Someone Who Understands

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Title: Someone Who Understands

Disclaimer: They all belong to Joss. I just like playing with them. Especially Spike and Anya ;O)

Summary: *WIP* Spike and Anya become roomates post-Entropy and feelings start to develop. Lots of juice and action in store >:O)

Spike hesitated outside the Magic Box as he passed it on his way back to the crypt. The lights were still on even though there was a CLOSED sign on the door, and he could see Anya moving around in the back of the shop. 'Cleaning up after us,' he supposed, noticing that there was a very good view of the table from where he was standing. 'Huh. Wonder if any passerby caught the free show?'

He quickly shrugged off the thought, not really caring. Couldn't have done any more damage than the *Scoobies* catching them, after all.

Spike was about to walk away when Anya turned and caught sight of him standing outside the window. She gave him a small smile, which he returned with a nod, then backtracked a few steps to the door and opened it, stepping into the shop. "Hello, Anya," he said.

"Hi, Spike," she replied, fidgeting with her hands.

"I... um... do you need some help? Cleaning up?" he asked.

She looked around. "Yes. That would be nice. You helped to make the mess after all."

"Yeah, I guess I did, didn't I?"

They stood awkwardly for a moment before Spike moved to the table. "What should I do? Looks like you've got it mostly under control." He gestured to the chairs and bench, which were now standing upright, and to the pile of broken glass in the garbage can.

Anya motioned to the bottle of Lysol and rags sitting on the counter. "You can wipe off the table. There's still some JD and..." she grimaced "... on it."

He raised an eyebrow, grabbing the cleaner and a rag. "Ah," he said. "Remnants."

She let out a soft laugh. "Yes. Remnants."

Spike sprayed a generous amount of the berry blossom-scented mist over the wooden surface and began rubbing at it vigorously, taking care not to leave streaks. The two of them worked in silence for several minutes, neither knowing what to say about what happened earlier or how the other would react if it was brought up. Anya focused intently on her mopping and Spike on his disinfecting, until finally all the cleaning was done.

They stood and surveyed their work for a moment before turning to each other and exchanging another awkward smile.

"So," Spike replied.

"Where are you planning on staying tonight?"

She thought for a moment. "I really don't know. I was planning on staying in the apartment when I came back, but that obviously won't be happening now. I guess I could check into the Sunnydale Inn or sleep here."

Spike nodded. "Yeah. Or you could stay with *me*, if you like."

Anya gave him a surprised look. "That's very nice of you, but I don't think it would be a good idea for us to have sex again. It would just--"

Spike shook his head. "No! No, that's not what I meant," he told her. "I mean you can stay in my crypt until you find a more permanent place to live. It's not much, and I don't have a proper bed since the sodding Soldier Boy came and blew it up, but I'm sure we could figure something out."

The look of lonliness on his face registered with her suddenly, and she felt inclined to agree. "All right," she said. "We could both use the company, anyway. Let me get my purse and then we can go."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spike tossed the last of his pillows onto his bier and turned to Anya. "There you go, pet. All set for sleeping in. Or *on*."

She smiled. "Thank you, Spike. I appreciate it."

He shrugged. "'S no problem. Least I could do after... well, messing things up for you even more."

She shook her head. "No. I was as much a part of it as you were. Sex generally involves *two* people, after all."

He returned her smile. "Generally. So no grudges then?"

"Of course not," she assured him. "Well, unless..." Her voice trailed off.

He frowned. "Unless what?"

Her smile was replaced by a tentative expression. "Did you mean what you said? About not biting me and all that other stuff? Or were you just drunk?"

He widened his eyes in a show of sincerity. "I meant it all, Anya. Every bit of it."

She nodded. "Good. Because I don't think I could take any more lies from men today."

"I understand," he told her. "Do you regret what happened?"

She thought for a moment. "I... I don't know. The kissing was nice. The orgasm was *really* nice. But the way I felt afterward wasn't so nice."

He looked down. "Yeah. I know what you mean." They were silent for a moment. "I guess we should get to sleep now," Spike said to her. "Long night, hangover looming on the horizon and all that."

She nodded. "Yeah. Good night."

"'Night," he said as he turned to head across the crypt to his easy chair.

