Faith slid across Buffy's desk. She leaned into the blonde's face, and smiled. "Hey Buff," she said, scooting off of the cherry wood. "So, I heard you weren't late this morning."

"Nope," Buffy answered, not looking up from her computer.

"I also heard you came in Spike Robinson's car."

"Yep."

"Somethin' goin' on?"

"Nope."

"Aw, come on, B! Have you even seen the man? He's fucking gorgeous!"

"Faith," she sighed, looking up at her friend, "I'm married."

"Not for long."

"I'm still married. Nothing has changed."

"Fine," Faith answered, making her way toward the door. "You don't make a claim, I'm making my move."

Buffy looked back at her computer. "Have fun."

Spike unbuttoned her jeans, and slid them off her hips; her face was buried in his neck, leaving a trail of bites and sloppy kisses, her hands underneath his shirt, digging into his skin. He groaned when he saw she wasn't wearing any underwear, and quickly found his place inside her. Her took a handful of her hair, and pulled it so he could see her face. He was met by a big grin, and they moved together in harmony, climbing the walls to climax. She called his name when she came, drawing blood on his back, and relaxed against the wall. "Wow," she whispered. "That was fucking amazing." She reached for her jeans, and watched as he composed himself. She left him with a backwards glance, she was halfway down the hall when he said, "have a good day, Faith."

Buffy stood in the kitchen, phone in her hand, and stared down at her phonebook. The list beside it read, "Clean apartment, moving men, realtor." The first two were crossed out. All she had left to do, was call a realtor. Sell this apartment. When she moved in so many years ago, she wouldn't have ever imagined leaving. She would never have imagined anyone else's arms but Angel's, never imagined signing those papers. She could never imagine life without him; now it was hard to imagine life with him. Her stomach was churning. She hadn't eaten in several hours, but still she felt like vomiting. She laid her hand on her slowly distending belly, and massaged circles into her skin. She reveled in how miraculous it was: a tiny body, a life, a heart; ten fingers and ten toes; eyes, and nose and mouth—were inside of her.

She picked up the phone, and dialed. "I'm interested in selling a one bedroom, one bath apartment."

Faith was standing outside her office when she walked up the next morning. She gave her friend a curious look, then invited her in as she unlocked. "What's up?"

"I had sex with Spike Robinson yesterday."

Buffy felt a pang of jealousy in her chest. "Oh." She sat behind her desk and started her computer. "How'd that go?"

"He's a stallion, B."

Buffy raised her brows, and mustered a smile. "When did this happen?"

"Yesterday. In his office. Against the wall." Faith sat cross-legged in the chair. "Hey, is somethin' wrong? Did you have dibs on him or something?"

"No," Buffy said, flustered. She pulled the papers from her inbox and sorted through them.

"Shit, Buffy, if I would've known, I wouldn't have—well, you know."

"I didn't have dibs."

"You so did!"

"Faith, you shoot in fifteen, you should get down there." She didn't watch as Faith left. She picked up the stack from her inbox again, and leaned back. The response to her petition for divorce was on top. "Angel countersues for custody of the fish and the furniture," she read, "great, he can have them both."

"Hey," Spike said, leaning into her office. "My kids are going to be over tonight, and they said they'd really like to see you. Well, Bren did. Em doesn't care either way." He grinned. "Well, I'm sure she does, then, if you're gonna look so glum."

"I really shouldn't," Buffy answered, signing off on Angel's petition and throwing it into her outbox. "Why don't you ask Faith?"

"Why would I ask Faith?" Buffy looked at the next sheet of paper. An internal promotion, from receptionist to writing assistant. She set it aside. "Buffy, if she told you...it was nothing."

"Why would I care if it was something? It's not like we have something going on."

"I want us to have something going on."

"Well, I can't, okay. I'm married." Buffy looked at her boss. "I don't need any extra problems right now." Spike closed the door behind him, and sat where Faith was sitting.

"I'm having my kids over tonight," he repeated. "We're going to have steaks for dinner, and I have chairs to sit on in my kitchen. "I want you to come."

Buffy looked sadly at the man in front of her. How sad must she look? An almost divorced twenty-seven year old, living in an empty apartment on the trashy side of town. "Alright," she conceded. "Okay, I'll have dinner with you. Strictly business."

"Strictly."

She was thin, but looked amazing in her salmon colored tank, and jeans. A couple necklaces dangled low on her neck, her hands were absent of rings. Her hair was curled into huge ringlets, her hazel eyes outstanding against her green eyeshadow. He wanted to touch her right then, to pull her jeans off, run his fingers through her hair; throw her down onto the floor...

"Spike?"

"Huh, love?"

"I asked you if you wanted me to pour you another glass of wine."

"Oh. Yeah," he said, holding his glass out. "You gonna have another, pet?"

"No," she said, inspecting her still full glass. "I'm fine."

"What's the matter, Buffy. You pregnant or something?"

Buffy laughed. "Nope. What would make you think that?"