The new apartment was spacious. “A bargain,” the super had told him. “Not much natural light, see. Nobody wants these basement units.” Spike had put down first and last months’ rent on the spot.
Now he let go of Buffy’s hand momentarily to fish out his key. “Where are we?” she asked, smiling in spite of herself. He’d tied one of her funny little scarves around her eyes, blindfolding her.
“Ssh, pet. It’s a surprise.” He opened the door and pulled her inside, flipping on the bright lights. “Ready?” She nodded and he slipped the blindfold off of her head. She blinked up at him, blind at first while her eyes adjusted. Her hair was rumpled in the back where he’d tied the scarf, so he smoothed it down, kissing her forehead as he did.
“What is this?” Buffy asked when she could see. She stepped around him and stared at the apartment, the big kitchen with its shiny appliances, the wide living room with Spike’s old TV in the corner.
“It’s a flat, love,” he said, grinning.
“I can see that,” she replied, pretending to be annoyed. “Is it yours?”
“Well, in a manner of speaking,” he said.
Buffy’s eyes narrowed. “Spike. You didn’t somehow manage to steal an apartment, did you?”
“No, pet,” he laughed, stepping closer to her. “I only meant that it’s mine in the sense that... it’s ours. If you want.”
Her eyebrows rose nearly to her hairline. “Ours?”
Spike took her hands, smiling down at her. “I know it’s been Slayer Central at your house these days,” he said. It was true. Ever since that last battle - when the First had made a promise to come back someday, bigger and badder than ever - Potentials had been swarming to Revello Drive. The Council had funded the purchase of four more houses on the street just to contain them. Not that the houses cost much, of course. They’d been abandoned in the last days before the fight, and most families hadn’t even bothered coming back for their belongings. Now they’d been commandeered by an army of teenage girls. “I just figured, you know, with the little bit going off to school soon, you might want someplace a little more... quiet.”
Buffy’s expression was impossible to read. He swallowed nervously. “I mean, you don’t have to - if you don’t want to, love, it’s alright...”
She surprised him by pulling her hands from his and crossing the flat, walking into the bedroom. “Look at the size of this bathroom!” she chirped, waving him over. He followed her cautiously. “Oh my god, there are two sinks. Do you have any idea how nice it’s going to be not to have to wait twenty minutes to brush my teeth in the morning?” She was pulling open cabinets by the time he joined her, her feet nearly lifting off the ground as she danced around the room.
He caught hold of her wrist as she went to inspect the shower. “You really - ?”
“I really,” she confirmed.
Spike blinked. This was too easy. She was happy, smiling, flippant. “You’re sure, pet?”
Buffy leaned up on her tip toes and kissed him. “Yes,” she said against his lips, eyes sparkling when he smoothed her hair back and kissed her back harder. “It’s perfect, Spike.”
“Perfect,” he repeated, smiling wider than he could ever remember doing. She didn’t even kick him (much) when he picked her up and twirled her around the room. Perfect, indeed.
---
The move didn’t happen until two months later, when Dawnie had packed up her room and transported it to her dorm at UC Sunnydale. Buffy left most of the furniture. At least half of it was garbage anyway, cheap replacements she’d picked up when demons came trampling through her house and broke all their things. She brought a few things to their apartment, though - the weapons chest Xander had made for her, the dining room table (miraculously still intact), and a few of her mom’s favourite pieces of artwork. The rest of the big items she left with the Potentials. The twenty-five girls living in her house were able to pack up all of their personal items in a couple hours, and faster than Buffy could have dreamed, she and Spike were pulling out of the driveway in the truck he’d rented for the afternoon.
There was a slight moment of panic when Buffy shouted “MOTH!” and Spike nearly drove them off the road before swatting it with his bare hand (“I just don’t like the way they fly, okay? It gives me the wiggins,” she sheepishly explained,) but aside from that, it was smooth sailing. The boxes went downstairs quickly. “You know, this whole slaying thing don’t work out, we could make a hell of a moving team,” Spike said as he piled a third box of clothes into Buffy’s arms.
Or at least he could. Buffy wasn’t a good mover, as it turned out. She’d loaded every box down with more than it could hold, figuring she was strong enough to carry it, but not realizing that the box itself wasn’t. “Oops,” she said weakly as her fourth box collapsed and spilled its contents all over the sidewalk. “My bad.”
Spike kissed her cheek as he went by. “You’re a bloody idiot, love.”
“You too,” she called after him. She bent down to pick up the dozens of shoes that had fallen to the ground, holding the box closed with her forearms. She hurried after him to the stairs and got to the top just as he was on his way back up.
“Buffy, that box is gonna - ”
He didn’t get to finish his sentence because the box exploded again, raining shoes down the stairs. “Buffy!” he yelled, laughing uproariously as a black heel very nearly stabbed him in the eye.
She was bent double, giggling so hard she thought she might fall over. “I’m sorry,” she got out between giggles.
“Get your ass down here and help me! I’m drowning over here,” he teased, trying to wade through the piles of shoes. “Drowning in footwear!”
“Spike...”
He shook his head, trying to clear it.
“Spike?”
He woke up to see his girl standing across the room, looking at him curiously. “Weird dream,” he mumbled, trying to conceal the dopey grin he felt like he was still wearing. He ran a hand through his hair. “Buffy? Is something wrong?”
“No,” she said automatically, then - “Yes. I just realized something. Something that really never occurred to me before.”
He sat up, wondering if she’d been dreaming too.
“We’re gonna win.”
--
They sat up half the night, talking, going over her idea again and again. The idea was brilliant, Spike recognized immediately. It was a game changer. If Red could pull it off, nothing would ever be the same.
And maybe, he thought as Buffy curled up against his side for a couple hours of sleep, maybe it meant that things could be different for the two of them too.
Buffy was right - he could feel it in his gut. They were going to win. And then she and him were finally, finally going to get it right. Be happy. Be in love. Be together, really and truly, in a way they hadn’t been before. He was going to buy her that apartment. Help her pick out dishes and spoons, towels, bedsheets. Do this right.
Spike went to sleep that night with his lips against Buffy’s hair, dreaming of the basement flat and the boxes of shoes.
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