It was late afternoon when Dawn swam back to consciousness. Whatever they’d given her last night had been powerful stuff – she didn’t even remember getting home.
 
Her room held lingering scents of smoke and perfume, so she knew Spike and Buffy must both have been in here for a while. Which mostly made her feel safe and cared for, but also just a tiny bit weirded out. She didn’t really like the idea of other people in her room while she was unconscious. Especially Spike. I mean, what if there’d been underwear somewhere?
 
Dawn padded downstairs and found Buffy sitting in the kitchen, staring out into space with a cold mug of coffee next to her. Dawn had to call her name twice before she finally snapped to attention, a smile lighting up her face without ever reaching her eyes.
 
Dawn hated that smile.
 
Buffy told her that Willow was gone. She “wasn’t feeling well” – for which read a case of the magical DTs – and she’d be staying with her parents over the holidays. But she’d be back in time for New Year’s at the Bronze, which Buffy thought Dawn was probably old enough now to enjoy with the Scoobies! Cue excitement, possibly with a dose of girlish glee.
 
Yeah, right.
 
Dawn patiently explained to her sister that she already had New Year’s plans. With her own friends. Who were not only more fun than Buffy’s, but also safer.
 
Dawn almost felt guilty when Buffy’s face fell. Almost.
 
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
 
 
While Buffy was getting ready to patrol, she remembered that it was Thanksgiving next week. A bark of cynical laughter bubbled up inside her at the thought of being thankful for anything right now.
 
Dawn could have died last night, a little voice inside her said.
 
Okay, there is that.
 
But this was the first Thanksgiving after Mom….
 
And yet none of her friends seemed to have thought about that. Xander and Anya’s wedding invitations had prompted some aunt of his up in Bakersfield to decide she wanted a big family get-together this year, so they were going to that. Anya was excited; Xander was terrified. Neither of them had thought to even ask what Buffy was planning. And now Willow had abandoned her, too.
 
So much for my addiction-fighting buddy. Mental note: more garlic.
 
But then two days ago, Aunt Lolly had called, inviting her and Dawn over for Thanksgiving. Lolly was getting the whole Clark clan together this year, so Aunt Arlene and most of her ginormous brood would be there, too. They were going on to Disney for three weeks, then back to Lolly’s for Christmas. It was going to be family fun-tastic.
 
Of course Buffy had said yes. What else could she say? So now she and Dawn had bus tickets to LA. Lolly had begged her to stay for the weekend – aside from the funeral, she hadn’t seen Buffy in years! And it wasn’t like Dawn had school that week…. Buffy suspected she just wanted to check up on her parenting abilities. God knows what she’d think of Dawn’s broken arm.
 
So now they’d be back in Sunnydale just in time for Buffy to see the obits for the week – find out how many people she’d failed to save while she was away.
 
Joy.
 
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
 
 
Spike hadn’t known what to think when he first saw Dawn’s name come up on his call display. He’d been told in no uncertain terms that he was no longer welcome in her life.
 
Surprise, surprise, there was an emergency: Buffy had busted her ankle somewhere and couldn’t get home. Would he pleasepleaseplease go get her? He didn’t know whether to be grateful his little Bit still trusted him to help or angry that it took Buffy getting hurt before anyone called him.
 
Predictably, Buffy did nothing but snipe and complain from the moment she saw him. She’d told Dawn to call a taxi, apparently. But the busted ankle was true enough – he could see bone poking through her skin.
 
Popped him in the nose when he suggested the hospital.
 
Bitch.
 
So he kept accidentally-on-purpose touching and jostling the wound until the pain finally knocked her out. Then he’d taken her to the hospital.
 
The doctor’d said something about pins, but Spike figured she healed like him and that’d mean having to dig them all out again later. Few threats and the doctor saw it his way.
 
Buffy was silent and seething the whole way home.
 
Course, that might’ve been because he’d kept telling everyone at the hospital she was his wife….
 
 

“You need to call him.”
 
“I am not calling him!” Buffy wisely refrained from stomping her foot. It would’ve made her fall over.
 
Dawn sighed and rolled her eyes. “You still need crutches, Buffy. I can’t carry anything. The bus is no longer an option.”
 
“Lolly could come get us.”
 
“Lolly doesn’t have a license, remember?”
 
“Oh. Yeah.” She’d forgotten about Lolly’s long-ago drinking problem and continuing non-license-having. Buffy had been so sure her ankle would be healed by now. Yeah, it’d been a bad break, but hello … Slayer! She’d never had an injury not heal in a week before.
 
Sighing, Buffy gave in and dialled.
 
“Spike?”
 
“Slayer.”
 
“I need your help.”
 
“World endin’ tomorrow?”
 
“No.”
 
“‘S funny. ‘Cause last time we spoke, you swore you wouldn’t say another word ‘less it was, and then the words’d be ‘piss off and die, asshole.’”
 
Buffy closed her eyes and sighed. “Are you gonna help me or not?”
 
Now Spike sighed, hating himself for how easily he was giving in. “What d’you need?”
 
“Could you maybe give Dawn and me a ride to LA?” Desperation fuelling her, Buffy added a deeply, deeply resentful “Please?”
 
Rage boiled up in him like he hadn’t felt in years. “That so’s you can go fuck the one vampire who does get you hot?”
 
Despite herself, Spike growling like that did things to her insides that had absolutely nothing to do with anger or fear. “No!” she snapped. “Moron! We’re going to my Aunt Lolly’s for Thanksgiving!”
 
“Oh,” Spike said, suddenly acutely embarrassed.
 
“Although now you mention it,” Buffy said sweetly, “maybe I should just call Angel and ask him to drive us. I’d bet he’d just love to help us out.” Even as she said it, she was ashamed of herself. She knew perfectly well she’d rather lose the use of another limb than speak to Angel right now. And as for asking him for favours? Forget it.
 
Dawn grabbed the phone away from her sister. She could hear Spike screaming obscenities even with the receiver feet away from her ear.
 
“Spike!” Dawn shouted.
 
“Bit?” He sounded slightly hoarse.
 
“Buffy and I only have three good legs and arms between us. We were going to take the bus, but we really can’t now. Will you please help us get to Aunt Lolly’s?”
 
There was a long pause. Then, “Yeah, alright.”
 
“Thank you so much. We’re both really grateful.” She elbowed Buffy. “Aren’t we, Buffy?”
 
“Yes,” Buffy said, sullenly and through clenched teeth.
 
“When d’you need to be there?” Spike asked wearily.
 
“Lolly’s expecting us for dinner tonight, so I figure if you can get here at sundown, we’ll be there by 7-7:30 if the traffic isn’t bad?”
 