Anya caught his arm before he could make it two steps.

"Spike..." she said. "I just want you to know that I *didn't* mean what I said."

He shot her a confused look. "About what?"

She shifted slightly beneath the blankets. "About you just being there. You weren't. You helped me."

He gave her a soft smile, touched by her explanation. "'S all right, pet. Didn't think much of it anyway. You sleep tight, now."

She nodded. "I will."

Spike walked to his chair and laid back in it, sprawling out onto the ottoman. 'I think I'm gonna like having her around,' he thought as he fell into a light sleep.

Anya woke up the next morning surprisingly sans the pounding headache that usually accompanied her morning-after low. She actually felt kind of refreshed; and it was nice to wake up somewhere other than the Motel 6 she'd stayed in before returing to Sunnydale.

She guessed by the dim light being filtered through the crypt windows that it was near eight o'clock and time for her to get up and get going. The Magic Box needed to be opened and then it would be business as usual.

Anya sat up and stretched, letting the warm blankets fall away from her body. She'd slept in one of Spike's token black t-shirts, having nothing else to wear and realizing that she'd be forced to wear the same outfit until she could get to the apartment to pick up her suitcase. Always the professional business woman, she didn't want to make her appearance anymore beat up than she knew it already would be.

'And I still smell like alcohol,' she thought disgustedly, sliding off the bier. 'I am in desperate need of a shower.'

She stood for a second, contemplating her options, before tiptoeing over to Spike, who was still sprawled out over the chair and ottoman. He was dead asleep and wearing nothing but his pair of black jeans, which rode low and exposed his sexily chisled torso. 'God,' she thought. 'I should have taken off his shirt last night when... no. No, no off-topic thoughts. Think shower. Shower.'

"Spike?" she whispered, tapping him on the shoulder.

He stirred a little, arching his back like a cat and letting out a soft groan.

Anya suppressed a smile at his show of masculine grace. "Spike," she whispered again, this time shaking him.

His eyes fluttered open at her persistance. "Morning, Demon Girl," he said sleepily, giving her a teasing grin.

"Morning, Fang Boy," she shot back, returning his gentle smirk. "I have a question."

"What's that, pet?" he asked, sitting up and stretching out his arms.

"Do you have a shower? I have to be to the Magic Box in a little while and I still smell like JD and sweat."

He thought a moment. "Yeah, actually I do. Hasn't been used in a while though, so I'm not sure if the it'll still work. And it's nothing fancy, just a pipe in the wall and a hole in the ground. It's in the lower part. Want me to show you?"

She nodded. "Yes, please."

"All right." Spike stood up and stretched again, then turned to Anya and motioned for her to follow him.

"So, how'd you sleep then, luv?" he asked as he helped her down the ladder to the lowest level of his crypt.

"Very well," she replied. "And for some reason I'm not all sick from the drinking we did last night. How about you? Hung over much?"

Spike shook his head. "Actually no, not at all. That's an advantage of being dead-- much easier to sleep off the effects of drunkeness."

"That's lucky," she said. "I guess that's what-- oh my God!" Anya interrupted herself as she the state of ruin the bottom floor was in registered with her. "What happened here?"

Spike shook his head. "Don't really feel like getting into it right now," he told her. "But let's just say it involved Captain Cardboard finding Buffy and I together, some demon eggs, and a hand grenade."

Anya raised an eyebrow, surveying the extensive damage. "How the hell did the shower survive?"

Spike let out a laugh, shrugging. "I guess it was just lucky." He jerked his head toward the back of the crypt. "Come on, it's over there."

They walked to the farthest corner of the crypt, picking their way through the debris, and stopped at a mildew-encrusted sheet that hung stiffly on several rusty hooks. Spike pulled it aside to reveal a spigot and showerhead mounted about six feet up, and a bar of deteriorating soap with hair growing out of it on a stone ledge jutting out from the corner. The entire wall was covered in a slimy green fungus which smelled oddly like rotting watermelons and chlorine.

"This smells like rotting watermelons and chlorine," Anya said, wrinkling her nose.

Spike looked at his shower in amused disgust. "Yeah, guess I let my home maintenance skills slip a little, huh?"

