Lonely No More

Chapter Four

Buffy watched Spike wearily as he moved around ‘Soul Matched', checking things out. He had an insatiable curiousity about everything and after the morning she'd had with Cordelia coupled with Spikes questions about her business and how it was failing, Buffy wanted nothing more than to go home and hide under the covers for the day. Or a week. She was almost tempted to do it. Almost tempted to tell him since he seemed so keen on setting up clients and since he thought he could do better, then she'd let him have at it and see how long it took before he sought her counsel. She frowned. What if he didn't though? What if he did have success? What if she was forced out of her own business?

"You're thinking hard," Spike observed standing in front of her at the
reception desk. He tilted his head to the side. "And you look tired. Why
don't you make some coffee or take a few minutes on the couch."

She blinked at him. "Are you suggesting I take a nap?"

"Yeah, why not? You don't have an appointment until three. That's forty
five minutes from now. Take some time."

"No," she said flatly.

"Trying to help Buffy," he told her gently.

"I'm going to set up," she mumbled. He followed her.

"Tell me your story," he urged.

"My story?" she asked as she started the coffee and placed a Jazz CD in
the stereo system.

"Everyone's got a story."

"I was born, I grew up, here I am. That's my story."

"Don't be so prissy and closed off," he said, hopping up on the counter and
swaying his feet. "Tell me about your morning at least."

"Cordy left," Buffy mumbled, placing out cups.

"She was the former receptionist," Spike stated.

"Right. And I thought she was my friend."

"You thought she was—she's not then?"

"Apparently not. Seems I ‘latched' on mistakenly. Why am I telling you
this?" she asked, turning to him.

"Because you need to get it out. It's not good to hold things like you do
luv."

"You've known me three hours and you've already psychoanalyzed me?"


He shrugged. "Not that hard. You're closed off. Defensive. Doesn't take a
crystal—magic—no, doesn't take uh… psychology degree to figure that out."

"What was all that?"

He had the gall to look innocent. "What?"

She shook her head. "Never mind."

"So, why were you mistaken in thinking this Cordelia was your friend?"

"She pretty much let me know when she packed up and left without any
warning at all even though she knew she would be taking off for the past
month. That kind of tipped me off," Buffy said matter-of-factly. Though she
felt anything but matter of fact about it. In fact, she was still stinging and
her words combined with Spike's were still ringing in her ears and running
over and over in her mind. So now in addition to ‘washed up' and ‘bitter',
she could also add ‘closed off' and ‘defensive'. When the hell had this
happened to her?

"You're thinking again," Spike said and pointed at her. "Where did she go?"

Buffy sighed heavily. "She took off her with her rocker musician boyfriend.
This is the same girl that hates going to shows because it's always ‘seedy'
and her shoes stick to the floor and she hates beer. . . But somehow she's
decided to traipse off touring with Devon." She shook her head and rubbed
her forehead. "I don't get it."

"She's in love," Spike said, shrugging.

"Love? No. Lust is more like that." Buffy said, her head snapping up.

"How do you know?"

"Because she barely knows him!"

"Sometimes a moment is all it takes," Spike said wistfully, staring at her
with an odd expression on his face.

She turned away. "Yeah, well . . . "

He jumped down. "Don't have anything to say to that do you? And you
should know about those quick moments working here. It's what you
specialize in isn't it? Making the connection, hopefully the right connection
with the right person. If you didn't believe in it, then you wouldn't pay for
the date you chose for them. Unless of course you DON'T believe in any of
it. Then that just makes you a fraud. So, what is it Buffy?"

Her jaw dropped. "What's what?"

"What are you? A fraud or a believer?"

"Both," she said, sticking her chin up in a haughty motion.

"Care to elaborate?"

"Not really."

"Humor me."

"You seem to have all the answers, why don't you tell me?"

"I'd rather hear it from you. I think it might help," he said simply.

"Help what?" she asked almost incredulously.

"Help you get out the turmoil you have. Help you clear out all that plagues
you."

"So what? I'll be back on track and as big of a success as I used to be?" she
said sarcastically.

"Exactly," he nodded.

"Very idealistic. What is this? A therapy session? A movie in which the

hero knows all the ways to make the heroine well and all she needs to do is
open up and take the first step to heal and then a whole world will open up
to her that she never knew existed?"

A smile tugged at his lips. "Something like that, yeah."

"That's crap."

"Try it."

"I don't want to," she said stubbornly and looked away from him.

"Maybe you like to cling to those walls you've erected around yourself.
Maybe you're afraid to shake them for fear they'll crumble."

She whipped her head to him. "And why would I be afraid of that?"

"Because they make you feel safe."

"What is WITH you? Why am I such an interest for you? You don't even
know me—"

"And you don't make that any easier to try and get to know you."

"I just met you!" she exclaimed, frustrated.

"And I'm intrigued Buffy," he told her earnestly. "I see a defiant, self
sufficient, brilliant woman before me that should feel as if the world is her
oyster and yet she's bitter and angry and doesn't seem to believe in the
very things she's made a career out of."

"I do believe okay? I do," she said, exasperated, throwing up her arms.

"I sense a ‘but'," he said patiently.

"I believe in it for others, but not for me."

He stared at her. "You believe in true love for everyone else, but not for
yourself?"

"Right. I believe that the universe somehow jipped me. It gave me the
talent to set others up, but it came with a catch," Buffy told him bitterly.

"That you have to be alone?" He seemed shocked.

"Yes. Everyone leaves me. Everyone has someone. And when I do find
someone, it's some bottom feeder that sucks the life out of me."

"Don't pick bottom feeders," Spike said as if he'd just solved world hunger.

"I have tragic taste in men, what can I say? I can pick for everyone else in
the world—though not as of late—but I can't pick for me."

Spike nodded. "It's the same in other professions I'm sure Buffy."

"You mean like the mechanic who can't fix his own car?"

"Right," he nodded.

"Except a broken car doesn't hurt and make you feel lonely. You can
always go out and buy a new car. It gets a little trickier when it's a person
you're looking for," Buffy said, her eyes starting to well up. Why was she
telling him this?

Spike moved to take her in his arms and Buffy pushed him away. "You got
what you wanted. I don't want your pity now!" she yelled at him and
stomped off. She hated William ‘Spike' Giles for making her tell him those
things. She hated him for bringing out her inner demons. How was it that
he made her do that? It was like he'd seen right the core of her. She didn't
like that at all. She was just going to have to make sure the boundaries of
employer/employee were firmly in place. No more talking about her
feelings and fears. No more, no way, no how.