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Chapter Seven


William Randall Giles, or Spike, thought himself a simple kind of man. Always had. From the apartment he barely decorated aside from the random poster of The Ramones or Sex Pistols, to the wardrobe he wore –basic black with maybe a smattering of color on a particularly daring day down to the women he dated. He went for . . . okay, so he went for easy. Not necessarily easy where they were a sure thing the first date, but they couldn't be too high maintenance either. Too much was involved in dating a high maintenance woman. It took, what was the word? Oh yes. Effort. And Spike just didn't want to put forth the effort. The only things he ever put that much effort into was his hair – keeping it platinum blond took a lot of work – his art work and Buffy. In fact, he could definitely say that Buffy was the one high maintenance woman in his life that he rather enjoyed having.

They'd met four years prior when she'd moved into his building –next door
to be exact. Playing punk rock at 3 a.m. hadn't impressed her. He tried to
explain to the bed raggled woman- her golden brown hair with blond
streaks, hanging in a mangled mess down to the tips of her breast, her tired green eyes glaring at him- that he'd had a creative burst and simply had a canvas to finish. She'd tried to diplomatically tell him that was fine, but could he please turn down the music. He told his muse needed it and that no one else seemed to mind. She'd stalked into her apartment, leaving Spike dumbfounded. Then she'd come back and thrust a CD walkman and headphones at him. Then she'd moved into his apartment, ejected his CD out of his high-tech entertainment center and placed it in the portable CD player. She was feisty, direct, funny, and cute and Spike knew there was no way in hell he could seduce this one. And, he hadn't wanted to. Shocking in itself right? He was of course attracted to her as a man would be, even when she chose to wear boxy suits that did nothing to show off her curves, or even when she burped loud enough to wake the dead or often chewed with her mouth open and didn't even think twice about clipping her toe nails in front of him. Buffy claimed she didn't have time to be a girly girl. No, Spike –who'd gathered his nickname when he visited the punk ‘underground' and dressed in black jeans (standard) and instead of the black T, donned a black tank with safety pins all over it and wore his hair spiked out with a spiked dog collar and his Docs – Spike had met a woman he hadn't wanted to bed. He met a woman he wanted to KNOW. The girls he'd dated –if you could call it that –before had been nameless and faceless to him. They'd gone in and out so fast, he never bothered to learn the details. But with Buffy. . . with Buffy he'd wanted to know everything. He wanted to know what she did when she was sad –watched Comedy Central or anything with Ben Stiller in it – he wanted to know what made her tick –anyone disagreeing with her –and what she hated more than anything –being told ‘No'. He also wanted to know her hairdresser so he could stop killing his scalp . . . She suggested Sweet n' Low, and then did it for him. She was formidable force in his life all right. He'd been devastated when she'd been promoted to editor –in-chief in her magazine and had found a bigger place a few blocks over.

He hated the day she had witnessed the outburst of Anya. His first clue that something was changing with him was when he'd started hiding his ‘girlfriends' from Buffy. He separated Buffy from all that. He felt ashamed if she saw him with a new girl. Felt . . . dirty. He didn't even engage in the post mortem as he used to when he'd break up with them and she'd question what was wrong with ‘that one'.

The second clue was when he'd be on a date and start to wonder what Buffy was doing, and if he'd ended the date earlier enough would they be able to hang out. He'd even forgone sure sex for the chance to catch Buffy before she headed off to La La land. He'd come to find it was her voice he wanted to hear just before bed. That thought in itself had thrown his simple world off kilter. It was starting to become less simple and more complicated. All because of Buffy Anne Summers.

The third clue was when he'd actually tried to give a woman a real shot – Anya –actually tried to get to know her even post coital. He found the fact that she never shut up not as endearing as when Buffy started on a rampage about something. He kept trucking, kept thinking that maybe he could have a relationship. A real relationship like the ones Buffy talked about. Like the ones he'd never tried.

It blew up in his face.

What he was looking for was Buffy and no one was going to be Buffy. Only Buffy could be Buffy. Thank God. Anya wanted all of him and it was too much too fast. The only woman he'd ever given his all to was, you guessed it, Buffy. The dawning was swift and knocked him for a loop. He'd fallen for his best friend. For the first time in his life William Randall Giles was in love and the guy who had an answer for everything –Buffy's words, usually with an eyeroll – didn't have a clue what to do. It was unthinkable really. He was a master of women everywhere, and when it came to one tiny woman, he was lost.