"A *little*?" she retorted sarcastically. "I'm getting ringworm just *looking* at it."

He laughed, shaking his head. "Sorry, sweetheart. Looks like you'll have to go elsewhere if you want to freshen up."

Anya sighed. "And it looks like *you'll* have to think about fixing the shower if I'm going to be staying with you."

He gave her a grin. "Guess so..."

Anya stood behind the counter of the Magic Box, silently thanking God for the miracle that was the glamour spell. Using a simple incantation, she'd managed to majick herself into a white button-down shirt and a pair of khakis. She'd also taken care of the alcohol smell left clinging to her body with a simple stick of insense.

It had been a slow day, which she actually didn't mind for once. She was tired and hungry and looking forward to getting back to the crypt to talk with Spike, who-- oddly enough-- she'd been thinking about all day. She was rather excited about staying with him, even if it would be for just a couple of weeks. 'It'll be nice to not be lonely,' she thought, smiling to herself. 'And it'll give me some time to think things through away from any of the Scoobies. Well, the *inner* Scoobies, anyway. '

Anya gave a start as the bells on the door of the shop burst into a chorus of tinny chiming and pulled her out of her train of thought. Her face instinctively lit up into a "please-buy-something-from-me" grin, but quickly melted into a more genuine "glad-to-see-you" smile as she saw who had come into the shop.

"Tara!" she said brightly, coming out from behind the counter to greet the witch.

"Hey, sweetie," Tara replied, giving her a quick hug. "How are you d-doing?"

Anya shrugged. "Oh, I'm all right." She let out a small laugh. "You know, considering."

Tara smiled, a look of empathy crossing her face. "Yeah. I, um... I heard about w-what happened with you and Spike last n-night."

Anya's happy expression wavered. "*You* saw it, too?"

Tara shook her head quickly. "Oh, no! N-no. I just... Willow told me. She was worried about B-buffy seeing it. I guess she was p-pretty upset." She paused a moment before adding, "You know they were s-seeing each other, right? Buffy and Spike?"

Anya shook her head in the affirmative. "Yes," she replied. "I found out about it last night. We all did."

Tara nodded. "Xander said you d-didn't go back to get your things or to t-talk anymore and I was really worried about you. I know how b-bad things can get after something like that happens."

Anya gave her an appreciative smile.

"I was w-wondering where you stayed," she continued. "Because you're always welcome to stay with m-me in the dorm."

Her smile grew. "That's very nice of you, Tara," she said. "But I found a place to stay already."

Tara looked mildly surprised. "Oh, really? Where?"

"Spike's crypt," Anya replied. "It's not a sexual thing," she added quickly, seeing Tara's surprised expression deepen. "He offered me a place to sleep so I took it."

Tara recovered from her obvious shock gracefully, and said, "Well, I'm glad you found s-somewhere to go. It does help to m-make it easier."

Anya nodded in agreement. "Yes, it does. And it's nice to be around someone who understands what I'm going through on all levels, you know?"

"Yeah," Tara replied, smiling thoughtfully. She gave Anya's shoulder a small squeeze, then cautiously asked, "Do you... do you h-have feelings for him?"

Anya shrugged slowly. "I don't know," she told her. "I mean, yes, I find him very attractive, and he's been very sweet to me... but I'm not in love with him or anything like that. Why?"

Tara's face took on a sad quality as she answered, "I just d-don't want to see any friendships ruined b-because of all this. We all... we all n-need each other."

Anya bit her lip. "I know. But I don't see why Buffy would care if I was staying with Spike. From what I've heard, she pretty much just gave him sex and heartache. It's not like she loves him."

Tara was quiet for a moment before countering gently, "Actually, I think she d-does... it was in the way she talked about him t-to me. The color of her aura when we'd d-discuss what was happening with them. There's so much p-passion and feeling. I think she *is* in love with him, but she's v-very afraid and confused about how sh-she feels."

Anya frowned. "I guess it's possible. But I still don't see why I shouldn't stay with Spike. What happened between us last night was for comfort, not because *we're* together now. Orgasms do seem to naturally follow two people getting drunk after all."

Tara nodded. "I know. I'm not saying you *shouldn't* s-stay with him. I'm just saying to b-be careful. He still loves Buffy, even though she h-hurts him so much. And I d-don't want to see *anyone* hurting."

