Chapter Three – Scars and Deliveries

Buffy's phone chimed and she unlocked it then smiled. It was a text from Spike. She opened the message and giggled. He'd sent her a picture of his bunk area on the bus, complete with scattered clothing and unmade beds. The next picture was of him in his unmade bed, his head propped on his arm as he wore a brilliant smile with his hair mussed like he'd just woken up. Buffy stared at the picture for a long time before she shook herself and walked over to the coffee bar.

"Wils, check this out. Spike sent me some pictures." She gave the phone to her friend then climbed up on a stool and reached for her cup of coffee.

Willow looked at the first picture and smiled, but her expression had a distinct 'Awwww' quality to it when she looked at the second picture. "He's so adorable. When are you going to send him some pictures of you?"

"I'm not." She motioned to the scars on her face. "I know you guys don't see these anymore when you look at me, but…"

"You're afraid they'll send Spike running for the hills."

Buffy sighed. "Yeah. I know I probably wouldn't have a chance with him even if I wasn't like this, but… I want to keep him in my life as long as I can, you know? And once he sees what Riley did to me, I'll never hear from him again."

Willow set the phone on the bar and reached for Buffy's hand. "I don't think he's like that, Buffy. If he was, he'd have been asking for pictures of you constantly, and he hasn't. You told me he said he wasn't about looks, so I don't think he'll ditch you just because of your scars."

"He's a rock star, Wil. Famous. And yeah, he says he's not about looks, but his ex-girlfriend is gorgeous. Like model gorgeous. He's gorgeous. I can't compete with that."

"Maybe she's his ex because she's only gorgeous on the outside and doesn't have anything else to offer."

Buffy shook her head. "He said she's really smart, so I don't think that's the problem. People are always taking his picture and following him around in public asking for autographs. You think he'll want Frankenstein's monster on his arm when he's talking to fans?"

"Your scars aren't that bad, Buffy. The kids you teach martial arts to down at the Rec Center don't seem to mind them, and if their parents had a problem, they wouldn't be letting you teach their kids."

"The kids don't care because they're kids. They think my scars make me look tough. And I doubt most of the parents have even seen me since they're always on their phones during class. Guys are different. Riley was right when he said he'd make it so no other man would want me – except the pervs who keep calling me, because they don't know what I look like and probably wouldn't care if they did as long as I was willing to do the pervy things they called me about. You have noticed that I haven't been on even one date since it happened, right? Because my scars scare off anyone I'm even remotely interested in. Scott Hope told me he was gay just to get away from me, and guess who he was macking on last week? Harmony! It's hopeless, Wil, and I've accepted that I'm gonna end up as an old spinster with a pile of cats. It's inevitable."

"Buffy…"

"Look… Spike will be off tour in a couple weeks, and it'll all come crashing down as soon as he comes in here to see me, so just let me enjoy the time I have left with him, okay? It'll be a fond memory to keep me company when I'm old and sitting on my couch buried in cats… that time when I was sort of dating a rock star."

XXXX

"Nice underwear, Spike."

"Uh… what?"

"In the picture you sent of your bunk. There was a pair of undies on the floor."

Spike laughed. "Oh, those aren't mine. I thought about tidying up 'fore I took a snap, but I wanted you to see how I really live, so…"

"Unmade bed and Oz's undies on the floor. Those were Oz's, right? You're not just telling me they're not yours because you're embarrassed or something, are you?"

"There's no way they could be mine, pet, bein' that I don't own any. Far as I know, they're Oz's. Don't recall anyone else gettin' starkers by my bunk since Cordy came through and tidied last."

"Cordy?"

"The band's assistant. She makes sure we eat somethin' healthy at least once a day, keeps our togs show-ready, reminds Doyle that bathing is not optional, especially for a drummer, and tidies up after us."

"She gets paid for basically being your mom?"

Spike laughed. "Yeah, and handsomely. Keepin' after four blokes is a full-time job."