“Yeah, sounds right.”
 
“Thank you, Spike.”
 
“Welcome.”
 
Dawn hung up the phone. “There,” she said to Buffy. “Was that so hard?”
 
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
 
 
The first half an hour locked in a car with Spike and Buffy was quite possibly the hardest thing Dawn had ever done. Including hell gods and funerals. They just never stopped. Dawn could only be grateful Buffy was trapped in the back seat to keep her ankle elevated – otherwise it would have turned into a bloodbath before they got out of Sunnydale.
 
“Okay, I have tried – really tried! But if you make me listen to five more minutes of KROQ, I am going to gut you like a fish!” Buffy had left shrill behind three decibels ago. Dawn was worried her ears might have permanent damage.
 
“Well I’m not putting up with that bubblegum pop shite you insist on callin’ music in my Own. Soddin’. Car!” Spike shouted back.
 
Dawn was terrified he was going to rip the steering wheel off, he was clutching it so tightly. White-knuckled vampire driving was not a comforting thing.
 
“Shut up!” Dawn screeched, and switched off the radio.
 
They all three continued in near-perfect silence for a blissful thirty-odd miles until just after the road veered off the coast, when Spike said they needed to stop for gas.
 
While he was out fussing with the pump, Buffy said in a subdued voice that she needed to pee, but didn’t think she could manage on her own. Dawn went to get the key from the attendant, came back, and wordlessly helped Buffy manoeuvre herself into the washroom. Once she was settled, Dawn went back to Spike. “What is wrong with you?” she hissed.
 
“What?” he asked, all innocence.
 
She gave him a withering look. “We have more than an hour of driving before we get there. I can’t take any more of this.”
 
Spike stared down at his boots. “‘S not my fault,” he mumbled.
 
“What are you, five? I don’t care whose fault it is!”
 
Spike groaned. “She just….”
 
“I’m her sister. You think I don’t get it?”
 
He sighed. “What do you want me to do?”
 
“Just … stop saying stupid stuff. And be nice. You can do that, right?”
 
Spike rolled his eyes. “Yes, mum.” He pulled out a few crumpled bills from his pocket and handed them to Dawn. “You pay for the petrol, I’ll go fetch her back from the loo.”
 
Dawn gave him a dubious look. “If I hear yelling, I’m gonna come back with a bucket of water.”
 
Spike smiled. “No yellin’. Scout’s honour.”
 
“You were never a Scout,” Dawn scoffed.
 
“Ate enough of ‘em.” He winked. “Sorta counts.”
 
Still unconvinced, Dawn watched him walk towards the washroom. She called after him: “It’ll be really dirty water!” Then she turned and went into the shop to pay.
 
“Buffy?” Spike’s voice came low and calm from outside the door. “You done?”
 
Buffy banged her head against the stall partition. Why did it have to be him? Seeing me all helpless like this? At least she was wearing a perfectly dignified knee-length skirt – the indignity of pants around her ankles might actually have killed her.
 
Slowly and painfully, she managed to get up and almost out the stall, but just as she cleared the far-too-narrow door, she knocked one of her crutches over where she couldn’t reach it.
 
Two more days, and I could’ve had a walking cast. Two!
 
“Buffy?” Spike sounded worried now.
 
Getting more and more frustrated, Buffy managed to drop her second crutch while trying to recover the first. To her horror, a feeble whimper escaped her throat. She hated this. Hated being dependant on others. It was making her crazy.
 
There was a sudden bang as Spike kicked the door in.
 
Buffy rolled her eyes. “I’m fine!” she snarled.
 
Before Dawn’s little lecture, Spike probably would have snarled back. But he held back for a moment, long enough to register the quaver in her voice, and to see that she was stuck half-in and half-out of the stall and both crutches were out of her reach.
 
“Oh yeah, totally fine,” he sneered. But there was no edge to it. He stepped across the room, standing so close they were almost touching. Just as she was convinced he was going to try and kiss her, he bent to pick up her crutches.
 
As he straightened up, his face came within a hairsbreadth of hers. They froze, drawn in as if caught by an undertow, each suddenly lost in the other’s eyes.
 
The crutches slid through Spike’s fingers and clattered to the ground.
 
Buffy was hyper-aware of where his chest pressed against hers and the sudden weight of his arm wrapping around her waist. Her muscles started flexing in anticipation.
 
Spike briefly closed his eyes and took in a deep breath through his nose. Fuck, she smells good. Even surrounded by the stench of gas station toilets.
 
He pressed in closer, rubbing his face so lightly against hers she couldn’t be sure they were actually touching. Buffy’s lips brushed against his cheek, her breath sighing into his skin, while his hand slid excruciatingly slowly along the underside of her thigh. He wrapped her bad leg around his waist and was oh-so-gently rocking against her before something seemed to snap in both of them and the kissing became drowning and possessive and urgent and he spun her around and slammed her backwards against the door to the outside, banging it shut.
 
He was thrusting up against her, mauling her breasts, fingers pinching and pulling at her nipples through her clothes. She grabbed at the hair at the nape of his neck with one hand, digging in her nails, while her other was clumsily pulling up her shirt and bra to give him better access.
 
“In me,” she commanded, mumbling into his mouth, still not breaking the kiss. “Now.”
 
She whimpered when his hands fell away from her to start attacking his belt.
 
She’d finally undone his trousers – who has buttons? – when he pulled back suddenly with a dark chuckle, leaving her gasping. He was still holding her leg, and she felt off-balance – vulnerable. Buffy watched him reach into his pocket and pull out a flick knife. He roughly shoved her skirt up around her waist then he leaned forward to kiss her, swallowing her scream as he ran the ice-cold flat of the blade back and forth across her belly.
 
Her panties dropped to the floor, quickly followed by the knife.
 
Dragging his lips across her face to her ear, he whispered, “That get you hot, baby?
 
She glared at him for about half a second before he started painting circles around her clit with his cock and her eyes rolled up into the back of her head.
 
“Know that does, my dirty girl.” He parted her soaking lips with two fingers, rough and quick but disturbingly accurate. So,” thrust, “goddamn’,” thrust, “wet for me.”
 
Buffy gasped as he forced himself in, his thumb grinding at her clit. She wasn’t anywhere near ready. But oh God, it hurt so good.
 
“Fuuuuck,” he groaned, throwing his head back.
 
Buffy wrapped her arms around his neck and lifted herself up so both legs now circled his hips. It gave her the leverage to move, regaining some modicum of control.
 
“Nuh-uh,” he whispered, slinging an arm around her lower back then stumbling backwards so only her shoulders were still in contact with the door. He set a very slow, shallow rhythm while he stroked and pinched her clit. “I’m drivin’ tonight, Sweetheart.”
 
