Her heart was thumping in her chest. You knew it was over before it even began, she scolded herself. Her heart didn't want to hear it, though. It was breaking for the six years she'd wasted by living in denial. She had talked about babies. Angel listened and agreed that he'd wanted them, too. But it was just never the right time for them to start actually making those babies. She was 32 and she was alone.Giles was her only friend and he wasn't going to magically produce a husband and a bunch of kids for her.
She reached for the divorce papers again and thought about ripping them up. Make him sweat, she thought. But who would that really hurt? Me, she realized weakly as she searched her desk for a pen. She scribbled her name on the appropriated lines and then stuffed the papers back into the envelope in which they arrived. She stared at them for a moment and then at her hand. Her wedding band seemed to be mocking her as it twinkled it the stray beam of sunlight let in through the blinds on the window. She pulled it off and slipped it into the envelope, too.
Her voice was different. He wasn't sure what it was. It wasn't just the timbre or the tone. It wasn't just the lack of sparkle. This wasn't a scratchy throat from illness or allergy. But it had taken hold more than a week ago and hadn't disappeared. She was just as witty as always. To the average listener, there was probably no difference at all. But to Spike, it was like a blister that slowly festered.
"Are you going to tell me what's wrong, Pet,or are you going to make spank it out of you?" he finally asked her via instant messenger.
Instead of the truth, she told him that she had slipped on her bathroom floor after nude sunbathing and had been recovering from a nasty spill ever since.
He didn't believe it for a second even as he asked her where the digital camera was.
She found herself sighing heavily as she stared at the computer screen. Spike seemed to be the only person who could truly get through to her these days. She interacted with her co-workers. She called her family from time to time. She'd had an hour-long coversation with her mother about howAngel leaving was truly a blessing in disguise and that she'd survive. She always survived. Her father had reminded her that "that which doesn't kill us, can only make us stronger." Leave it to Mr. Sensitivity's words of wisdom when what she really wanted was to be "poor babied" until the pain went away. Spike was her only escape from her miserable life.
Wouldn't that just twist his world, she thought, if he knew how pathetic and how totally not sexy I really am.
She thought for a moment before responding to his request for naked digital pictures of her.
"You see," she began typing. "The truth is, I'm afraid you'll fall madly in love with me and then I'll have to break your heart."
"You're a married woman," he told her. "You have a husband. The best I can hope for is the opportunity to make your legs quiver uncontrollably, and have you go into that 'don't-touch-me' mode."
She chewed on her lip as the words hit her. You have a husband. Her fingers shook over the keyboard as she contemplated telling him the truth. No, I don't. Instead, she changed the subject and asked him if he was coming to the open house.
"I was thinking about it," he responded. "I meant what I said about you being naked."
She smiled and typed in the web address for the radio station's home page. She clicked on the link to his picture and bio. He had light blonde, nearly platinum, hair cropped close to his head and slciked down over the top of it. His eyes were a shade of blue that almost appeared iced under the dark arch of his brows. He wore an infinitely devilish grin. His skin was smooth and pale like porcelain. He wore a pair of faded Levis and a t-shirt, stretched over an athlete's build, which read: I'm the one your mother warned you about.
She wondered if he looked that good in person. Something in his voice as it came over the air told her that he did. He was too confident to be anything but as gorgeous as the man on the screen was as he smiled up at the camera like he was smiling at a lover.
"I'll do my best," she typed back. "But Giles may try to impose a dress code... and then, the only thing I can promise, is to be panty-free... Giles has always been understanding when it comes to my religion."
Giles had scheduled the open house for early afternoon, before drive-time traffic began. Buffy wrapped up the morning shift and went home to nap by her apartment complex's pool. Spike's face had been burned into her brain since she pulled up his picture on the Kiss website. He thinks you're married, she reminded herself. Her bare finger would tell him otherwise.
Going to work usually consisted of getting up, throwing her hair into a ponytail and brushing her teeth for first shift. Before returning for afternoon drive traffic, she'd spend a little time in the sun before showering and applying a smattering of make-up.
