
"Hmmm?"
"Could you draw a couple of pictures of just the necklace?" she asked, as she rubbed it lovingly.
"Ahead of you there, luv; already did," he replied.
"Good."
"Shhhhh!" he commanded, as he concentrated on his drawings.
About 20 minutes later, he put down the pencils, "Here," he said, shyly, handing her the drawing pad.
Once again, Buffy was awed by how distinctly lovely each drawing was. There were about four of each, her sleeping, her awake, and the lovebird necklace, including two from the back of the necklace; the side that had the W and the E etched onto it.
"You're so good, Spike, so very good!" she said, meaning it about much more than this one thing.
"May I...?" she started to ask.
He quickly nodded, as she took out some of the drawings out of the book to take home.
Toward morning, bodies finally came apart as exhaustion and deep sleep overtook them.
Before dawn, Spike awoke, and gently disentangling himself from Buffy, he quietly got up and went to the desk in the living room, unlocked the top drawer and took out the lock box he'd taken from his crypt the night he saved Buffy from the junior vamps.
He opened it and counted the money, estimating what the jewels might be worth. He counted out about what he figured he 'owed' Xander and Giles over the years, plus an extra thousand dollars.
He then wrote two notes:
Dear Clem,
Please drop this off with Edna to give to Lawrence Jr.
Thanks for everything you've done this weekend and over the years for me, mate.
I appreciate it.
If I don't make it, please look after Buffy and Dawn. I've left this place to them, with the clause that you can stay on as long as you like.
In any case, you have your investments and will be set, whatever you decide to do.
Hopefully, it won't come to this.
Your Best Mate,
Spike
P.S. Don't come back to Sunnydale, stay here! Things are going to get really bad; it may not even be safe here...if that's the case, pack up and head north!
He then wrote a second letter.
Dear Lawrence,
I forgot to mention a couple of things when we talked.
I'm leaving a lock box with about $50,000 cash and jewels with Edna. Please invest this in some sort of college fund for Dawn Summers. If you need her SS#, I'm sure that can be provided. Make her sister, Elizabeth Anne Summers the guardian of the trust fund, unless...then please either be the guardian yourself, or have the bank distribute it, until she's 21 years old. She's 16 or 17, now.
Thank you, as always.
Your friend,
William Worthington
Spike sealed the letter in an envelope and addressed it to Lawrence McKennitt and placed it inside the lock box.
The other letter he addressed simply to 'Clem,' and put it above the mantle, in front of the lock box.
He took a pack of smokes from end table and lit one, as he looked at the burning embers in the fireplace.
He walked over to the door of the bedroom and looked in. Spike watched the gentle rise and fall of the blankets, under which Buffy slept. His angel. His heart. His only love.
He threw the butt of his cigarette into the fireplace, then quietly got back under the covers with Buffy. She murmured his name softly, as they found their place in each other's arms again. Weary from the night and coming morning, Spike closed his eyes as Buffy's warmth lulled him back to sleep.
An hour later, Buffy woke to the birds singing. She smiled to herself at that small, blessed pleasure; a normal pleasure, for a 'normal' girl.
Buffy looked over at Spike, asleep in her arms, nestled down between her breasts. She kissed him softly on the top of his head, and he nestled further. She lay there stroking his back for a few minutes, regretting that nature was strongly calling out to her. She didn't want to get up and leave Spike, but if she didn't she was afraid she would wet herself.
Regretfully, she pulled herself loose from his arms, replacing herself, with a pillow for him to rest against, and got up.
She used the bathroom and decided to take a quick shower. While drying off, she decided to surprise Spike with breakfast in bed.
Using the adjoining door to 'her room,' she quickly got dressed, then went out to the kitchen.
The early morning sun was beginning to shine brightly now. Buffy went out onto the porch to see how Snowman Spike was faring. He was still standing, but he was getting a little melt-y around the edges. If it warmed up much more, along with the sun, she knew that he'd be done for. It made her sad. She wanted to think of Snowman Spike standing as a sentry, when they left.
Until...they returned? She shook the fantasy out of her head, knowing it was more than she could ever hope for.
She returned to the kitchen and started looking around for things to make for breakfast. "Ummmm," she said when she saw a loaf of 'Dudley's Bakery, Sourdough Bread' in the bag Edna had sent over. "French Toast it is then!" she decided, "Or do they call it Freedom Toast now?" she laughed at the absurdity.
Buffy found a can of coffee and started the old fashioned percolator, perking.
