Summary: Two years after the battle at the end of "Not Fade Away", Buffy's still in Rome. An unexpected visitor shows up bringing even more unexpected news.
Author's Notes: Inspired by and writtern for calturner.
Rating: NC-17
“Buffy,” Anne said. “It's been a long time.”
“Yes it has, Chanterelle. Or is it Lily?”
“Buffy,” Spike said, his voice a low growl.
“Sorry,” Buffy said, more to Spike than to Anne. “So, Anne. What brings you to Rome ?”
Spike went to Anne and put his hands on her shoulders. “Is there trouble?” he asked.
“Could we talk somewhere?” She avoided his question and his look.
Spike looked to Buffy. She nodded slightly.
“Let's go inside,” Spike said. “Got to get the Slayer patched up first. Then we'll talk.”
Buffy unlocked the door and stepped aside so Spike and Anne could enter. She slammed the door behind them a little louder than necessary and set to work trying to untie the pieces of Spike's shirt that bound her jacket to her arm. Spike noticed her struggling and quickly moved to help her. Buffy stifled her impulse to pull away to do it herself and let him peel the crusty jacket off her. Her arm underneath was an angry red and still seeping blood.
“Oh my God,” Anne said, walking over for a closer look. “What did that?”
“ Corona demon,” Buffy said.
“Korbaka,” Spike corrected her.
Buffy tilted her head in irritation at him. “Whatever.”
“Shouldn't you go get stitches?” Anne asked.
“No,” Buffy said as Spike said, “Yes.”
“You did a great job with my ribs,” Buffy told Spike. “And now you know where all the first aid junk is.”
He grabbed hold of her good arm and tugged her toward the bathroom. “This won't take but a moment, pet,” he said to Anne. “Make yourself comfortable.”
Once they were in the bathroom, Spike began to rummage through drawers until he found butterfly bandages, gauze and antibacterial ointment. He pulled a towel off the rack and wet it down, using it to clean the wound. Buffy's stomach fluttered at his gentle touch and the brush of his fingertips on her skin.
“Think you need a tetanus shot, Slayer?” he asked.
She started at his voice. “No. No shots. Just bandage it, okay?”
“Right.”
They were quiet as he applied the ointment and butterfly closures and wrapped her arm in the gauze. She watched his face. His forehead was creased in concentration, his dark blond hair was mussed sexily and she really wished she knew what he was thinking.
“So Anne's here,” she said, breaking the quiet.
“Looks like it.”
“Got here awfully fast if she was just on the phone with you this afternoon,” Buffy commented.
Spike paused in his wrapping and looked at her. “That she did,” he said thoughtfully.
“Interesting how she was all about giving you time and now here she is, just days later,” Buffy said, striving for an idly curious tone.
Spike wasn't buying it. “Something must've happened,” he said. “Some big bad she needs help with. Or something's going down at the shelter.”
“And she couldn't have told you about this on the phone? Except, oops. She must've already been in Rome when you talked to her.”
Spike finished with the gauze and stepped back. He calmly set the unused first aid things on the counter and crossed his arms. “What's your point?”
“No point,” Buffy said, putting her good hand up. “Just observiness.”
“Don't know what I'm going to tell her,” he said, looking at the bathroom door.
Buffy touched his arm lightly. “Spike. Again. I'm sorry that what we did put you in this position. But I can't say I regret the doing.”
Spike closed his eyes for a second and took a breath. “Can't say I regret doing what we did either. Least not while we were doing it. But it was the wrong time to do it.”
“I know,” Buffy said quietly.
“I've got to tell her, Buffy. Got to tell her what I did.”
“Not first thing, though,” Buffy said. “Let's find out why she's here.”
Spike pressed his lips together, but nodded. He opened the bathroom door and strode across the hall to the living room. Buffy followed.
“What's going down, love? Why are you here?” Spike asked as he sat next to Anne on the couch.
“It's… I…” Anne glanced at Buffy. She lowered her voice. “Could we talk about this in—private?”
“Buffy?” Spike said, looking at her.
“What?”
“Would you mind… ”
“Oh. Oh! ‘Private' as in ‘sans Buffy'. Well, sure. I guess. I'll just, um, be in my bedroom if you, ah, need me.” Buffy backed into the hallway and turned toward her room, fully intending to go in there. But her feet suddenly seemed extra heavy and the floor right there, out of sight, seemed as good a place to sit as any…
Being able to hear every word Spike and Anne said? Just a lucky coincidence.
“What is it, Anne?” Spike asked.
Buffy could hear Anne shifting around on the couch. “Now that I've seen you, it seems silly. I was being truthful with you when I said I wanted you to come here and find some closure with Buffy. You know that, right?”