Why am I going through so much trouble today, she asked herself. She knew why. Spike had seen the ten year-old photo of her with the Mother Ship. He'd seen the five year-old headshot. He had yet to see the 32 year old woman trying vainly to dupe her burgeoning crow's feet into disappearing with the application of Oil of Olay. She smoothed Organza lotion over shower-warm body. Her skin had a golden glow and her cheeks were just pink enough from the sun so that she wouldn't have to wear very much make-up.
The shag cut had grown out of her hair, but she had kept up the highlights. She blow-dried it until it was almost dry and then set it with soup-can sized rollers. She brought out her moss-green eyes with shades of golden brown and honey. She lined them in dramatic black and brushed on two coats of mascara. She glossed her lips to a pouty sun-kissed pink.
She grinned as she thought about just what Spike would do if she really did show up naked. Instead of finding out, she pulled on a pair of ecru pants with a chocolate brown wide-set pinstriping that rode low on her slim hips. She topped them with a matching ecru crotcheted tank top that moulded itself to her breasts and stopped just a little short of the top of her pants. It exposed a strip of golden-brown skin and a tasteful diamond star in her navel.
She buffed her fingernails until they shone and brushed a coat of sheer pink polish on her toes. When they were dry, she stepped into a pair of kitten-heeled sandals.
She gave her hair one last blast with the blow-dryer before taking the curlers out. She finger-combed it into place and then misted it with a little hairspray. She wore a diamond pendant at her throat, diamond studs in her ears and the tiniest diamond of all in her nose, something she hadn't worn on regular occasion for quite a few years. She slipped on her watch and then stared at her hands. She wondered if she should put her wedding band back on, at least for today. Instead, she dug through her jewelry box for her engagement ring. She slipped it on her right hand, instead. She spritzed herself with Organza before giving one last look to the mirror.
So, I'm not in my twenties anymore, she thought. She still looked good.
Spike usually threw on whatever smelled clean in the morning. It was a bad habit he only broke when he knew there would be meetings that would keep him from running home to shower and change after his show was done.
He didn't even stop at his office to pick up messages before heading home that Tuesday. Once he was there, he took his time showering and shaving. He toweled off and ran a blob of gel through his tousled hair. He padded naked through his condo in search of his favorite Levi's. They were comfortable and they looked good, but not like he was trying too hard. He pulled on a pair of white socks and red Converse All-Stars and topped it with a black "Vote for Pedro" t-shirt. He splashed his face with Polo Blue and rubbed the rest onto his arms. Other than a diving watch on his wrist, the only jewelry he wore was a silver skull ring on his right hand.
Buffy stood by the credenza at the back of the office chatting amiably with Caleb Carter. They had a lot of catching up to do.
"You look just a gorgeous as ever, Buffy," he told her. "That Angel's a lucky son of a bitch."
If he noticed the crestfallen look that flashed in her eyes, he didn't say a thing. Instead, he continued filling her in on where he'd been since their last flight together. She couldn't help her eyes from darting to the doorway every time it opened. Spike said he'd be there. Now, she was hoping he wouldn't show up. She had a feeling a little of him went a long way and that the two of them together would only be a recipe for disaster.
"Glory Adonis," interrupted curly-haired strawberry blonde as she extended her hand.
"Oh, nice to meet you," Buffy smiled, recognizing her name. "Buffy Summers. I just love those boys on the Fiasco."
"And they just love you, Sugar!" Glory grinned. "That show needed a woman's voice so badly! Even if it's just a few quick cut-downs to their egos before heading into traffic, it's made a world of difference. Those boys just adore you, too."
She was enjoying her conversation with Glory. Her cascade of curls bounced as she listened to one of Buffy's stories from her chopper days.
"Gawd! I remember that! I knew right then that I wanted to be in radio and that I wanted to do it the Buffy Summers way," she said admirably.
"The Buffy Summers way?" Buffy's brow furrowed with curiousity.
