Buffy Summers' case file was an inch thick. It was full of work spanning ten years back. The twenty-seven year old woman was by far, the smartest woman on the team, closest and more prone to success. Spike leaned back in his chair, and looked over some more of the work. The woman, more than smart, was beautiful. She was charismatic, and the whole staff adored her. She was on ninety-five percent of the staff's speed dial, and most of the time in her office, when not spent poring over the week's scripts, she was scribbling notes, or on the phone with a producer, actor, or camera man. Today, however, her office was quiet. He had peeked in earlier, and her phone was off the hook. Her pen, usually well chewed and abused, was sitting at the edge of the desk, and she was looking over some papers. Not the script. "Everything okay, love?" he called, and she looked up, and gave a weak smile.

"Everything is fine," she confirmed, holding the paper up. "Memo, from Faith Hutchins." Spike nodded curtly. There was something about that woman that pulled at every inch of him, made the bottom of his stomach do twists and turns. Made his body react in ways they hadn't since his divorce from Drusilla three years earlier. He sat down in front of his computer, and stared at his monitor, waiting for it to come to life. Seventeen unread e-mails. Curse it. He was due to have the children, Emily, who was two, and Brennan, who was six, this weekend. But with work never slowing down, and the ratings going straight to hell, he wasn't sure he'd even be able to get home to put food in the refrigerator before their plane landed.

"Damn!" he cursed, scrolling through the e-mail. Rescheduled board meetings, a new shooting script and shooting schedule for next week, a business lunch for the new script supervisor. That caught his attention. He picked up his phone, and dialed her extension. "Buffy," he said when she answered. "We have a business lunch scheduled for tomorrow at two, did you notice? Well, it looks like I won't be able to make it, my kids are flying in tonight from California...unless I could bring them? Wonderful, I'm so glad you don't mind...right, I'll pick you up? One-thirty, sharp...consider it a date...ah, well, a business date." He coughed. What he would give to date the woman. He could hear her laughter ringing from next door.

His Porsche looked out of place parked between her Toyota and his BMW, both older than five years, and beat up from New York City life. "Brennan, watch Em, while I run up and go get the chit, huh?" He knocked on the door, and waited several minutes. Where was this bird? It was one thirty-seven, they were going to be late.

"Sorry," she called, halting at the door. "Sorry," she repeated, smiling up at him. Damn, that smile. "I, uh, well, are excuses allowed in my hallway?"

"Sure, love."

"I couldn't find my red high heels." She grinned, then showed him the shoes. They were obviously expensive.

"Look great, pet," he said, ushering her down the hall to his car. "We have a reservation at The Bistro," he said, opening the door. "Ever been?"

"About six thousand times," she said. "I go every Monday."

"Ah," he said, nodding. "It's superb. Bren, meet Buffy. Buffy, this is Bren, and this little angel is Emily."

"Hi, Emily doesn't talk," Brennan offered, holding out his hand to shake hers. "Mum says she'll learn soon."

Buffy laughed. She was surprised the blond had such beautiful children. "How old are you, Bren?"

"Six," he replied, matter-of-factly, "how old are you?"

"Bren, you never ask a lady," his father interrupted, pulling out onto Broadway.

"Twenty-seven," she whispered to him. "But don't tell your father."

When lunch was over, Bren and Em were sound asleep. Smoothly maneuvering his car through New York's least used roads, he made his way toward's Buffy's flat. "Thanks," he said, glancing over at her.

"For what?"

"Lettin' me bring the little bits."

"Oh, no problem. They're adorable."

He smiled, obviously proud of his babies. "Thanks."

He parked in front of her apartment. Angel's BMW was gone. He looked toward the weather beaten door, and then at her. "See you Monday?"

"Bright and early," she confirmed, smiling softly. They leaned in toward each other, until their lips were gently touching. Her lips parted, and she pulled him closer; filling in an emptiness she'd felt since Angel told her to get the abortion.

"Gross," Brennan chimed from the backseat. "Dad! Cooties!"

"Wow," Buffy breathed, the back of her hand on her lips. "Spike, I am so sorry, I don't know what came over me."

"See you Monday," he said again softly, turning to face the road. "Bright and early."