"Sounds like it. Does she have kids of her own or are you guys her adopted kids?"

"She's not a mum yet, but I'm thinkin' Angel hopes to amend that situation once we're off tour. Don't mention it to anyone, 'cause it'll be a private affair, but Angel and Cordy are gettin' married while we're on break. That's why we're takin' two months off, so they can honeymoon in Ireland for a month. I imagine Cordy'll be breakin' the news of her impending motherhood sometime after that."

"That's so sweet! I didn't even know Angel was dating anyone."

"They've managed to keep their relationship under wraps and go to great pains not to be seen together in public. That'll change after the wedding, I expect, but for now, Angel needs to be seen as the playboy type… at least until the tour's over."

"He does a pretty good job of making it seem like he has a different woman in his bed every night. If he's with Cordy, how does he manage to keep the rumors going that he's single and living it up?"

"He'll bring birds back to whatever hotel suite we're in for the after-party, but they don't get any farther than the lounge. Of course, they'll greatly embellish what actually occurred, and that's where the rumors come from. Since Cordy snagged him, there hasn't been a groupie who's seen the inside of Angel's room, and if one did manage to sneak in there, all they'd find is Cordy's face-meltin' glare waitin' for 'em."

Buffy giggled. "Face melting glare?"

Spike chuckled quietly. "Believe me, luv, you DO NOT want that woman cross with you. That's why I eat whatever she tells me to eat, even if it tastes like cardboard dipped in manure. I've been on the receivin' end of her wrath once, and it's not an experience I care to repeat."

"What did you do to make her mad?"

"Angel and I got into an argument over somethin' ridiculous and started shoutin' at each other, gettin' in each other's faces, pokin' each other's chests… it almost came to blows 'fore Cordy stepped in and reprimanded the pair of us like we were a couple of errant schoolboys. If she'd had something suitable to hand, I think she would've paddled our arses, but her razor-sharp tongue was enough to put both of us in our place, and we've not argued since… much."

"What were you arguing about?" Spike coughed uncomfortably and mumbled something Buffy couldn't make out. "What did you say? I couldn't hear you."

He sighed. "We were arguin' 'bout who would win a fight between cavemen and astronauts."

"Oh. Cavemen. Easy."

"That's what I said! But the bleedin' poofter wouldn't see reason!"

"Do I need to call Cordy to calm you down?" Buffy laughed. "Because I totally will."

Spike nearly yelped, "No, pet, please. I'm calm. Completely calm." He laughed. "She's already a bit miffed at me 'cause I left my guitar on the dining table in the bus and it was in her way while she was tryin' to serve whatever we had for dinner."

"You don't know what it was?"

He laughed. "Parts of it were orange, and other parts a bit leafy, and there was some sort of grain in it, but no, I have no idea what I actually consumed."

"Did it taste gross?"

"Not as such. It's not somethin' I would go to great lengths to obtain, but if it were served again, I'd have no problem eatin' it."

"What's your favorite thing to eat?"

"Hot wings. And those onion blossom things. What about you?"

"Depends on my mood. When I'm in a good mood, pizza. When I'm in a bad mood, ice cream or chocolate. Well… I like chocolate pretty much anytime, but my absolute favorite food is my mom's Chicken Fettuccini Alfredo. I've tried to make it, but the Alfredo sauce always tastes weird."

"I'm not bad in the kitchen, pet, and I like to cook. Maybe I'll make you some when I get back and you can tell me if it's as good as your mum's."

Buffy smiled sadly but kept her voice bright and cheerful. "Okay, but fair warning, I'm a harsh critic. Not Gordon Ramsay harsh, but I won't pull punches."

"I can take it, luv, and I'd rather have your honest opinion 'stead of platitudes meant to balm my fragile ego. Can't improve if I don't know there's somethin' wrong, yeah?"

Buffy heard a knock and someone faintly say, "Showtime, Spike."