She decided to wait a while before making breakfast; let Spike sleep a while longer. She took a cup of coffee and went out into the living room. Sitting down on the couch, she drank her coffee and looked around at the room, trying to remember everything about it, so that she would never forget each and every detail. This place; Spike's place, the house that 'William built,'where she'd realized who she really was, as a woman; what she could become, if only...
Her eyes fell to rest on the Shakespeare book that Spike had read from the night before. Setting down her coffee cup, she picked up the book, "Well, I can read, too, right?" she asked herself.
Skimming over some of the plays, she came to the sonnets. Picking one at random, she read:
SONNET 32 If thou survive my well-contented day, When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover, And shalt by fortune once more re-survey These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover, Compare them with the bettering of the time, And though they be outstripp'd by every pen, Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme, Exceeded by the height of happier men. O, then vouchsafe me but this loving thought: 'Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing age, A dearer birth than this his love had brought, arch in ranks of better equipage: But since he died and poets better prove,
She swallowed hard.
SONNET 35 No more be grieved at that which thou hast done: Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud; Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun, And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud. All men make faults, and even I in this, Authorizing thy trespass with compare, Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss, Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are; For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense-- Thy adverse party is thy advocate-- And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence: Such civil war is in my love and hate That I an accessary needs must be To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me
Shaking, now, she read on.
SONNET 81 Or I shall live your epitaph to make, Or you survive when I in earth am rotten; From hence your memory death cannot take, Although in me each part will be forgotten. Your name from hence immortal life shall have, Though I, once gone, to all the world must die: The earth can yield me but a common grave, When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie. Your monument shall be my gentle verse, Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read, And tongues to be your being shall rehearse When all the breathers of this world are dead; You still shall live--such virtue hath my pen-- Where breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men.
Tears now freely coursed down her cheeks.
Breakfast now forgotten she stood up and went to the bedroom door. Trembling, she looked in at Spike, peacefully sleeping.
Slowly she walked over toward the bed and looked down at him, his features soft and relaxed, she stood silent, memorizing each exquisite detail of his face, as if that could keep him safe; within her. Tears streamed down her eyes as she imagined him here, lost, alone, lonely, afraid, bereft - all because of her.
Shaking, she reached out softly to put her hand to her face, when all of a sudden blue eyes opened. A slow languid smile started forming around his mouth, until he saw her face.
He shot bolt upright in bed, "What's the matter?" he asked in alarm.
"Spike, oh God Spike!" she said, a sob escaping her lips, "what have I done to you?"
"What are you talking about? You haven't done anything to me, Buffy!" he said, scared at the wild-eyed state she was in. Pulling her toward him, she collapsed onto the bed, into his arms.
"I have, I have," she sobbed against him.
"You haven't, luv. Buffy, what's the matter? Tell me!" he pleaded with her.
"You'll be lonely! I've made...you'll be...when I'm gone..." she cried, "don't you see? I should never have let...I don't want you to be...alone!"
"What are you talking about, Slayer? I'm not alone! You're not alone! We're here, together. You're not going to..." he stopped, all of a sudden knowing what she meant.
"NO! You are NOT going to die, not again! You can't! I won't let you!"
"You can't stop it from happening," she cried, "you can't! But I could have stopped this..."
"Stopped what?" he asked, angrily, "stopped yourself from loving me? Stopped me from loving you? Fat chance! Tried that already, luv, didn't work! Just went out and got a soul. For you, remember?" he said, bitterly.
"Now you want to what? Quit? Want to tell me not to love you? NOW? Know what?" he asked, sitting up, angrily.
"What," she asked in a small, scared voice, knowing he was going to tell her she wasn't worth the bother.
"I don't care what you say! I'm going to love you, until one of us is dead, and hopefully, that will be me, first, until...until the ends of the earth. You can't stop me from loving you, not anymore, not now!" he said, shaking her.
Buffy was crying, part relief, part sorrow.
"I know I can't Spike, it's just...just...," she cried, holding on to him as if he were life, itself, "I don't want you to be alone, lonely. I can't stand the thought that I'll be responsible for that. I love you, Spike, I don't want to leave you, not ever, don't want..."
"Oh, Buffy! Luv! Don't want you to leave me, ever! Please, luv! Don't do this to yourself!" he said, stroking her hair. "I'll be alright, promise," he said, kissing her tears away, "don't worry about old Spike, here, luv."