Buffy’s neck ached and her stomach muscles were on fire. Holding herself horizontal like this was quite possibly the most uncomfortable position she’d ever been in, ever.
 
But he was touching all the right places and she could just about fool herself that she could see heaven again, peeking through the cracked and mouldy ceiling of the gas station washrooms. Nothing mattered compared to that.
 
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
 
 
Muzak pumped through the speakers in the shop. Dawn was trying to figure out what it was … AC/DC? No. Please don’t let it be Guns’n’Roses. That would be so morally wrong.
 
After a few seconds, she realised that at least part of the beat wasn’t actually the music.
 
Glass bottles on the shelves were rattling.
 
Are the walls shaking?
 
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
 
 
Buffy was trying to relearn how to breathe. She felt the best kind of throbby-achy-sated, but also embarrassed and terrified and starting to worry about catching something from the grossness of bathroom sex. She still couldn’t believe she’d done the nasty somewhere this, well, nasty. It felt disturbingly Faith-like.
 
Spike’s arms were still wrapped around her, one hand tangled in her hair, while the other held the thigh of her bad leg. He was rubbing her own stickiness into her skin with each caress. Feeling gross and uncomfortable, Buffy awkwardly half-crawled, half-fell off of him.
 
Her good foot landed on her underwear and she would have fallen on her ass if Spike hadn’t caught her.
 
“Don’t touch me!” she snapped. She could feel wetness spilling down the insides of her thighs now that she was upright. Even worse, she knew not all of it was from him.
 
He let his arms drop and took a step back. “Got it. No touchin’.” His cock was still hanging out and bobbing slightly, like it was thinking about getting interested again.
 
Buffy tore her eyes away and tried to pretend she wasn’t licking her lips. She hated him seeing her like this – dishevelled and sweaty and weak.
 
Studiously examining her feet, Buffy tugged down her shirt and bra, flushing dark red with the humiliation of having to fight with her straps and get her breasts back into place. It didn’t help that each brush of skin or fabric against her bruised and bitten nipples ached in a way that gave her aftershocks. And her stupid hungry eyes kept snatching glances his way.
 
She gave up on the sneaky and flat-out stared when he started licking and sucking his fingers clean. She couldn’t decide whether it grossed her out or—
 
Who am I kidding?
 
She could almost feel his mouth just by watching it move around his fingers.
 
Bastard.
 
Spike gave his hand one last languorous lick and smirked at her. Then he turned and bent over to recover her crutches. She didn’t think he was deliberately flaunting his ass, but Buffy found herself mesmerised all the same. She completely missed him snatching up her ruined panties and his knife.
 
“See somethin’ you like?” Spike drawled as he straightened.
 
Of course he’d noticed her watching him. Asshole.
 
When he turned back towards her, his cock was reaching up and out and more than ready for round two. Buffy wondered if she’d be able to taste herself on him if she were to—
 
“Shut up, Spike!” she snarled.
 
He could smell the bloom of fresh arousal, so strong he could taste it. His eyes narrowed, growing cold and hard. “So that’s it then. This all just a new way to shut me up?”
 
She jerked her shirt down again – completely unnecessarily. “You’d rather I just broke your nose? ‘Cause I could do that right now.”
 
She sounded bright and perky; it was her quipping voice – the one she used for slaying. Spike hated that voice. He forced himself to laugh as he manhandled himself back into his pants. “Eyes’re up here, pet.”
 
“You’re disgusting.”
 
“That innocent act was almost cute when you were sixteen an’ still actually innocent.” He looked her up and down. “Works less well when your legs are drippin’ with come.”
 
Buffy flushed again. To make the humiliation even worse, he was between her and anything she could possibly use to clean herself up.
 
Smiling coldly, Spike pulled out a couple of paper towels from the dispenser and moved back towards her. She leaned back against the door and submitted to his hands and the scratchy, sadly non-absorbent paper. It made her feel so much dirtier. But it also made her crave his hands.
 
He nuzzled into her neck. “Just why did you stop shavin’ your pretty l’il pussy, anyway?”
 
Buffy gaped at him.
 
“Or was it wax? Bet it was wax. Bet you loved the feel of it all hot an’ gooey spread along your lips like honey right before all that ripping, searing pain you need to really get off.”
 
She tried to move away from him, but she forgot about her ankle and she ended up stumbling into his arms.
 
His lips brushed against her ear. His voice went all deep and throaty, so thick it was almost touchable. “Was it because no matter how much you flaunted yourself, none of them could ever touch you right?”
 
Buffy squeezed her eyes shut and tried to jerk away from him again.
 
He licked up the length of her neck. She couldn’t suppress her shiver. “This kitten doesn’t like gentle, does she?” He reached under her skirt to cup her, two fingers slipping straight inside and pressing down hard enough to make her collapse bonelessly against him like he’d flipped a switch inside her.
 
She bucked against his hand once … twice … and then she was coming again.
 
“I may be an evil disgustin’ thing,” he snarled, “but I’m still the only one can make you see heaven.”
 
Their eyes met. Buffy’s had gone from pleasure-drunk to shocked and anguished. Wet.
 
Spike let go of her like she was burning him. He watched her veneer of strength and anger crumble and break until standing before him was just a girl, a vulnerable girl who was so near breaking point she barely knew what she was doing.
 
And I make her see heaven.
 
“Buffy?” His voice had gone up an octave and dropped to a whisper.
 
“I hate you,” she whispered.
 
“So you should,” Spike murmured. Very, very slowly, he took one of her hands in his. “I’m sorry.” He pulled her against him so delicately, so gently, that despite herself, she let him hold her.
 
How did he always know? How could he see?
 
“I’m a stupid git and I’m so, so sorry.”
 
There were no more biting words between them for the rest of the drive. Dawn didn’t know what had happened, but she was grateful for the respite.
 
 

Spike buzzed the intercom at the entrance to the underground parking bay for Lolly’s apartment complex.
 
“Hello?” A woman’s voice, rich and warm and noticeably like Joyce’s, even with the scratch and whine of the speaker.
 
“Uh, that Lolly?” Spike said awkwardly.
 
“Who are you?” No more warmth.
 
“Don’t introduce yourself as Spike!” Dawn hissed.
 
Spike gave her a panicked, bewildered look. “What do I say?” he hissed back.
 
Dawn practically crawled into his lap to face out the window. “Aunt Lolly?”
 
“Is that Dawn?”
 
“Yup! We got a, uh, a friend to drive us here, and he needs to park. Can you let us in?”
 
“I thought you were taking the bus. Is everything okay?”
 