Anya took a deep breath. "You know, neither do I. But pain just seems to come from everywhere these days."

"Yeah, it does," Tara agreed. "Things fall apart. They fall apart s-so hard. But that d-doesn't mean they can't be put back together."

Anya nodded, casting her eyes down, and added quietly, "Even if they have to be put back together in a whole new way..."

Spike sat restlessly in the cushiony depths of his easy chair, waiting anxiously for his new roomate to return home. While she'd been at the shop, he'd spent the day cleaning and fixing things up, making the crypt fit for the likes of Anya. He'd cleared the refrigerator to make room for human food and had recovered an old chest from the rubble of the lower chamber, realizing that she'd need a place to keep her belongings once she retrieved them. He'd also cleaned up the shower; a fresh sheet now hung from the still-rusty hooks, the walls and floor had been rid of the algae, and the moldy soap had been replaced by a new and hairless bar. And it had taken nearly two hours of scrubbing to get the watermelon-chlorine smell to dissipate, but he'd managed to do that as well. He couldn't wait to see what Anya thought of the changes.

'She'll be happy to know she has a safe place to shower now,' he thought bemusedly, remembering her disgust at the state of the bathing area that morning. 'I just hope she's picked up her clothes and some food. It'd make it a hell of a lot easier for her if she had her things here.'

Just as he finished that thought, the crypt door burst open and Anya stumbled in, weighed down by two enormous duffle bags. Spike was on his feet in two seconds flat, and at her side helping her with the clothes-filled monsters.

"Here, pet, I got 'em," he told her as he took them out of her rapidly weakening grasp.

"Thank you," she said, smiling gratefully. "I see your chivalry still hasn't run out."

Spike let out a strained laugh from beneath the bags as he set them down next to the bier. "I haven't forgotten *everything* that was pounded into my head back in the Victorian days." He stood up and grimaced, rolling his shoulders. "God, what have you got in there, Anya? Those things must be a hundred pounds each."

She shrugged, tilting her head. "Oh, not too much. Just the basics. You know, clothes, shoes, an iron, towels, shampoo, a pillow and blanket, silverware, plates, cups, some videos, a few-- hey!" She interrupted herself. "You cleaned!"

He grinned. "You noticed."

She nodded, looking around. "It looks great. Everything's so organized and neat." She walked over to the TV and swiped her fingers across it, smiling at the lack of dust. "Did this take you a long time?"

He shook his head in the affirmative. "Yeah. I spent the entire day straightening things up. Figured now's as good a time as any to get the spring cleaning done, what with you movin' in for awhile."

"How about the shower?" she asked. "Did you get to clean that, too?"

He laughed. "'S one of the first things I got to. Most important of all."

She smiled at him. "It's so nice of you to do all that for me, to make me feel at home. I really appreciate it."

He returned her warm expression. "No problem at all. I treat my guests right, especially those that happen to be attractive and forthright women."

She let out a soft laugh. "Well, you make an excellent host. I'm sure I'm going to enjoy staying here very much."

He nodded. "I hope you do."

They were quiet for a moment after this flirtily sweet exchange, before Spike asked, "So, pet, do you wanna unpack now or do you wanna wait until after you eat?"

Anya placed a hand over her stomach and groaned. "I am absolutely *famished*, I'll definitely wait until after I-- damnit!" Her face fell as the realization hit her: "I forgot to take food! I took everything you need to have a nice meal except for the food!"

He laughed. "'S okay, Anya. You can go shopping tomorrow."

"But what about tonight?" she asked. "I haven't had a thing to eat all day and I'm about ready to starve."

Spike thought a moment. "You wanna go out? To the Bronze, maybe? I've been craving a good burger lately and theirs are the best in town."

She shook her head. "I'd love to, but I don't have any money with me right now."

He shrugged. "My treat, then. I don't mind paying."

She smiled. "Are you sure?"

He nodded. "Of course."

"Well, all right then," she relented. "But let's go now, okay?"