Buffy's heart was breaking with the knowledge that she'd given him so little, for such a short amount of time, and that later today, they'd be going back...back to Sunnydale, back to face The First...back to the possible end for one of them...
She couldn't help but feel that she'd made this all the worse for Spike. That if she didn't make it, he would...
He kissed her, breaking her train of thought, "Don't you go all weepy on me, now, Summers! And don't you dare regret coming here!"
"I don't, Spike...it's been wonderful, it's just that..." she stammered.
"Just that if you didn't, and something happens to you now, that I'd miss you any less?" he asked.
She nodded, through fresh tears.
"Bollocks!"
She looked at him.
"Knew you loved me...well, at least hoped you did. If something happens, and I'm not going to let it, so this is just hypothetical; if something happens to you, I'll curse the fates, grieve, miss you, and still I'll always love you. No more and no less! No matter what, even if 'this' didn't happen. Don't you know that?"
She nodded, "But doesn't this, us," she said, pointing at the two of them, "doesn't it make it worse? It does for me. I fear losing you, as much as you losing me, because..."
"It's love, pet. Love. When you love someone, you always know how goddamned much it will hurt if you ever lose them. Terribly, horribly, painfully, torturously, but still...you love because if you don't, well then...you've already lost something of yourself."
"It's not fair! It shouldn't be like this, shouldn't hurt to love someone," Buffy said, through fresh tears.
"No, it's not fair, but isn't it worse to love someone and not show it?" Spike asked, "and if you love someone and never tell them, or didn't get the chance to show them, then ALL you have is regret. That's worse, I know!" he said.
"Spike...Spike," she said, clinging to him, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, allow myself to love you sooner."
"Buffy, it's alright, pet. It just had to be the way it had to be," he said, stroking her back, "no regrets, okay?"
She looked at him, at the man; the person who had loved her more than anyone else had her entire life.
"What good is it going to do either of us to have regrets now?" Spike asked her, "you love me and I love you. We both know each other's hearts. Now and forever. I can't regret this, even if the world ends for either or both of us tomorrow. Can't. Won't. You shouldn't either, Buffy," he said, as he wiped her tears away. "Don't you ever regret that you let yourself love me, not on my account! I'll never regret your loving me, my loving you. Never. Ever! Do you hear me?"
Buffy just nodded, "I won't, Spike. I promise. I do love you and I have no regrets for loving you. I won't. I...I just don't want you to hurt..."
Spike just held onto her, there was nothing more he could say. He wouldn't want her to hurt either, but it was breaking his heart that she was hurting for him, about him losing her. Losing her. He shuddered and held on to her tighter, feeling a lump rising in his throat.
Not if he had anything to say about it! He would not lose her! Not again!
He felt his eyes grow moist, but would not let himself cry, wouldn't give into her fears. He couldn't stand the thought of losing her and she knew it, but he wouldn't let her see him like this. Have to be brave, for her, his girl, his heart.
Despite her protests, Spike assured Buffy he would happily finish breakfast after she got a little more shut-eye. She was exhausted after the emotional upheaval she had just been through. He helped her gently out of her clothes and back under the covers.
He held her until she fell back asleep, then an idea occurred to him. He eased himself up and went to the living room and gathered his drawing pad, pencils, and a chair.
He came back a few minutes later, and quietly put the chair at the side of the bed.
An hour later, Buffy woke up, a sense of Spike nearby. She opened her eyes and smiled at him in surprise, "Hey, no fair! I could be drooling in my sleep!" she said.
"No, no drool...well, just a little, but I didn't include that," he joked.
She raised herself up on her elbow; "Can I see?"
"In a couple of minutes. How about I get a couple more, with your eyes open?"
"Okay," she said, and she settled back onto the pillows and looked at him, while he drew.
"Spike?" she asked, having had an idea.
"Hmmm?"
"Could you draw a couple of pictures of just the necklace?" she asked, as she rubbed it lovingly.
"Ahead of you there, luv; already did," he replied.
"Good."
"Shhhhh!" he commanded, as he concentrated on his drawings.
About 20 minutes later, he put down the pencils, "Here," he said, shyly, handing her the drawing pad.
Once again, Buffy was awed by how distinctly lovely each drawing was. There were about four of each, her sleeping, her awake, and the lovebird necklace, including two from the back of the necklace; the side that had the W and the E etched onto it.
"You're so good, Spike, so very good!" she said, meaning it about much more than this one thing.
"May I...?" she started to ask.
He quickly nodded, as she took out some of the drawings out of the book to take home.