“We’re … can we tell you about it when we get up?”
 
A pause. “Of course. Go to bay 17F in the yellow zone.” The buzzer sounded, and the barrier lifted.
 
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
 
 
When they reached Lolly’s door, Spike awkwardly dropped the bags and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Guess I’ll be off then,” he mumbled.
 
“You should at least meet Aunt Lolly,” Dawn said.
 
“Why?” Buffy asked.
 
Spike kept his face carefully blank. He’d wanted to run – or for Buffy to run – ever since the gas station. The tension of being so near yet so completely unable to do anything was making him crazy. “Yeah, why?”
 
Dawn rolled her eyes. “Because it’s totally weird if you don’t! Jeez, are you two brain damaged or something?”
 
Buffy sighed and shuffled her crutches around to knock on the door.
 
A few seconds later, Lolly appeared with a smile that instantly faltered. “Oh my god, what happened to you?”
 
Buffy immediately jumped to the conclusion that her aunt could tell she wasn’t wearing any underwear. Then she remembered both she and Dawn had broken bones Lolly hadn’t known about, which only made the shame worse.
 
 “Hi, Aunt Lolly!” Dawn said brightly. “Nothing major – just really bad luck.”
 
Lolly looked deeply sceptical. “Well, come in! Come in!” she said, gesturing.
 
A long look passed between Buffy and Spike. But eventually, he picked everything up again and followed Buffy and Dawn across the threshold.
 
While Dawn helped Buffy manoeuvre around the furniture and lie (very, very carefully) back on the sofa, Spike and Lolly stood awkwardly in the vestibule.
 
“Oh!” Lolly blurted, looking suddenly embarrassed. “Sorry, I’m Lauren Clark.” She held out a hand – realised he couldn’t possibly take it, and laughed. “Lolly’s just a family nickname. And you are?”
 
Full-blown panic flashed across Spike’s face.
 
“Bill!” Dawn squeaked from the living room.
 
Lolly looked back and forth between them, confused. “So pleased to meet you … Bill. And I do hope my nieces have properly thanked you for driving them all this way.”
 
Spike nodded and grimaced his best attempt at a polite smile. “Where shall I put all this?”
 
“Oh! If you’ll just follow me?” Lolly set off down the hall.
 
Spike turned to Dawn, mouthed ‘Bill?’ and made a face.
 
She shrugged.
 
Spike swallowed a groan and followed.
 
“Buffy’s in here,” Lolly said, opening a door. The walls were pink, and the bed was child-sized.
 
Spike frowned. “Where’s the kid?”
 
“She’s dead,” Lolly said matter-of-factly. Her cheerful façade was only barely papering over the grief.
 
Trying to look anywhere else but at that smile – Buffy’s smile – Spike saw the photo. She was only six or seven, but it was definitely Buffy, and she had her arms clasped around the neck of another little girl, both grinning wide, gap-toothed smiles. The other girl matched the multitude of photos scattered around the room.
 
Spike bit back a growl. “First holiday without her mum an’ you want her to sleep in a shrine to her dead cousin?”
 
Lolly went ashen. “I didn’t even…. Maybe Dawn would be better in here.”
 
Spike raised one eyebrow. “You think?”
 
Lolly rushed out of the room while Spike put down Dawn’s bags and gathered up Buffy’s. He thought he could smell tears.
 
There were no ghosts in the next room. Bed looked comfy, though.
 
Back in the front hallway, Spike started edging towards the door again.
 
“Oh, Bill!” Lolly said playfully, seemingly completely recovered and grinning the grin of a good hostess. “You can’t mean to go already? It must be nearly three hours back to Sunnydale. I insist you at least stay for dinner.”
 
Spike couldn’t understand the women in this family. Dawn was the only one that didn’t seem to live in a constant state of denial. And he suspected that was mostly down to her age and fluctuating hormone levels.
 
“Bill would never want to eat with us,” Buffy said flatly.
 
Suddenly, Spike lost all interest in leaving. “Sure I do,” he said, giving Lolly a lazy smile. “If your cookin’s anythin’ like Joyce’s, wouldn’t miss it for anythin’.”
 
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
 
 
Buffy couldn’t believe Spike was not only eating, but that he seemed to enjoy it. She’d always assumed he only ate people food to annoy her.
 
Then again, he might still be doing that now.
 
She had no idea how he did it. He’d started up that awful smarmy voice he’d always used around her mom, and somehow Lolly was just eating it up! What was the problem with her family? Couldn’t they see he was dangerous?
 
Spike laughed – again – at one of Lolly’s jokes. Just a little bit too long for it to be genuine.
 
Dear god, I can tell the difference?
 
She kicked him in the shin. For the whatever-eth time.
 
And there went those puppy dog eyes! How dare he?
 
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
 
 
Lolly enjoyed herself immensely at dinner. Even if Buffy had looked a little drawn, Dawn was growing up into quite the young woman. And Bill was such an entertaining conversationalist – so thoughtful! She couldn’t quite figure out how he fit into the picture of her nieces’ lives. He was far too old to be a school or university friend. But he was so cutely reluctant to talk about himself. Probably shy. These bad boy types so often are.
 
Maybe he was a neighbour? Although she was sure Joyce would have mentioned having such an attractive man around. And he’d clearly known them all for a good few years.
 
Lolly was about two thirds of the way through convincing herself that ten to fifteen years was a perfectly acceptable age gap when Buffy stumbled trying to navigate a change from carpet to parquet and somehow, Bill seemed almost magically there to catch her – just like in one of those old movies. It was nothing special or out of the ordinary, but their eyes met, and suddenly Lolly was thinking that maybe she was a little too old for Bill after all. No harm in looking, though, was there?
 
And that was when she had the brilliant idea of insisting Bill stay for Thanksgiving.
 
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
 
 
Dawn was eternally grateful she could fit herself into Celia’s bed – she was the only girl in the whole Clark line who had breached five-six. Really, Buffy-the-midget should be in this room. Celia had been her friend. There were even pictures of them.
 
Dawn didn’t get why Lolly hadn’t converted the room into a home office or a second guest bedroom. Willow and Tara moving into Mom’s room had been fine – good, even – once she got used to it. But she still had nightmares about opening Buffy’s door and seeing the bot lying there, recharging. Dawn couldn’t imagine how Lolly could stand to look at Celia’s perfect empty room every day, knowing she would never be in it again. Dawn shivered. Suddenly all the friendly kid stuff felt eerie and oppressive.
 
