TITLE: Anchor (Part 8/16)
AUTHOR: Kerry Blackwell
PAIRING: Genfic - B/S and X/A as on the show
RATING: R
SPOILERS: Through "Wrecked" on Buffy and "Dad" on Angel
TIMELINE: Imagine it's about six weeks after those episodes and the ones we saw didn't happen.
DISCLAIMER: All things Buffy and Angel belong to Joss Whedon, the WB, UPN, FOX and Mutant Enemy and 20th Century Fox Film Corporation. I own only my genius (yeah, right!)
DISTRIBUTION: My site - White Hats - http://www.whitehats.co.nz (as soon as I'm well enough to code it and upload it) Any one else please ask first
FEEDBACK: Yes please!
THANKS: To Sarah for her editing assistance, and to Sarah and Ang for being ready to brainstorm with me when I begged appropriately.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I started this after seeing "Wrecked" and "Dad". My take on what could have happened next. It got totally Jossed immediately of course and since it takes me a long time to write anything, it got more and more AU as time went by. I had hoped to post it in the break, before anything _more_ happened, but I didn't manage it. Anyway, here it is. Just forget what happened after those two episodes and read my version. Please...

CHAPTER NOTE: First, I would like to thank everyone who has sent me feedback on this story. I kind of took on a life of its own very quickly and it's great to know people are enjoying it.

Normally, I would try to reply to all feedback personally. Unfortunately, my health totally sucks right now (I have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and I'm in a pretty bad patch) and my energy is going into getting this edited and posted. So thank you, I have appreciated every little note that has arrived in my mailbox. I'll try to reply personally if I can, but please don't be insulted if I don't.

_Spike, old chum, you are as insane as Drusilla._

The lower section of his crypt was looking like it had been done over by Martha Stewart on drugs. Very, very heavy duty drugs.

Upstairs, it was still cold, austere and had a primary colour scheme of grey. After all, he had a reputation to uphold. It had suffered a lot of damage lately, but that was no reason to give up on it completely.

Down here though, the redecorating whirlwind had hit, and hit hard.

The first night he'd met Buffy's new houseguest, she'd asked him for a favour. She so rarely asked him for anything – and if she did it was usually to go away – that he'd agreed with even waiting to hear what it was.

It was logical, sensible, and something she'd asked before. She wanted a secondary sanctuary for little Rupert, a place she could bring him if the house on Revello Drive should become compromised. A safe place and some vampire protection for the baby – they were things he was willing and able to provide. He'd have done it just because Buffy had asked him, but added to that, he had to admit that the baby was already a heart-stealer. Even his own, dead heart was in serious danger. Heaven help the entire planet's female population once the kid grew up.

All well and good, but as he'd been leaving, Buffy had thrown a final challenge at him. "Make it nice for the baby, Spike. I don't want him sleeping on stone or anything."

The kid certainly wouldn't be doing _that_. Spike had started with one corner of the room, finding an old cradle and a nice oriental rug. From there, things had got rather out of hand, and he still didn't know how it had happened.

The floor was covered in rugs and cushions, all with an eastern flavour – bright crimsons, blue and gold and orange. The bed had been pushed back against the far wall and piled with more cushions and the bare stone walls were now covered in cloth and tapestries. The cradle had been painted and a canopy hung above it.

All in all, it looked like a wild harem fantasy come to life – and he should know. He'd eaten his way through a harem once, long ago, with Dru at his side. All colour and femininity and exotic tastes and flavours. There had been both corruption and innocence in the night-scented air, and that made it seem all the stranger that here, what he had made was comfort and sanctuary.

Spike surveyed his new domain with a certain amount of embarrassed satisfaction. It made a nice change, and maybe…

He shook his head. _Give it up, mate. The girl's just here for the fuck._ He knew that; she'd made it as clear as she possibly could, but he couldn't help himself. He just kept right on hoping.

"Love's bitch, indeed," he said aloud. "Love's fucking bitch."