Spike sighed. "Guess that'll have to be it for now, kitten. Time to earn my keep."

"Okay. I'll talk to you later, Spike. Have a good show."

XXXX

"You got your guitar back. The one you damaged."

"Bob? Yeah. How'd you know?"

"Saw a TikTok from last night's show. You call your guitar Bob?"

Spike chuckled. "Yeah, 'cause of the skulls. Have you ever heard of The Dresden Files?"

"Oh my god, those are my favorite books! I've read them like a dozen times and one of the things on my bucket list is getting Jim Butcher to come to my store for a book signing."

"I'm supposed to meet with him sometime next month 'bout writin' music for the Dresden video game he's developing… which is a complete secret that I never told you about, and if it gets out, Dru will eviscerate me, so please don't say anythin' to anyone. I could put in a good word with him if you like."

"You'd do that? Oh my god, I would love you forever! And I won't tell anyone. I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die."

Spike laughed. "You won't tell anyone 'bout the game or that you love me?"

Buffy's breath caught in her throat, but she managed to rasp out, "The game. I won't tell anyone about the game."

"I know you won't, kitten, I trust you." He took a deep breath. "So… our last show is tonight, and we'll be home late Friday. Would it be all right if I came round on Sunday? Might be later in the afternoon. I always crash hard the first few nights back home."

Buffy's heart sank. Sunday was only four days away. She only had four more days of Spike actually wanting to talk to her before he saw her scars and ran screaming into the night. She swallowed hard and said in the most normal voice she could, "Yeah, I'd love that. Um… Sundays are pretty open. I'll be at the shop most of the day, but if I'm not, then I'll be upstairs."

"All right. Cordy's shoutin' for us to come eat lunch, so I'll talk to you later. Um… look for somethin' to be delivered to the shop later today. Bye, Buffy."

Buffy's response was nearly a whisper, "Bye, Spike."

XXXX

"Buffy! You got flowers!"

Buffy looked up at Willow's shout then sniffled, wiped her eyes, and shouted back, "Okay, Wils! I'll be out when I'm done!" She picked up the box knife, having to wipe the tears from her eyes again so the tape on the box would stop being blurry, then she sliced open the box and continued to unpack the freight. By the time she'd removed a few dozen new books and assorted knick-knacks from their packing boxes, she had her tears under control… mostly.

He'd sent her flowers, and even without seeing them, she knew they'd be beautiful... which she wasn't. She collapsed into the ratty old desk chair and dropped her head into her hands. "He'll never want me. I should've just thanked him the first time he called and never spoken to him again. Now he'll come in here to see me, and he'll be all polite and gracious, because that's who he is, but inside he'll be trying to figure out the fastest way to get away from the troll. Then he'll get Drusilla to buy him a new phone so he can forget he ever met me."

She pulled her phone from her pocket and opened the picture of Spike in his bunk, gently running her fingertips over his face. He had a scar on his eyebrow, but aside from the piercing that accented that small imperfection, his skin was smooth and unmarked. He was probably the most beautiful man she'd ever laid eyes on, and she muttered, "He's Beauty and I'm the Beast."

She opened the front camera on her phone and looked at herself, running her fingers over the three scars that marred her face. One ran from the middle of her forehead down the side of her nose and across her cheek to end at her jawline. That one was the worst. The next largest was a little over three inches long. It ran down her other cheek, almost from the exact center of her bottom eyelid. The last one started at the side of her nose then bisected her lips on an angle from left to right, ending just to the right of the point of her chin. They'd faded quite a bit, and considering she'd been injured only a year ago, the doctor said she was healing remarkably well, but to her eyes, they still looked horrible. She supposed she'd always see them as they'd looked the first time the bandages had been removed – raw, red, swollen, and surrounded by awful bruising.

She closed the camera, unable to look at her hideous visage for one more second, then opened Spike's picture again. She sat staring at it for a long time.