She considered going back to the living room to hang out with Spike for a while. It’d been fun, all through dinner and the epic pre-Thanksgiving pie-making. It had felt like they’d been a team again – derailing Lolly every time she’d asked about the house, or Dawn’s grades, or just what Buffy was doing with herself these days. It felt like how they used to be – before Buffy told him not to come round anymore and he’d actually listened. Some rebel he was.
 
He probably didn’t even appreciate how often Dawn had saved him from saying something about drinking blood or murder or things that happened in the ‘20s. Even if Lolly seemed to have near-Sunnydale-esque gullibility.
 
I mean, seriously, how does anyone think it’s normal for a grown man not to know how to use a can opener just because he’s never been married?
 
Dawn felt a little bad about kicking him so many times, but only a little. It had been totally worth it – Lolly loved “Bill” now. It was a job well done.
 
Dawn yawned. The room wasn’t that creepy, really. And the bed was pretty comfy even if she had to lie on it diagonally. Maybe she should just….
 
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
 
 
Spike was jittery and uncomfortable and his shins felt like one big bruise. It was far too early for him to be sleeping. His stomach was rumbling, even after eating enough tacos that he thought he might actually have heartburn for the first time in … how many years? That bordello down in San Shithole in ’53 or thereabouts, I reckon.
 
He was gagging for a cigarette, and sick to death of playing nice-human for a woman who kept undressing him with her eyes and had actually pinched his arse while they were making up a bed for him on the sofa. The bitch was a recovering alcoholic to boot. If he’d known this was a dry house he never would have agreed to stay this long. As it was, he couldn’t imagine how the hell he’d get through tomorrow without a drink.
 
He wished he could just bite her. Be a bit tough – he’d always been a veal man – but at least this embarrassingly awful pretence would be over. Plus he’d be less hungry.
 
What in the hell had possessed him to agree to stay?
 
Okay, that was a stupid, stupid question.
 
Stop thinking with your soddin’ cock, man!
 

Spike thought he was hallucinating at first.
 
But no, there really was a demon creeping out of Lolly’s room. Spike could smell it. It was well over six feet tall, muscular, with a half-foot-long, prehensile nose above its mouth. It was also covered in shaggy, baby-blue fur. Which was useful, ‘cause it sure wasn’t wearing any clothes.
 
“What the bleedin’ fuck?” Spike breathed.
 
“Hey, how’d you get an invite?” the demon asked. His voice was remarkably high-pitched, given his size.
 
Spike just gaped. “How’d you get in?” Lolly lived on the seventeenth floor, and this did not look like a demon that could fly.
 
“Why haven’t you eaten everyone?” the demon asked, very confused.
 
Spike opened and closed his mouth a few times, before saying, “There’s a Slayer!”
 
“Really?” The demon was now looking decidedly nervous.
 
“Really.”
 
The demon grinned. There were some pretty impressive teeth under all that nose and fur. “Guess she’ll be going after you first, then.”
 
Spike opened his mouth to speak, but just then Buffy’s door opened and she peeked out. Her hair was sleep-tousled and Spike could see her nipples pressing through her so-nearly-see-through shirt. For a second, he forgot completely that there was anyone in the world but them.
 
“You have got to be kidding me,” Buffy grumbled. Spike-in-nothing-but-jeans plus giant blue thing were so not what she wanted to be dealing with right now. Xander’s supposed to be the demon-magnet! Not me!
 
“S-Slayer?” the demon stammered.
 
Buffy grimaced. “That’s the rumour.”
 
The demon stretched out its nose towards her. “You smell … depressed.”
 
Buffy rolled her eyes. “Gee, thanks.”
 
It blinked its eyes a few times. “Don’t s’pose you’d like to go back to sleep, would you? Bet your dreams’d be delicious.”
 
“You’re a misery-eater?” Spike hissed. “But they’re a myth!”
 
The demon shrugged. “Uh, not so much? And we prefer the term nightmare-eater.”
 
Buffy sighed. “Could we just skip to the ass-kickage? I really don’t want my family-tastic Thanksgiving to happen on no sleep.” She started awkwardly manoeuvring out the door on her crutches.
 
The nightmare-eater looked at her sceptically. “No offence, babe, but I’m not exactly quaking in my boots here.”
 
Spike snorted, then leaned back against the wall to watch the fireworks. He hoped she broke his nose.
 
“You’re not wearing boots,” Buffy growled, dropping a crutch and using the other to pivot her good foot into a roundhouse kick at its head. It sort of worked – the demon went down – but Buffy hadn’t thought through the landing part so much. Like at all.
 
Broken ankle now in agonising pain from her fall, Buffy seriously considered the merits of spontaneous combustion. Could I fall on my ass any more today? Thank God I am no longer wearing a skirt.
 
Spike started towards her, but her death-glare stopped him from closing the last few feet of distance.
 
The demon sat up slightly dizzily. “You pack quite a punch for someone so tiny.”
 
Buffy’s attention snapped back. Am I losing it? That should’ve knocked it out cold….
 
Spike grabbed up one of her fallen crutches, broke it over his knee and stabbed the demon through the heart with the splintery end.
 
“Ow!” he yelled. “Why’d you have to go and do that?”
 
Spike looked over at Buffy. “Didn’t dust.” He sounded slightly panicky.
 
“Gee, thanks, Captain Obvious!” Buffy sneered. “Hadn’t noticed, myself.” She very carefully got herself into a sitting position against the wall. “And now I’m supposed to get around how exactly?”
 
Spike shrugged. “Could carry you.” He leered at her.
 
Buffy rolled her eyes.
 
The demon pulled the makeshift stake out of his heart. The hole closed up immediately. There wasn’t even any blood. “I’m just not that sort of demon,” he said sadly.
 
Buffy couldn’t help giggling. “So, what, you want me to buy you dinner before I kill you? Flowers, maybe?”
 
He sighed. Then he grinned back. “What can I say? I’m a lover not a fighter.” His teeth had to be two inches long, easy. “Name’s Digbert.”
 
“Did your parents hate you?” Buffy asked, heavy with the concern.
 
“What’s wrong with Digbert?” He sounded wounded.
 
“What isn’t?” Spike scoffed.
 
“Look, the lady who lives in this apartment is pretty depressed – especially around the holidays. It’s good eating.”
 
“You’re eating my aunt?”
 
“Her misery!”
 
Spike sniggered.
 
“Nightmares! Eating her nightmares, I mean!”
 
Buffy was wondering how on earth Dawn and Lolly were sleeping through all this.
 
Digbert looked over at Spike quizzically. “Shame vampires don’t dream, really. You’re pretty depressed, too, aren’t you?”
 
Spike stiffened. “I am not depressed! And of course vampires dream! You’ll be tellin’ me I don’t breathe next.”
 