Buffy could easily imagine Spike's uncomfortable look. “'Course. Sure,” he said.
“I really wasn't going to come. But then the day after you left, Angel came to the shelter.”
“Angel?”
Angel? Buffy thought.
“He was following a lead, he said. Someone told him they'd seen us together so he came to me to find you.”
“Why would Angel need to find me? Left me there to rot in the street a year ago, bloody bastard.”
“I actually asked him that,” Anne said. “He told me he knew you'd be fine because you always were. But he needs your help now. He wants to rebuild Angel Investigations.”
“Is that right? I'll see him in hell before I help that ponce out again. Knew I'd be all right, did he? Think all those nancy boy hair products finally soaked into his brain!” Buffy heard Spike get up and start pacing around the room. “What kind of idiot does he take me for? Wait. Don't answer that. I know what kind of idiot he takes me for. Sure as hell not his bloody sidekick or comic relief boy any longer. Big, brawny and broody can go fu—”
“Spike!” Anne's voice stopped his tirade. “I told him that—that you wouldn't want to have anything to do with him. And he asked me where you were.”
“Didn't tell him, did you?”
“Why wouldn't I?”
“Good God, Anne. What'd the bugger say?”
“He asked me if I was insane. Actually, his exact words were, ‘Are you nuts? Sending Spike to Rome to find Buffy?' I told him that you were going to let her know you were okay and to end things as friends. And then he said, ‘Friends? Ask Spike about ex-lovers and friends.' He also did a lot of that kind of laugh that's not funny and head shaking.”
Buffy put her face in her hands. Spike was silent.
“And I got scared,” Anne said. “So I flew here and called you from my hotel.”
“God, I hate him,” Spike finally said. “'Specially when the wanker's right.”
“What do you mean?”
Buffy jumped up and charged into the room, hoping to stop Spike from spilling everything right there. “So I talked to Giles and the monster isn't dead. So we've gotta go back out there. As in right now. Let's go.”
Spike and Anne just stared at her.
“Don't have a phone in your bedroom, Slayer,” Spike said.
“Cell phone! I have my cell phone,” Buffy answered him. She went to dig into the front pocket of her jeans, forgetting her wound. As she flexed her bicep, bandages snapped and blood began to seep into the gauze. “Crap,” she said, examining her arm.
Spike was suddenly in front of her, sweeping her hair behind her shoulder to get a better look. His thumb rubbed calming circles in her palm as he gently lifted her arm. “Bloody stupid thing you did there, love. Forget you're all banged up?”
Buffy laughed softly, her head close to his. “I guess I'm so used to something kind of hurting that I—”
“Oh my God,” Anne said. Buffy and Spike looked at her. Her hands were over her mouth. “Oh God! I told myself I was being paranoid, that I needed to just trust you… And you... You…” Anne pushed off the couch and ran for the front door.
“Anne!” Spike called after her. “Let me talk with you about this!” But she was out the door and down the hall before he'd moved.
Buffy grabbed his coat sleeve as he was about to go after her. “Let her be for now,” she said. “I know you didn't want her to find out this way, but give her a chance to deal.”
“Can't you see? I've hurt her. We've hurt her. And goddamn Angelus was right!”
“I'm trying to figure out what's upsetting you more.”
“It's not funny, Buffy.”
“I know it's not funny, Spike.”
“Don't even know where she's staying.”
“We could call around—”
Spike pulled away from her. “Fuck that. I'm going after her.”
“Spike!” Buffy yelled after him as he slammed out of the apartment. “Dammit!” Her arm was still bleeding and she didn't have another coat handy. She hurried into the bathroom and re-bandaged the cut and then rummaged through her closet to find her third favorite denim jacket. As she gingerly pulled it on, she wondered if maybe she should call the area hotels herself.
She went back into the living room and picked up the phone, intending to call directory assistance, when she realized she didn't even know Anne's last name.
She tossed the phone on the couch and flopped down next to it. She felt guilty, but also irrationally mad at Anne for encouraging Spike to come to Rome in the first place. What did Anne think was going to happen? What had Spike told her—or not told her? If Anne had really known Spike, she'd also have known that Spike was insanely loyal to those he loved. But maybe that's another reason why Anne had come. Some part of her had figured out that Spike didn't love her, not like he'd loved Drusilla. Not like he still loved Buffy. Damn Angel for sticking that knife of doubt in there and twisting it around.
But who was she kidding really? It wasn't Angel's fault he was right. It was hers—Buffy's. She'd set out to get Spike back in her bed, damn the consequences. And now the consequences were damning her.
Buffy got up off the couch and headed for her front door. She'd find Spike, try to convince him to come back to her apartment and then figure out what to do next. That is, if he hadn't found Anne first. Or done something stupid.
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