Spike and Anya sat comfortably across from one another at a small table near the back of the Bronze, chatting animatedly and enjoying their food immensely. Anya was working on her fourth slice of pizza as Spike gnawed his way through a cheeseburger and a dozen chicken wings. Each of them nursed a large Coke, having tacitly agreed to stay away from alcohol when they were alone together. Although regrets were minimal, neither was ready for a repeat performance of the night before.

"Oh God, I am *stuffed*," Anya commented as she swallowed a last bite of pepperoni. "I can't even look at food right now or I may explode."

Spike laughed and stole the leftover crust off her plate. "There's another advantage of being dead," he said, taking a bite of it. "No digestion equals no limit to what you can eat. It's a nice little feature to have at times."

Anya nodded, then frowned. "Wait a second. If your food doesn't get digested then what happens to it?" she asked. "And also, if you never have to go to the bathroom then why do you have a toilet in your crypt?"

Spike chewed thoughtfully on the crust for a moment, thinking of an answer. "I don't really know what happens to the food I eat," he replied. "I guess it just gets absorbed or summat. And I don't know why there's a toilet in my crypt, either. It was there when I moved in."

Anya raised an eyebrow. "Who lived there before you, then? A demon?"

He shrugged. "I assume so. No vampire I know of ever has to use the bathroom."

She nodded. "That's true. I've never-- oh. Oh God." A sick expression passed across Anya's face.

Spike gave her a concerned look as he noticed her complexion paling. "Whatsa matter, pet? You gonna throw up from all the pizza?"

She shook her head. "No. No. Look behind you."

Spike turned around, squinting into the bright strobe lights, and caught site of what Anya was looking at.

Buffy and Willow had just walked in.

"Maybe we should go," Anya said, shifting nervously in her seat. "I'm not in the mood for confrontation tonight."

Spike shook his head. "No. We aren't leaving. I want to talk to Buffy, and I highly doubt Red'll get nasty with you. Just wait here, all right?"

Anya nodded. "Whatever. I just hope she doesn't have a stake on her. She was pretty pissed last night."

He ignored her comments and stood up, then made his way across the club to where Buffy and Willow were sitting. They had their backs toward him, but he could tell that Buffy sensed him as he neared by the stiff posture she'd suddenly taken.

Just as he was about to tap her on the shoulder, she spoke. "Leave me alone, Spike."

"We need to talk," he said, nodding subtly at Willow as she covertly shot him a sympathetic greeting smile.

"No, we really don't," Buffy replied, still not turning to face him. "I have nothing to say to you."

"Well, I *do*," he said patiently, speaking with the learned calmness that came from dealing with her attitude so often. "I want to talk."

"You said that already," she retorted annoyedly. "And I gave you my answer. Would you please just go away?"

"No," he responded simply. "Not until you turn around and discuss some things with me."

She shook her head. "I'm not in the mood to put up with you right now, Spike. Leave."

"No," he repeated, jaw set in a show of defiance. "Just turn around and talk to me."

Willow suddenly stood up, clearly uncomfortable with the exchange going on around her. "Hey, um, there's Anya over in the back!" she exclaimed in an overly-cheerful tone. " I think I'll go see how she's doing." And with that she left Buffy and Spike by themselves.

Buffy let out a noise of incredulity at Willow's departure, then finally turned around to glare at Spike. "Are you here with her?" she asked, barely able to contain the hurt in her voice.

He nodded. "Yeah. Just having dinner."

Her glare deepened. "So what, are you guys like all coupley now or something?"

Spike shook his head. "No. Not at all."

She raised an eyebrow, pursing her lips. "Oh really? Then why is she staying in your crypt?"

"She doesn't have anywhere else to go," he replied steadily. "And we could both use the company."

Buffy closed her eyes for a brief second. "I don't understand why it matters to you what happens to her anyway. You don't even know her that well."

"It matters because she's the only person who's shown me any respect in a long time," he told her. "She's actually able to relate to the things I'm going through."

Buffy bit her lip. "So you have feelings for her then."

Spike let out a frustrated sigh. "No, Buffy, I don't. I'm glad to have her around, but not in the way I was glad to have *you* around. I love you. Even if you refuse to recognize my feelings as being real, I still love you."

She cast her eyes downward. "If you love me so much, why did you sleep with her?"

He shrugged slowly. "I don't know. It was just... it was the lethal combination of alcohol and emotion. It just happened. Seemed the right thing to do at the time."