Buffy turned to him, shocked. “But—”
 
“Ever try to talk without breathin’?” Spike snapped.
 
“Ever tried not talking?”
 
“Would you two quit it? I feed off desperation and depression, not anger and lust!”
 
Buffy’s face did its best impression of a fire engine. Again.
 
“Look, clearly this place is a, um, a no-go area for demons. I can take a hint,” Digbert said. He looked over at Buffy. “Even if you are kinda pathetic right now – no offence.”
 
Buffy waved her hand dejectedly.
 
“I can see how you would really frighten a guy when you’re up to full strength.”
 
Spike was suddenly reminded of Clem.
 
Buffy banged her head against the wall. First sex in a public bathroom and now demon pity. She could not possibly get any lower.
 
Digbert lumbered to his feet. “I’ll, uh, I’ll just be going now.”
 
Spike looked back and forth between Buffy and Digbert. “You want me to kill him?”
 
Buffy snorted. “You think you can? You did such a stellar job with my crutch before.”
 
“Maybe metal’d do the trick? Got a knife.”
 
Buffy blushed again, even redder.
 
“I don’t want to know, do I?” Digbert said.
 
They both glared at him.
 
He started backing slowly towards the front door, hands held out in an appeasing fashion.
 
“And don’t come back!” Spike yelled, once the door had shut behind him.
 
Buffy slapped his shin – right on a bruise, too. “You’ll wake up Dawn and Lolly, you moron!” she hissed.
 
He stepped closer to her, looking down. “I think they would’ve already if they were goin’ to.”
 
Buffy sighed. Her shoulder was almost leaning against his leg now, and one of his naked feet was crossed over the other, just in front of her knee. Despite herself, one finger escaped from her clenched fist to glide along length of his arch. She felt him shiver under her.
 
She was surprised by the soft smoothness of his skin. Didn’t vampires get callouses? Feeling almost outside of her own body, she watched her stupid, treacherous fingers creep up to close around his ankle.
 
After so much humiliation today, what's a little bit more?
 
She leaned into him a little, stretching her neck so she could see his face while her cheek rubbed against the roughness of the outside seam of his jeans.
 
He stared into her eyes. She wanted to see his pupils blow and his mouth grow soft and awed. Instead, every muscle was stretched tight, clenched. He looked almost like he was in pain.
 
Can’t have that.
 
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
 
 
Spike’s fingers were convulsing mindlessly in her hair while his hips jerked arrhythmically against the wall and his mouth stretched impossibly wide, lips trembling, throat arched long and lean.
 
She’d used his belt loops to pull herself up, kneeling, while humiliation burned a hole between her thighs. All Buffy had wanted was for him to lose control. Like her. He’d tried twice to pull her up, to make them equal, before she’d wrapped her lips around his cock and he’d stopped having any kind of opinion on the matter. Or on anything else.
 
It occurred to Buffy that this shut Spike up even more reliably than biting his tongue.
 
Now her knees were red and angry from where they’d been burned by the rug and her ankle was throbbing from her fall and too much blood. But when she looked up at him, she could no longer see the blue in his eyes and his panting gasps were turning to needy whimpers.
 
Satisfied, she closed her eyes and pressed her nose further into his coarse thatch of hair, feeling every ripple and clench of his stomach muscles against her forehead and the soft slap of his balls against her chin. His jeans were too tight to move past his upper thighs on their own, so she had to keep untangling his buttons from her neckline until finally, irritably, she jerked it all down to hobble his knees.
 
She was truly drowning in him now, struggling more and more for each breath the deeper she took him in. There was a surprising power in the degradation of choosing to suck instead of breathe. And the constant threat of Dawn or Lolly coming out into the hallway and catching them added a frisson of shame and self-loathing that trumped even the dirtiness of the gas station – at least there they had been assured privacy.
 
Definitely came back wrong.
 
Buffy’s vision started sprouting white spots from lack of oxygen about the time he started shuddering, legs twitching in a series of fine tremors while his toes dug into the carpet like they were after buried treasure. But just as she’d decided it was time to pull back or pass out, his too-large hands enveloped her head and he thrust himself deeper than she’d thought physically possible and stayed there. Every single muscle in his body was taut and straining and she couldn’t even taste what she could feel pouring down the back of her throat.
 
Panicking, she wrenched her head from his hands, spitting and spluttering as she jerked herself away. She collapsed to the side, alternately coughing and heaving great gulps of air, while Spike slid limp and boneless down the wall.
 
“Don’t you dare speak,” she gasped, her swollen throat making her voice sound raspy and foreign.
 
He reached out to her, but she slapped him away.
 
When he made to drag her back into her bedroom a few minutes later, she’d regained the ability to breathe but was too winded and tired to put up a fight.
 
He never did find out if the bed was as comfy as it looked.
 
 

Spike wanted to smoke until he’d burned her scent out of his lungs. She’d painted his skin with her sweat and her juices until every pore was so full to bursting with her that he couldn’t even smell himself anymore. Why the bloody hell didn’t the bally aunt have a balcony? Who the fuck builds apartments without balconies?
 
He shrugged into yesterday’s t-shirt and thin grey jumper. At least they smelled like him. But the scratchy wool and over-washed cotton just rubbed and rasped over all the places she had bitten and scratched and carved herself into him and the resulting aftershocks were enough to bring him back to aching hardness.
 
He sighed, staring down at himself with a mixture of shame and disbelief. How could he still want that when her choked sobs were all he could hear? What the bleeding fuck is wrong with me?
 
Lolly’s alarm had gone off a while ago – matter of time before she was up and about. Spike ripped the still-crisp sheets off the sofa, leaving them on the floor in a messy pile. She could bloody well deal with it.
 
Spike wanted to drink himself into oblivion.
 
No.
 
He wanted to run back in there, grab onto Buffy with both hands, and tell her over and over that she was strong and capable and amazing and everything was going to be okay. But she’d never allow it – was probably his fault she was bawling her eyes out in the first place. Every time he tried to make things better, seemed he only hurt her more. Stupid. Useless. Fuck.
 
Spike went into the kitchen in search of coffee and something to take the edge off the gnawing ache of hunger. Today was going to be holy hell on no sleep and no blood.
 
He swallowed a growl when he saw Lolly’s space-ship-like coffee machine. It used pods for Chrissake. His fingers felt thick and uncoordinated, fumbling with the controls. He only just stopped himself from flinging the whole bloody thing across the kitchen.
 
Once it had started making noises he hoped would eventually result in coffee, he started idly wondering how long the misery-eater had been keeping Lolly’s grief fresh. If he knew his Slayer, she’d want to do something about it. Maybe Anya would know how to kill them – might even win him some points if he could arrange to be the one to tell Buffy….
 
