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He knew the precise psychological moment when to say nothing. ~Oscar Wilde

"Buffy!" Spike shouted, tossing his keys on the living room table. Silence. "Buffy! I'm back and I'm alone, luv. Can you come out so I can talk to you?"

Silence still.

"Buffy?" he said, meekly this time. He had a bad feeling . . .

Heart thudding in his chest, he ran up the stairs two at a time and ran down the hall to her room.

She'd left. All her things were gone. She'd left him. And really, he couldn't blame her at all. Not after the way he'd taken off, not after hearing the stories of him going out for "one drink" It wasn't as if his word meant anything to her, why should it? How many times had he lied to her in the past twenty-four hours?

"Fuck!" he shouted and punched the door. When he wasn't so angry, he was sure that was going to hurt later. Reaching into his pocket, he dug out his cell and pushed redial. Her voice mail picked up. She’d shut off her phone.

Running down the stairs, he grabbed his keys and ran out the door, slamming it shut. Jogging down the hall, he rapped on elderly Miss Wilson's door.

She threw it open, scowling, her wrinkles deepening even more, "You quite done slamming doors young man? I don't care who you-"

"I'm sorry, Miss Wilson."

"You should be!"

"I am. I really am." And he truly was sorry for disturbing the frail, hunchbacked old lady. God, what else could he do to ruin more lives today? "Miss Wilson, I had a visitor come in last night-"

"The blond? The blond that was crying her eyes out while she lugged her suitcases out of here? That visitor?" Miss Wilson asked accusingly.

He nodded, God, he'd made Buffy cry. "Yes, that's the one. Did you happen to see if she got picked up by a cab or someone-"

"Cab. The Yellow Cab. Need the number? It's the service I use all the time-"

"I do, thank you."

Waddling away from him, Spike stood in the hall, almost patiently. For all the injustice he'd given poor Miss Wilson tonight, he didn't need to be rushing her.

Finally, she came back and handed him the number on a canary yellow post it. "Whatever it is you've done, you better make it up to her. She looks like a sweet girl."

Spike smiled, "She is. And she doesn't deserve the likes of me at all. Thank you, Miss Wilson."

Running outside and heading for his car, he dialed the number for the cab company. "Hi, I was wondering if you could tell me about a girl you picked up at my residence and where you might have dropped her . . . "

*****************
"This is so good!" Buffy exclaimed as she speared a piece of prime rib with her fork and shoveled it into her mouth.

She'd been able to get a room, just a floor above Angel's, and after she'd dropped her things off and freshened up a bit, they'd left to find a restaurant in which to have dinner at. Craving meat, Buffy and Angel had found a Longhorn and settled in for a nice, quiet dinner in the dim restaurant.

Angel smiled at her, "I'm glad you like it."

"Do you like yours?"

"I do. Want to try some mashed potatoes?"

"Yes, please. Would you like to try the sweet potato fries?"

"Definitely."

Laughing together like kids, they traded some food and tucked in again. Buffy hadn't been sure what inspired her to ask Angel out. She hated to think it was in some way to get Spike back, but yet that thought was there just in the back of her mind.

Not that it mattered to Spike anyway. She was done with him. She'd keep in contact with Sam and Alicia, but she could not stand to see Spike continue down the path he was on. She was done.

And if she kept telling herself that, she'd eventually believe it.

"So what exactly made your friend so much of an ass, you left his home?" Angel asked.

Buffy sighed, placed her fork down and reached for her white wine. Taking a contemplative sip, she regarded Angel thoughtfully. "I don't really want to talk about him right now. I'm having fun and the food is to die for. I don't want him to ruin it."

Angel nodded, "All right then. So, tell me, you interested in coming to the real estate convention with me tomorrow then?"

She shook her head, "No, I can honestly say I'm not interested in that," and she laughed, the effects of the wine beginning to take its toll. She was such a lightweight and she'd had a glass before dinner on an empty stomach . . .

"Fair enough," Angel smiled, "I don't blame you. If I didn't have to go, I wouldn't."

"Skip. Take the day off," she waved her hand dismissively. "Come out with me. We'll take in the sights together."

"In your room you were talking about leaving tomorrow-have you changed your mind?"

She shrugged, "Maybe." She smiled flirtatiously, "Or at least I might be persuaded to."

"Are you flirting with me, Miss Summers?"

"Maybe, what if I am?"