Buffy contemplated this, silent for a moment. "So... you weren't moving on?"

He shook his head. "No. Not *really*, anyway."

She nodded, then spoke quietly. "Oh. Okay. Because I was kind of... sorry... about telling you that. I didn't think it would hurt so much to see you with someone else."

He tilted his head, an expression of hope daring to show itself on his face. "I'm sorry it hurt you," he said. "It was just... it felt good to be with someone who understood for once."

Buffy flinched slightly, pain flashing in her eyes. "You think I don't understand?"

Spike frowned, looking confused. "What are you talking about? I *know* you don't understand anything I feel."

Her face darkened. "How would *you* know?" she asked. "How would you *really* know what I feel?"

His expression turned from surprise and confusion to slight anger. "Because if you understood how I felt you wouldn't have kept telling me that I'm convenient and evil and dirty," he told her. "You wouldn't have stepped on me the way you did."

Buffy stood up, hurt and fury etching itself into her features. "Why are you trying to make me feel guilty?"

"Why are *you* trying to make this about *you*?" he countered, then paused. "Oh. Wait a second. It's *always* about you."

Buffy shot him a murderous glare. "That's it," she growled. "You wanted to talk, we talked. And now we're done. Get out of my way, I'm leaving."

He returned her seething expression. "Fine," he said, voice low as she walked away from him. "It's what you're good at."

He watched as Buffy went and collected Willow and then left the Bronze without a second glance back at him. Anger and frustration boiled in his chest, threatening to spill out in the form of violence. 'Why the hell doesn't she ever *listen*?' he fumed internally, clenching his fists. 'Bitch can't stand ever being wrong. Who the bloody hell does she think she is, trying to tell me she understands? She understands *nothing*. Nothing.'

Spike gave a start at the sensation of a hand on his arm and whipped around. It was Anya.

"Didn't go well, did it?"

He shook his head, smiling bitterly. "Not at all, sweetheart. Not at all."

She patted his shoulder empathetically. "Would this be an inappropriate time for an 'I told you so?'"

He rolled his eyes. "Very inappropriate."

She nodded. "I thought so. We should go now."

"I have to agree with you on that one."

Anya slipped her arm through Spike's as they made their way out of the club and started on their way back to the crypt.

When Anya closed the Magic Box for the day, vague gray wisps of cloud were only just beginning to gather over the clear horizon. She'd thought nothing of them until she actually left the shop and noticed them thickening and stewing above the town. A chilly wind had begun to move through the area, dry at first, but soon accompanied by a sheet of small, cold raindrops. By the time Anya reached the fence of the graveyard, those small drops had turned into a steady downpour; and by the time she reached the crypt, she was soaked to the bone.

Spike was startled out of his nocturnal slumber by the sounds of soggy footsteps squelching through his un-living room area. He shot straight up in his chair, game face flashing in a sleepy show of instinct as he became fully awake and alert. Cautiously, he climbed to his feet and peered up over the bier, expecting to find some kind of mucus demon looking for a fight. Instead he found, to his suprise, the much more pleasant sight of Anya standing in the middle of the room... peeling her shirt off.

As he collected his jaw from the floor, she turned around and gave him a dark look, to which he quickly responded by glancing away from her.

"Sorry, Anya," he said. "Didn't mean to ogle you like that, you just kinda caught me by suprise."

"No, that's not what that look was for," she told him, unbuttoning her pants. "I'm upset because I got caught in the rain and now I'm unpleasantly damp. I don't care if you look at me. Stare all you want. We're roomates, it's only natural to undress in front of each other." She grunted as she suctioned her jeans away from her legs. "Hello, by the way."

He looked back at her and grinned. "Hello, cutie. How was work?"

She shrugged, bending over to pick up her sopping clothes. "Same as usual. How was *your* day?"

"Same as yours," he replied casually. "Normal. Just slept the whole time."

"Ah." She wrung her shirt out onto the concrete floor and then walked past him to her clothes chest. "I'll get that puddle in a minute."

"Don't worry, I got it," he told her, grabbing a rag from the corner and throwing it down over the water. "What are you planning on doing tonight, pet? Anything?"