The machine started hissing and smoking at him.
 
Then again, any fuckwit who uses soddin’ pods deserves everything she gets.
 
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
 
 
The onslaught of Arlene’s family felt like a plague of locusts – whatever locusts were. There were so many children, all shrill and shrieking like knives piercing her skin. And her cousins were so disgustingly happy. To make it worse, with only one crutch Buffy was stuck on the sofa, unable to escape the never-ending stream of questions.
 
Back at school yet? Oh. Working, then? Oh. Well, guess Auntie Joyce left you pretty well off. Har-de-har-har.
 
Smile. Nod. Remember to breathe.
 
How is Uncle Hank, anyway? Missed him at the funeral. Really? How long’s it been? Gosh. Isn’t that just too bad. Tsk-tsk.
 
Buffy imagined punching them until they were bleeding and broken and blessedly silent. But instead she plastered on her brilliantly shining smile – the one she kept wishing someone other than Spike would see through – and she distracted them with pretty lies about the peachy keen summer she’d spent with Dawn.
 
The whole time she could feel his stupid anxious eyes watching her from the sidelines. And when she finally snuck a glance over at him, his stupid tattletale face was reflecting back all of the pain that it was taking everything she had to keep hidden. She hated him then. For seeing. For showing what she couldn’t.
 
By the time Buffy submitted to little Chris – or was it Joey? – clamouring over her on his way to Grandma, his parting kick to her bad ankle was a welcome distraction from the newest stream of questions.
 
C’mon, honey: tell us all about Bill!
 
Buffy’s grin grew a little wider and brighter. “We’re just good friends,” she found herself saying, certain that Spike was somewhere laughing his stupid ass off at her. As her cousins tittered and loudly proclaimed their disbelief that anyone could be ‘just friends’ with someone who looked like Bill, Buffy was desperately waiting for the web of lies she was weaving to constrict until they cut off her air supply.
 
Couldn’t the demon have come now instead of last night?
 
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
 
 
Dawn was having a fabulous time. She was alternating between lording it over the little kids – who were all in awe of her as only small children can be – and glorying in finally being noticed by her much-older cousins. She’d been so sure this was going to be lame as – like the awful family Thanksgiving in Chicago two years ago.
 
At least, she remembered it being awful. Dawn tried not to think too much about where reality and her memories parted ways.
 
Aunt Arlene and Uncle Charlie had been in the middle of divorcing – the reason she and Mom had gone up there in the first place – so everyone had been stressed out and upset and Dawn had spent the whole trip feeling excluded and unwanted. Everyone – even Mom – kept having all these whispered conversations punctuated by sudden silences whenever Dawn entered the room.
 
But now? It was like a whole different group of people. They were all smiling and happy – no whispers and no secrets except for hers and Buffy’s – and they all seemed genuinely interested in Dawn. It was such an amazing feeling to have her opinions not just respected but actually sought out for once.
 
But best of all, Dawn was no longer being diligently kept away from “adult talk”. By sitting quietly and listening to her aunts, she was finally able to hear the kind of family gossip she’d spent most of her life begging oblivious-girl-Buffy to listen out for. First, Dawn heard how Brenda’d had horrendous post-natal depression for years, but had recently found the right drug cocktail to be mostly normal again. That explained soooo much. To Dawn’s chagrin, they didn’t say a word about Derek’s mysterious year out from college – she’d always suspected some kind of steroid problem; even Riley hadn’t been that ripped. But all was forgiven when they began talking about Sarah’s “inappropriate” boyfriend. He’d been sent to prison! Dawn was impressed. Even Buffy’d never had a boyfriend in prison. Although if Angel had been human, he probably would’ve been.
 
But listening suddenly became scary instead of interesting when Arlene and Lolly started talking about how they thought Buffy really ought to sell the house – maybe move back to LA where Lolly could be on-hand. Are they gonna pressure Buffy to move? They don’t even know about the basement. Or the roof.
 
Dawn started wishing they were still trying to protect her. She didn’t want to hear this.
 
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
 
 
Arlene started tapping on her glass with her fork. The murmurs of conversation slowly died down, until all eyes were on her. She smiled. “Lolly and I thought it would be nice to take some time this holiday to remember and celebrate our little sister Joyce. To give thanks that we had her in our lives, even though it was for far too short a time. We’d like for everyone to share a story about her with Dawn and Buffy today. They may have known her best, but I’ll bet there are things about her they didn’t know at all.”
 
Arlene’s daughter Jackie grinned. “Like that time she ran off to Santa Monica to see David Bowie.”
 
“Go, Mom!” Dawn said, grinning.
 
Arlene laughed. “I’d like to tell a more recent story. Two years ago, when Charlie and I were splitting up, we … money was tight. I just didn’t know what I was going to do. Poor Derek even had to take a break from college. But then Joycie stepped in.” Arlene’s voice faltered. “She made Thanksgiving and Christmas possible that year.”
 
Dawn felt suddenly sick. Poor un-steroid-y Derek. She’d been so bratty to everyone on that trip. Even though anything she’d done back then was really down to a bunch of crazy monks, it still stung. And she’d totally blamed Buffy’s expensive dorm life for the non-appearance of the much-coveted atomic purple Game Boy Color that Christmas – she’d even “accidentally” shrunk a brand new cashmere sweater in retaliation.
 
“Before Joyce and Dawnie left,” Arlene continued, “Joyce wrote me a cheque for enough money to tide us all over until we could sell the house and I could get a job. She said it was her great privilege to take care of her big sister for once.” Arlene’s eyes were tearing up. “I honestly don’t know what we would’ve done without her.”
 
Derek put an arm around his mother.
 
Spike had a sinking feeling that all his and Dawn’s attempts last night to keep the family from finding out about Buffy’s more mundane problems had quite possibly been the worst thing they could’ve done. Aunt number two probably would’ve happily helped Buffy out money-wise if she’d known she needed it. Fuck.
 
“I’d like to remember Joyce’s strength,” Lolly said. “She could do anything she put her mind to. Anything. And when I see her beautiful daughters, here with us today, I see so much of Joyce in them. Just like her mother, Buffy is rising to the occasion: running a household, raising her sister. I’m so proud.”
 
There was a chorus of awwww-ing, while various cousins murmured their agreement and raised glasses.
 
Dawn glowed, hearing all the praise. They’d staved off the spectre of family disapproval – it had to be okay, now. The aunts wouldn’t pressure them to sell the house. They wouldn’t worry anymore about Buffy being her guardian. She and Spike had managed it. They were safe.
 