"I say continue, please," and he grinned. "Could I have another fry?"

"Only if you promise to split that-" and she pointed to a huge cherry cheesecake being served across the room, "with me."

"I promise."

"Make sure you can commit to that promise, I have experience with promises being broken quite quickly."

"I promise," he said with a firm nod.

"I'll hold you to that," she said, pointing at him, trying to look stern.

He chuckled, "Oh, I'm sure you will."

*****************
He hated using the "Do you know who I am?" bit, but it was effective when he needed information and fast. It was amazing what people would do for you once they realized you were famous.

She was gone, he'd realized after five minutes of knocking. He'd even stood out of the way of the peep hole, sure if she saw him, she would pretend to not be there.

Fine, he'd just wait for her in the lobby. It perplexed him - Where had she gone? She didn't know her way around well at all . . . and she wasn't much of an adventurer when she didn't know the area well.

Please come back, Buffy, he thought.

****************

Spike was starting to fall asleep. His head lolled for a minute to the side when he heard it. The sound of her laughter. His eyes snapped open and focused on the scene before him.

Buffy was there and safe, laughing and - holding onto the big oaf's arm from the plane! Jumping up from his spot, Spike marched over and planted himself in their path.

Her smile dropped and she straightened, "How did you find me?"

He studied her closely, her cheeks were pink, her eyes slightly glassly. "Are you drunk?" he asked.

"How did you find me?" she repeated.

"This your friend?" Angel asked her.

Spike glared at him, his chest puffing out, "Do you know who I am, mate?"

Angel blinked and frowned, "No."

Buffy rolled her eyes and poked Spike in the chest. "I hate that line. It's so lame, William."

Spike scowled at her, "I don't rightly care at this particular moment. You want to tell me what's going on?"

"Not particularly, no," she said matter-of-factly. "I want," she took a deep breath, "I want you to go away and leave me alone."

Spike's heart broke and he shook his head, "I can't do that, Buffy."

"Yes, you can, you do it so well already!"

He met her eyes, "I'm not leaving until we talk."

"Well, then. I guess you better make yourself at home here in the lobby."

"Buffy, please-"

"Did you bring someone home? Or did you get rejected and came to me as an after thought?"

"Wrong on all accounts."

She snorted.

"Buffy-" he started.

“How did you find me?”

He looked at her, exasperated, “How many times you going to ask me that?”

“As many times as it takes until you answer me.”

“I talked to my next door neighbor, said she saw you leave. Saw the cab company—“

She waved her hand, “Okay, not that interested anymore.” She looked up at Angel. “Walk me to my room?”

“Over my dead body,” Spike growled.

She glared at him, “Who the hell do you think you are? Oh, wait, I know that answer already, but why don’t you tell Angel since he doesn’t seem to know.”

“Buffy, let’s go home,” Spike said, reaching for her.

“No,” she said and stepped away from him.

“Buffy,” he said through clenched teeth.

Angel stepped between them, “Sorry, man, the lady doesn’t want to go.”

Spike glared at him, “You’re not seriously thinking you’re going to step in between us are you?”

“Go home, Spike,” Buffy said over Angel’s shoulder. “You can’t tell me what to do. I’m not one of them, you can’t just tell me what to do and think I’ll do it. I’m done. Just go home.”

His heart constricted inside his chest. Did she really think – ? Fuck. Why wouldn’t she think she was just one of them? Hadn’t she been telling him she felt as though she were? Hadn’t he treated her like one of them? What had he done to make up what he did to her? Nothing. He’d run out on her. And even though he had made no plans when he’d gone out to hook up with anyone, how was she supposed to believe him? Trust in him?

“Buffy, please,” he begged softly, “Just talk to me.” He looked up at her and found her pixie face full of emotion. She was having an inner battle, he could tell. He could see she wanted to go to him and yet wanted to stand firm against him. He knew how to manipulate; knew how he could get her to cave.

But he wouldn’t do it.

“Will you talk to me tomorrow?” he asked softly.

She looked away from his gaze, “I don’t know.”

The idea that she was slipping through his fingers was threatening to suffocate him. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

She said nothing, and wouldn’t look at him.

Taking a deep breath, he walked away on shaky legs. He’d call tomorrow. He’d give her, her space; he wouldn’t use charm to get her back. He’d leave it in her hands. He just prayed she would hear him out.





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