"Take no bullshit from the boy's club, Buffy. I mean, when Giles told us that you wanted a cut of the bonuses, I thought that was absolutely brilliant!" she told Buffy. "We all did. Even Spike, though you wouldn't know it through the fuss he made."
"Fuss?" Buffy's brow quickly unfurrowed and shot up.
"Oh yeah... something about how dare some tits that can talk cut into his bonus and blah blah Little Miss Traffuck. He was just fit to be tied!" She informed Buffy.
"Was he, now?"
Buffy could feel her spine bristling with irritation. Spike was probably getting some sick pleasure by thinking his dirty messages and on-air innuendo was giving the tits that could talk a cheap thrill.
"Oh, Buffy," Glory said with an apologetic smile. "Don't be mad. It's the fragile male ego. Before you insinuated your way into his show, he pretty much thought that a woman's place was on her back or with a dick in her mouth."
"Oh, he said that, did he?" Buffy could feel her temperature rising.
"Well, he didn't actually say those words... But me and Dawn, we set him straight. Some men just need a little longer when their little worlds get infiltrated by the female of the species. You know how that is, right? I mean, I'm sure you've fried bigger fish than Spike."
Yes, she was sure she had. But none of them had affected her the way Spike, sight unseen, was affecting her now.
"Speak of the devil," Glory drawled with a roll of her eyes.
Buffy whipped around, ready to lash out at her cowardly attacker. Instead, she froze in place as her eyes locked onto his for the first time.
"Buffy, honey," Glory began. "This is Spike. Spike, Buffy Summers."
Buffy and Spike continued to stare at each other, both of them oblivious to Glory's presence. Glory, having the good sense to excuse herself, continued watching with interest from the other side of the room.
"You're not naked, Love," he told her, his eyes never leaving hers.
"Sorry to disappoint," she replied, insincerely. "I suppose it would make more sense for 'tits that can talk' to at least bare themselves, right?"
She watched as Spike's cheeks colored slightly.
"Been talking to Glory, I see," he stated tightly.
"Mmmm... something like that," she nodded. "Of course, it was hard to understand her with that dick in her mouth."
His eyes went wide for a moment and then he grabbed her arm and began walking her out of the room.
"Someplace we can be alone?" he asked, never taking his hand from her arm.
She nodded and continued walking with him until they were on the other side of the buidling. She sighed outside of a locked door and pulled her key fob from her pocket to beep them into the engineering office. She knew Joss wouldn't mind her using his space while he was out.
"You're mad," he said matter-of-factly.
"You think?" was her smart-assed response.
"It wasn't personal, Buffy."
No apology for his words. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and glared at him. It was nearly impossible, but she willed herself not to fall under the spell she was sure he could cast with his stormy eyes. He put his hands lightly on her biceps and gave them a gentle squeeze.
"Listen, it was about loyalty to Dru," he told her. "If I'm nothing else, I'm extremely loyal. She'd been good to me and to my station. I had a guilty conscience about letting her go only to bring another female in her place. She hadn't done anything wrong."
Her arms were still crossed, but her shoulders had relaxed and her face wore an expression that said "I'm listening."
"And the whole tits that can talk thing? I was... I was angry, Pet. And I was wrong," he admitted. "If I hadn't heard it for myself, I wouldn't have thought any traffic anchor -- Dru included -- was worthy of a book bonus. Traffic people, well, they report traffic and they can be good at it. I didn't think that one could possibly become part of my show."
She was still listening. She dropped her arms, ridding her of the last of her defensive stance. Why she was letting this even bother her was just ridiculous.
"But... you did. These people call in and want to know how to get in touch with Buffy Summers. Hey, Spike... that thing about the sluggish Beaver had me laughing so hard that I didn't care that I was sitting in traffic. Or... or... Hey Spike, tell Buffy that the short-cut into downtown got me to the Blackeyed Peas concert right on time," he continued. "These people think you're the greatest thing since the internet. And that dick comment? That was all Glory. I never said a thing about any woman being on her back with a dick in her mouth."