"Talking to yourself, Spike? They say that's the first sign of madness"

"You'd know, pet," he called back automatically as Buffy's feet appeared through the hole to the upper crypt. The rest of her soon followed as she climbed down the ladder.

She jumped down the last two steps and turned around. And stopped in mid-turn, staring.

"What the hell have you done?" she managed finally.

Spike was stung, her words penetrating his skin and jabbing at his heart. "Made it nice for the baby," he retorted. "Like you asked."

"It's…" Buffy stared around, amazed. It was a riot of colour, a fantasy palace and it warmed her in a way her familiar home did not. It seemed so very un-Spike, he of the black on black ensemble, and she loved it.

"Yes?" He sounded defensive of his creation, and she was sorry she'd managed to get it all wrong again.

"I love it," she said honestly. She tried for a grin and a joke. "Can I move in?"

Spike looked up at her, his face suddenly naked and vulnerable, and she swallowed. "Can we talk?" she asked in a small voice.

He stared, schooling his features back to their usual insouciance. "You want to _talk_?"

Buffy swallowed again. "I want to apologise," she said very softly. "And say thank you."

Spike sat down abruptly on the nearest surface, which just happened to be a delicate, cloth-draped wooden table. It cracked under his weight and he collapsed indelicately to the floor, rolling out of the way of the wooden splinters with a yell.

Buffy bit her lip. "That went well," she said miserably. "I guess I'll just go now."

She had her hands on the ladder, ready to take the first upward step, when Spike's hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"Slayer…" he began. "Buffy… Did you just…?" He looked confused, like a lost child. "What did you just…?"

Buffy turned around, leaning back against the ladder for support. "I said sorry," she repeated softly. "And thank you."

His eyes were wide, and for once he had no smart remark, no leading comment, nothing to say at all.

And somehow, that made her furious.

"Shit, Spike," she said furiously. "Why do you do that? I treat you like crap and…" She stopped. "I treat you like crap," she repeated. "And you just keep on taking it and keep on loving me. How stupid is that?"

"Incredibly stupid," Spike retorted. "You think I don't know that? You think I don't know how pathetic I am? But unlike some people I could name, I can't just turn my emotions on and off at the drop of a hat. So I'm stupid; at least I'm consistent. So if, as usual, you're just here for more fuck-me-now-so-I-can-forget-how-my-life-sucks sex, you can just…" He stopped, unable to tell her to go and no longer as willing to tell her to stay.

"I'm not," Buffy said simply.

"Oh," Spike said stupidly, rendered incapable of speech by those two little words.

"Giles came back today."

"Oh," Spike said again. "The Watcher's back, so you don't need old Spike anymore. You gonna shag him now?"

Buffy flushed, hearing words echo in her head. _I'd have to try before I buy._

"No," she said firmly. "We talked. He helped me see things straight again. Even the mess that is you and me and this _whatever_ that we have."

"You told Giles about _us_?" Spike yelped, horrified when Buffy nodded. His mind was spinning, frantically trying to calculate minimum safe distance and how quickly he could reach it.

"Mmm-hmm," Buffy confirmed. "Don't you want to know what he said?"

"No," Spike said firmly.

"Yes, you do," she contradicted. "He told me I should stake you…"

"No surprise there," Spike muttered.

"Or love you," she finished.

And Spike found himself reduced to speechlessness for the third time that night.

"Huh?" he managed finally.

Buffy produced a small smile. "Can you just listen while I talk? I know I uber-suck at the talking thing, but it's important."

Feeling like he had walked into an alternate universe, Spike guided her over to the couch – a low slung divan with more cushions flung across it. Buffy sat, grateful he hadn't chosen the bed for this conversation, and picked up one of the crimson pillows. She started playing with the fringe as she tried to summon up the courage to begin.

Spike sat beside her, careful to give her space, and waited. One more surprise and he thought his head might explode.