Anya knew, which was why she flipped when he ended it. She'd told him all he ever did was talk about Buffy, compare her to Buffy, accused him of trying to change her into Buffy. He'd coldly told her that "NO one could EVER be Buffy." He'd hated Buffy seeing that spectacle. Wanted to shield her from it. He hated the idea that she might think less of him. Truth was; he thought less of himself for his actions. He couldn't live with the idea that Buffy could do the same. She was pure, innocent and naïve in so many ways. She didn't know the ways of men until he'd come along and he was afraid that his past actions had turned her bitter. She still believed in the fairy tale romance though. Still wanted it though she hid it well behind her cynicism and her work. He knew despite what she said that she believed in soul mates, destiny and fate. Her belief in that had led her to getting pregnant after all. Talk about a wrench into his simple life. That had unraveled it completely.

He wanted nothing more than to find the asshole that left her like that and knock some sense into him. He obviously didn't know a precious gift when he saw it. His girl was alone and scared and it was because of some jerk that had gone after Buffy with the simple plan to get her in bed. It sickened him to think of because he was that guy.

She never knew that she'd changed his entire life when she'd entered it. She didn't that he'd gone and fallen for her so hard and that it was because of her that he'd actually tried with Anya. Tried because he knew Buffy deserved a hell of a lot better than the likes of him. She also didn't know that she'd turned him upside down and inside out when she'd announced she was pregnant. He was through trying with other women. He was through, period. He knew he probably didn't have a chance with someone as wonderfully sweet as Buffy, and he knew he would probably never love another, but he wasn't going to fool himself into trying. He was changing over a new leaf and that meant if he couldn't tell Buffy he loved her, then he'd show her. He was going to stay by her side and be there for her – and her baby. He could hope that maybe one day he'd be worthy of her and that one day maybe she'd see him as more, but until then, chastity was his middle name and Buffy was his devotion.

"Does it fit?" he asked her, his gut in his throat as she tried on his mother's ring.

She nodded, looking at it almost wistfully.

"You'll wear one of your own one day, pet," he promised.

She tried at indifference by shrugging. "Doesn't matter. All that crap. . . who needs it? You've got the right idea Spike."

Oh no. He quirked an eyebrow. "What idea is that?"

"Not getting involved. What's the point? Someone always ends up hurt in
the long run. And, it's usually always me."

Spike sat down next to her on his bed, the navy blue walls and the one
small lamp giving the room a soft glow. He took her ringed hand in his and
toyed with it on her delicate fingers. "'S not true."

"Yes, it is. I don't break hearts, I get mine broken instead. I'm the lover,
not the beloved."

He met her eyes, saw the sadness there. "What do you mean?"

"Something I learned in my high school English class. We were reading this
novella, I can't remember the name and our teacher taught us about the
lovers and the beloved's. See, a lover is someone who loves, obviously, and
dotes and adores on the one they love, which is the beloved. The beloved
doesn't love the lover quite so much. If, at all in some cases. The beloved is
the one that's loved, the lover is the one that loves. I'm the lover, never the
beloved." She looked down at their hands where Spike was still playing with
the ring on her finger.

"I'm willing to bet you've been the beloved pet," he murmured, trying to
keep the sadness out of his voice.

Too quick she yanked her hand out of his and stood, taking the ring off and
handing it to him. He tried not to feel as if she knew the truth behind his
words and was rejecting him.

"I'm going to try to tell my rents before we go that we're uh, engaged." She
told him, walking out of his room.

He bit his lip and followed her. "Oh?"

"Yeah, let that soak in before breaking the rest to them."

"Think it'll be okay?" He asked as she poured herself some juice –which
he'd bought on their way to his place that day. For her.

She let out a nervous laugh. "Probably not. I'll be accused of keeping things
from them as usual."

"Do you care right now?"

"Not in the slightest," she said softly, sadly.

"Buffy, I hate seeing you so upset," he told her, taking her cup and setting
it down so he could wrap her in his arms.

She looked up at him, smiling slightly. "Did you know that you're my hero?"

He grinned down at her. He loved their little ‘things' they had. He pushed
some hair away from her face. "You are the wind beneath my wings."





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