His hands were still caressing her arms. He seemed Hell-bent on her believing that he'd seen the error of his ways. And, dammit, she was beginning to believe him. On the phone and on the air, his voice was radio-happy. He was always on and just full of energy. In person, it was down an octave and it sank straight through her ears and into her belly. The way he looked at her was intense. He had no problem maintaining constant eye contact.
His hands slid down her arms to clasp hers. It was only when his thumb lightly stroked the back of her left hand that he realized that she wasn't wearing a ring. She saw the question in his eyes and ducked her head down, hoping not to have to explain.
Spike's heart nearly jumped out of his chest when he realized that she wasn't wearing a wedding band. He looked down at their clasped hands and inspected it closer. No tell-tale tan line either. There was a large diamond flanked by two smaller ones on her right hand. Right, left... He thought for a moment. Right is insignificant.
"Thought you were married," he said, his voice in a husky whisper.
She raised her chin and looked him squarely in the eye.
"I am," she said truthfully.
"You are?" He asked, doubting her. "Don't see any ostentatious baubles or slim gold bands that scream 'mine' on your hand, Love," he pointed out.
"It-it's... Complicated," she conceded.
"Uncomplicate it for me."
She looked up into his face and felt her cheeks warm at the intensity of his gaze. No man had ever looked at her with as much desire as she saw in Spike's eyes.
"We're... in a trial separation," she fibbed.
"So, you're just trying this whole separation thing, is it?" he confirmed.
She nodded slowly.
"Uh-huh," he said, not buying it. "Does this whole trial separation thing include your knees?"
She bit her lip. It was something he would have said had she sent it to him during one of their online chat sessions. Up close, it about made her knees separate on the spot.
"Not mine," she whispered.
He caught the bitterness that had crept into her voice and released her hands.
"Probably we should go rejoin the others before they wonder what happened to us," he said quietly, trying to understand what she had implicitly said.
She followed him back to the traffic studio and beeped them in. Glory was the first to notice their return, but she chose to just smile and continue her conversation with Giles, allowing them to slip back in undetected.
"Thanks for the tour," he said, loud enough for others around them to hear.
"Oh, my pleasure," she smiled back, her eyes thanking him for the excuse for their disappearance.
"You'll have to come up to LA some time," he told her, a little more quietly. "If you come up on a Friday, we can do the show together live and then you can come out with Doyle, Dawn and me when we broadcast live from 701 South. Probably you could use a weekend off, right?"
Something in his voice sounded hopeful. And it tugged at her heart in a way she wished it hadn't.
"We'll see," she told him.
"If you think Glory likes to talk, wait 'til you meet Dawn," he told her. "You're her absolute hero. I swear, the girl literally falls out of her seat at least twice a week from something you say on the air."
"I'd love to meet her," Buffy smiled.
She'd spoken with Dawn before and the girl just bubbled with enthusiasm for the business. She remembered herself that way when she was back in college driving around in the Mother Ship.
Somehow, the guys from the Fiasco had found their way to Traffic Central from Jacksonville. They arrived, minidisc recorder and microphone in hand, to meet the woman who, as Lorne put it, "made Xander Harris short out the board with his drool."
Sweet was on afternoon drive on Kiss and had a barrage of questions ready when Buffy cracked the microphone open for her first report at ten after four.
"So, you met the man," he baited her. "Bet he'll never come home now that he's caught sight of you up close and personal-like."
"Maybe it's me who has decided to take him home and cuff him to my headboard so that I can do naughty things to him," she responded glibly, which wasn't an easy thing to do with the man in question standing directly behind her watching her every move under guise of having a conversation with Giles.
"Right on, right on," Sweet said, backing off. "Seems like it's hot and steamy at Traffic Central. What's the what with our roadways, Buffy, girl?"
"Long, thick and stiff, Sweet," Buffy beamed. "And I'm talking about the drive, the traffic and the drink you'll need when you get home."
She couldn't see him, but she felt the magnitude of his smile even where she sat. She knew Spike was hanging on her every word.