Flat Mates

Chapter 32

As soon as Buffy heard the waves, she was off like a shot running toward it. The water always had that affect on her. She wasn't happy unless she was IN it. Forget lounging around on sand soaking up the rays. No, she wanted to be in the water or a trip to the beach was just useless. Thankfully, Spike shared in the same passion and he laughed as she kicked off her shoes, hiked up her skirt and ran. She heard him following behind her and no sooner had her feet touched the water then Spike has his arms around her, lifting her off the sand and nuzzling her neck.

She squealed and laughed as he spun her around to face him, setting her down once more as
the waves crashed around their feet.

"Feel better?" he asked huskily as he pushed tucked some hair behind her ear.

She nodded enthusiastically. "You know the ocean always makes me feel better."

He smiled, "I know. I remember."

"So tell me," she said, stepping back and appraising him, "Is the black on black a look
you're going for? Tortured artist? Disgruntled poet?"

He grinned and shrugged. "It's a look. Never put that much thought in it. Plus, easier to
do a load of laundry."

"Spike," she took a deep breath, unsure how to begin.

"Yeah?" he prompted.

She bit her bottom lip. "The poem you read. . . "

"I was angry when I wrote it kitten," he explained.

"Really? Because I got warm fuzzy feelings from that one," she said sarcastically.

He chuckled. "Come on," he said, grabbing her hand. "Let's sit and have a chat, yeah?"

She nodded and allowed him to lead her back to the sand. He sat down and pulled her
down so that she sat in front of him between his legs. He wrapped his arms around her.
"Cold?"

"A little," she shivered. Although, she didn't think it had anything to do with the slight
chill in the air. No, it had to do with a certain blond God sitting behind her.

"I wanted to not care," he told her softly. "I thought if I didn't care and you still did
then I could hurt you. Make you feel what I felt."

She turned slightly, meeting his eyes imploringly. "Did you think I didn't care about
you?"

"Sometimes. I know you do though Buffy—"

"I always did Spike. I never stopped caring about you." She turned back around,
watching the waves crash against the shore.

"I know. . . " he whispered, "I get it, I get it all," and his lips found her neck.

She shivered again. "Do you really?"

"I do," he said and trailed kisses up her neck.

"You don't hate me? You're not angry with me anymore?"

"Does this feel like I'm angry?" he murmured nibbling on her ear.

She swiftly spun around so that she was facing him, perched before him on her knees.
He stared at her dumbfounded.

"How can you not be angry with me?" she demanded. "You told me you hated me."

"I never hated you Buffy. I was angry with you, yes, but I never hated you. I couldn't.
It's not something I'm capable of. I'm probably love's bitch, but then I always guessed I was."

"Love's bitch huh? But not my bitch?"

"Do you want me to be?"

"No," she shook her head.

He grinned, "Do you want to be MY bitch?"

She shook her head, "No. I want you to be Spike and me to be Buffy."

He reached for her, but she eluded his grasp and stood before him.

"What is it Buffy?" he asked, standing up and facing her.

"What I did to you—to us—I spent a lot of time justifying it to me, to you, and to
everyone else on God green earth, and I felt –and still sometimes feel—that what I did was
right. For both of us."

"And it took me a long time to see that what you did was probably the best thing—"

"Do you really mean that?"

"I've never lied to you Buffy and I'm not about to start now."

She shook her head, "I know I just . . . I'm still angry with myself for hurting you.
Sometimes when I close my eyes all I see is you shouting at me, telling me you hate me and
crying. It makes me lose sight of how I wanted to help you and not hinder you. And I see you
now, how you've grown in such a short time. How you're still growing. I learned a valuable
lesson," she told him, wiping the tears that were falling away.

"What's that?" Spike asked softly, not moving.

"That you're never done changing –or, going along with my horrendous metaphor –
baking. The edges might not be done. The middle could be a little soft still, but it's the fact of
knowing that you've set down your own path and knowing that you have control over those
things. And then sometimes, if you're lucky enough, you find someone to join you on your
journey, and hopefully they'll support you and encourage you, not drag you down and stop
you for their own selfish reasons."

"And you were afraid you'd be selfish?"

She nodded.

"I get that."

"You do?"

"Why do you still sound so surprised?"

"I'm still growing and learning. I'm still trying to own up to my own mistakes and learn
that it's okay to stumble and fall and that the reason why we fall is learn how to get back up.
I'm still trying to pick myself up from having hurt the one person in this world that means
more to me than anything." The tears were streaming down her face now.

Spike grabbed her in his arms and held on tight. "I think in this instance it's okay for me
to help you up, don't you? Because you are my someone on my journey and I'm your someone
aren't I Buffy?"

She nodded against his chest, clutching his shirt in her tiny fists as she cried. They
stayed like that for a long time, the sound of the ocean in the distance, the still night air
surrounding them. Only when the last of her salt had been shed did Buffy finally feel at peace.

Spike put his hand under her chin and made her look at him. "Where do we go from
here, Buffy?"

**Used a line from Batman Begins in this chapter**