"When…" Buffy began hesitantly. "When they brought me back, I hated it. Everything hurt and I felt so dead inside. Here were all the people I was supposed to love most, the people I _died_ for, and I couldn't feel anything for them. Kissing you…" She flushed, trying to find a comfortable word and failing. "Being with you, it was the only thing that made me feel alive." She looked over at him. "Kind of ironic, huh? Since you're dead."

He just looked at her and she grimaced.

"Yeah, okay, don't answer that. I warn you, it gets worse." At the look in his eyes, she nodded. "And you knew that already, didn't you?"

She looked down at the cushion tassel she was methodically shredding and swallowed again, finding herself near tears.

"I'm sorry, Spike. I used you to make me feel alive. I treated you like shit and I used you. Thank you for putting up with me and thank you for holding me together when I was all in pieces."

Spike suddenly realised where this was going, and everything inside him turned cold. He wanted to jump up, scream at her, kiss her, throw her against the wall. Anything, just to stop this conversation before it got to the end. Because this time, if she said it was over, if she told him to stay away, she really _was_ going to mean it.

But he didn't do anything. And Buffy didn't stop.

"I am _so_ ashamed," she whispered. And then she said the thing that made him _know_ everything was different, everything had changed. The thing that made him terrified everything was over.

"I'm not ashamed of what we did, not anymore." She glanced up, and there was soft, remembered pleasure in her face. "I'm ashamed that I look your love and trampled all over it and still used you to make myself feel better. Giles…" Another deep breath. "Giles said love was a two way street and I've been driving all one way."

He said it. He had to say it. He didn't want to, not the smallest little bit, but he had to all the same.

"You're saying we're over." It was a statement, not a question. "You're saying sorry – which means the world must have ended when I wasn't looking – and you're saying we're over."

"It's up to you." If anything, Buffy looked even more embarrassed now. Possibly more embarrassed that he had _ever_ seen her.

He found his tone going gentle without him even meaning it to. "What do you mean, luv?"

The cushion was going to be seriously dead before the end of this conversation, because the fabric cover itself was starting to suffer under Buffy's nervous fingers now.

"I like you, Spike," she admitted almost reluctantly. "I… I like you quite a lot. In fact, I might almost…" Finally, the pillow burst under the pressure and feathers spilled all over her hands and lap. Buffy didn't seem to notice. "Well, anyway… I know it isn't what you want. It isn't forever, and it isn't white picket fences and reading the paper in bed, but…" She swallowed, refusing to look at him, her face shifting beyond scarlet to blood crimson. "I wouldn't mind being your orgasm friend, if that's what you want."

Finally, she looked up at him, and there were so many conflicting emotions in her face her couldn't begin to name them all. Embarrassment, fear, desire, even a touch of amusement. But no shame, and that was the thing that stunned him most of all.

"If that's not good enough for you, that's okay," she added. "I can stay away. I'm strong enough to do that now. It's your choice. Spike, I remember you once said Angel and I could never be friends. Can we do that? Can we be friends?"

He didn't know. "Let's try, luv," he said simply, and was rewarded by a smile.

"Your choice," she reminded him.

"Stay," he begged, and leaned over to kiss her.

For the first time, it was _Buffy_, truly and completely Buffy, who kissed him back, and it was far, far sweeter than he could ever have imagined.

"Orgasm friends, eh?" Spike said, much, much later.

They were lying on the rug beside the divan, cushions, feathers and clothing scattered all around them. But the room hadn't been trashed, he hadn't been beaten up and Buffy was content to stay lying in his arms.

Life… death… whatever you wanted to call it, it was good.

"I said that?" Buffy sounded amused and a little embarrassed, both at the same time. "I must have picked it up from Anya."

"How about mind-blowing, please-shoot-me-now orgasm friends?" Spike suggested whimsically.

Buffy laughed. "I can live with that." She stretched, fluidly, like a cat. "Spike, I should go." She felt him tense, and sighed. Was she ever going to be any good at this relationship stuff? "Not run away, go," she clarified. "Just, I should get home, go."

"Want…" Spike stopped.

"Want some company on the walk home?" Buffy finished for him. "That would be nice."

NEXT