Flat Mates

Chapter 30

It'd been a month since she moved out, a week shy of them breaking up. If breaking up is what one could call it. They'd never called each other boyfriend and girlfriend, they'd had sexual relations without actually doing the deed, and yet Spike still felt the rawness of their split as if it'd just happened the day before.

"Why don't you go see her then? You want to, and I'm sure she wants to
see you as well," Wesley Wyndham Pryce, the British poetry MC, told
Spike after the reading that night.

"Yeah, Spike, really. What have you got to lose? When was the last time
you saw each other?" Fred Burkle, Wesley's girlfriend, said gently placing a
hand on his arm and giving it a supportive squeeze. Her brown eyes were
filled with empathic understanding.

Spike sighed. "It's been a few weeks. After she moved out, we met up for
coffee once and I haven't seen her since then," he sighed heavily. "I miss
her," he said softly, resting his chin on his arms stacked in front of him on
the table.

Fred patted his head, "Go see her. I'm sure she'll want to know all that
you've been up to."

Spike smirked, "Will she consider me done baking?"

"Not with that attitude," Wesley interjected, frowning, his blue eyes
disapproving. "Do you think it's possible that at this point you can both
bake together instead of apart however?"

Spike sat up straighter. "I don't know. I guess I'll have to go see the girl."


Buffy stared at the TV, picking at her ice cream that was rapidly melting. She sighed and changed the channel once again. Yep, still crap on the tube. The knock on her door caused her to jump. She looked down at the carton of ice cream, at the TV and then at herself. She looked like a slob, but what did it matter? Tossing the ice cream on the end table, she pushed the hairs falling out of her ponytail away from her face and padded to the door. It was probably Willow anyway. Not like it was going to be—

"Spike," she breathed opening the door. She hid behind the door a bit.

He smiled, "Hi kitten." He cocked his head to the side, "What are you doing
behind the door?"

She blushed, "I'm a mess."

He quirked an eyebrow. "I lived with you Buffy. I know how you look first
thing in the morning, first thing after a shower and all of that in between
stuff."

"Yeah, but it's different now. . ." she shrugged.

"How?"

"I don't know, it just is. I haven't seen you in a while!"

He grinned, "Yeah, I'm here to remedy that. Can I come in or what?"

She nodded and opened the door wider, letting him in.

"Watching some crap TV?" he mused as she shut the door.

"Yeah, you look nice. What were you doing?" She braced herself for him to
tell her he had been on a date. She could not hold that against him, she
could not get upset…well, she would get upset, but she wouldn't let it show.
She'd set him free, she had no claim on him anymore.

"Poetry reading tonight."

She nodded, relief flooding her. "Oh yes, I remember you telling me about
that."

"Think you might like to come sometime?"

She looked up at him, "You'd want me to come?"

He nodded, "Yeah, why wouldn't I?"

She gestured between them, "Well because we . . . we . . . "

"Aren't together anymore?" he supplied.

She nodded.

"Well, the way I see it Buffy—you're still part of my life. I still want to
share things with you. Plus, I want you to meet my friends."

She broke into a smile, "New ones?"

He nodded. "Yep. Wesley and Fred. Fred's a girl and Wesley's girlfriend.
Both poets and extremely nice. Wesley and I hit it off straight away since
he's from the mother land too."

"Excellent, and how's Xander and the apartment?"

Spike rolled his eyes, "He's spreading his wings all right. . . different girl
every night, raging parties on the weekends. . ."

She held her breath again. "Oh?"

"Yeah, he's been enjoying his freedom." Spike stuffed his hands in his
pockets. "It's all right, I suppose. I just end up being the one to take care of
the drunks. Which is different since I was the one that needed taking care
of for a bit there. Drunk people are annoying."

Buffy giggled. "Do you want something to drink?"

"Got any hot chocolate? With mini marshmallows?"

Buffy grinned, "Of course."

"So what else is new?" Buffy asked as they settled down at her kitchen
table over the hot cocoa.

"Well, turns out that Wesley is a professor at URI and teaches creative
writing and poetry. He's taken a shine to my work and has asked me if I'd
visit a few of his classes and kind of lend my experience to his students."

"Spike, that's awesome. You must be so excited," Buffy gushed.

"I am. Little nervous, but excited. I'm thinking I might take what I've
written and try to find a publisher for them."

"That sounds like a great idea. I'd love to read your stuff."

Spike chuckled, "Most of it was inspired by you, you know."

"Maybe I shouldn't read it then?"

"I'll pick and choose," Spike grinned. "What have you been up to?"

"Well. . . " Where to begin?

"Come on Buffy, tell me," Spike urged.

"I've been seeing a therapist."

Spike's jaw dropped. "What?"

She nodded, "It's not a bad thing. It's a good thing. I felt a little out of
control and like I was every which way and dealing with a lot of change
and . . . I just needed someone to talk to that didn't know. . . stuff."

"Stuff like me?" Spike asked quietly.

She reached across the table and placed a hand on his arm. "No, Spike, you
weren't the reason. I was going down a path and didn't know which end was
up and everyone was trying to tell me which way to go and it got confusing
and I lost sight of myself. All those things I told you to go and do were the
very things I was neglecting to do. It's been good for me. I've decided to do
criminal psychology now."

His jaw dropped again. "Wow. Therapy impressed you that much?"

She chuckled lightly, "Yep. It was something I was always interested in but
was convinced by my mother wouldn't take me anywhere. Part of therapy
has been learning to listen to myself and follow my own path and being
okay with it."

"Like you wanted me to do," Spike said softly, looking down.

"I'm sorry," she told him, taking her hand off his arm.

His head snapped up.

"I was telling you to follow your own path and I never gave you much
choice in the matter when I thrust you out. I was doing to you the very
thing that'd been done to me my whole life. It wasn't fair. I had the best of
intentions, I really did. I didn't want to be like my mother and coddle you—
"

"I coddled you too, I know that. I never made you own up to your
mistakes."

"And I kept you from making any because I never wanted you to get hurt.
I mothered you and for that I'm sorry."

Spike reached across the table and took her hand in his, squeezing gently.
"Buffy, do you think that we could have more talks like this? Do you think
we could see each other more than we have lately? I just feel that. . . I feel
that I still need you and I don't care if I'm not done baking yet or if you're
still baking too. . . I just know that part of my baking process includes
needing to see you. Do you think that's something we could do?"

Buffy gave him a watery smile. "You know what I'm really sorry about?"

"What?"

"For ever coming up with that damn baking analogy."

Spike burst out laughing and Buffy followed suit.

"So is that a yes? Can I see you again?" he pressed.

Buffy nodded, "How about at the next poetry reading?"

Spike grinned, "Sounds perfect, luv."