Spike watched Buffy’s brittle smile grow so wide and so bright her face seemed about to crack. He couldn’t understand how no one else noticed – she wasn’t that good an actress.
 
“Thanks,” Buffy said awkwardly. Her eyes were screaming so loudly Spike thought his ears would bleed.
 
Lolly reached over to squeeze Buffy’s arm. So humble, so sweet. Buffy always did get uncomfortable with compliments.
 
Spike stood up. He said something – he never did remember what it was exactly. He just knew he had to get her out of there.
 
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
 
 
Her fist smashed into his kidneys before he’d finished closing the bedroom door behind them.
 
“Fuck!” he hissed, spinning around.
 
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she growled.
 
“Rescuin’ you from your soddin’ family!”
 
“I was fine.”
 
“Why’d you let me, then?”
 
She punched him in the face, speechless with frustrated rage.
 
He knocked her crutch away, grabbing her shoulders and sweeping her good foot out from under her so she was forced to hold onto him or fall. Her body slammed into his. “Buffy, you are not fine. You’re—”
 
She realised with horror what it was she could feel poking into her. “You’re getting off on this aren’t you?” She laughed in disbelief. “My god, you’re sick!”
 
He took an ostentatious sniff. “You were drippin’ wet the second I touched you, you hypocritical bitch!”
 
“I hate you!”
 
“Doesn’ stop you throwin’ yourself at me every chance you get,” he sneered.
 
“Shut up!”
 
“You want me to shut up? You know what works, get on your fuckin’ knees.”
 
There was a knock at the door. They both froze.
 
“Bill? Buffy?” It was Sarah. “We’re about to start on pie. You, uh, you might wanna come back to the table soon if you don’t want everyone to assume you’re having, um, naughty times in there.”
 
Buffy started laughing. But she was on the edge of hysteria and within seconds it had turned to crying.
 
“Buffy?” Sarah called, less certainly.
 
“Be right out,” Spike snapped.
 
For a few brief, blessed minutes, she let him in. And even though her own arms stayed locked stiffly at her sides, she didn’t fight it when his hands slipped away from her shoulders and he cradled her against his chest. She even submitted to his lips brushing so softly against her hair and then against her skin. It was the first gentleness she’d ever allowed from him and he was terrified to speak – certain whatever he said would come out angry and wrong.
 
Gradually, Buffy regained control of herself. Almost as soon as her breathing had returned to normal, she was struggling to escape. He let her.
 
She stumbled backwards until she was sitting on the edge of the bed.
 
They stayed there for long seconds, like boxers retreating to their corners.
 
“Buffy….”
 
She held up a hand. “Don’t.”
 
“You want me to leave?”
 
Slowly she nodded. “I can’t.…” Her voice dropped to a whisper he was sure he wasn’t meant to hear. “You make everything harder.”
 
“Right,” Spike said stiffly. Jerkily, he went to pick up her crutch and bring it to her. “Guessin’ you don’t want any more of my help.”
 
Something biting and awful was on the tip of her tongue, begging to be let free. Instead, she just said, “You gonna come pick us up Sunday?”
 
He stiffened, shocked. “You want me to?” He stretched out one hand towards her tentatively, hopefully. But she wouldn’t even look at him, so he let his arm fall back.
 
Buffy shrugged. “My ankle’s not gonna miraculously heal in three days. What choice do I have?”
 
He laughed, low and mirthless. “Whatever you want, Love.”
 
She graciously allowed him to help her back to the dining table. As she’d said, what choice did she have?

He made his apologies and he left.

Buffy knew it wasn’t Xander’s fault they weren’t back from Bakersfield yet. She knew it wasn’t Tara’s fault she couldn’t afford a new alternator right now. And it wasn’t anyone’s fault there was only twelve dollars and thirty-seven cents left in the chequing account to last until the end of the month. And yet in her heart it all just felt like so much betrayal.
 
She could still hardly believe she’d asked him – without prompting from Dawn, even. But he wasn’t supposed to have agreed! Her walking cast appointment was in the middle of the day and while Buffy knew the point of the blacked-out windows was so he could drive in daylight, she hadn’t ever really believed he’d agree to drive her. Just because she had no other choices…..
 
How did Spike get to be the dependable one?
 
Bastard.
 
And why wasn’t there ever anything she could go out and kill mid-morning? This whole creature-of-the-night thing was way, way overrated.
 
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
 
 
He hadn’t driven in daylight since … well, not since he’d taken Dru out of Sunnydale. That, at least, had felt like an emergency.
 
Spike could already feel the places where his scarf didn’t quite meet his goggles and he wasn’t even at Buffy’s house yet.
 
What the hell had possessed him, agreeing to this?
 
Stupid question.
 
His cock had commandeered higher brain function. Again. He really needed to stop letting that happen. No sex was worth burning his face off.
 
Second degree burns might be just about okay, though. Especially if she did that thing with her tongue.… Slayer muscles really were something else.
 
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
 
 
“Slow down!” Buffy screeched.
 
“Shut your fuckin’ gob! ‘M tryin’ not to crash!”
 
Buffy squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t actually see anything outside the car with them open, but it made her feel better. Sort of.
 
The holes of streaming daylight Spike claimed to be able to see through blinked out just as the car went down a steep ramp.
 
“There,” Spike snapped. “Hospital garage. Safe an’ sound.”
 
Buffy rolled down her (painted) window and stuck her head out for a breath of air. The stale, slightly sweet smell of car exhaust seemed downright healthy in comparison to the smoky stench of burning meat inside the car.
 
Spike yanked the duct-taped garbage bags off the centre of the windshield before manoeuvring the car through the narrow gangways of the garage. After far too long careening wildly through residential areas at seventy plus miles an hour, forty felt almost leisurely, even with all the near-misses of concrete pillars.
 
As soon as Spike parked, he tore off his goggles and scarf. His face looked awful – there were untouched sections, but somehow they only made the patchwork of blisters and peeling yellow and red skin seem worse. Buffy found herself feeling something akin to remorse.
 
Their eyes met. “Still hurts,” Spike said gruffly. “Hasn’t hit deep tissue.”
 
She nodded. “I’ll, um, I mean, we can wait until after dark to leave. I probably won’t be done for a while, anyway.”
 
He nodded. “Get you settled then find somethin’ to sort all this out.”
 
“Oh, you don’t need to—” She stopped short at the look on his face.
 
“Quit playin’ the bloody martyr, you daft bitch. Wouldn’t’ve rung me if you weren’t desperate.”
 
“Fine,” she said dully. “Just don’t steal all their blood.”
 
He snorted. “Was thinkin’ more along the lines of burn cream. Hospital blood’s chock-full of chemicals to stop it clotting – tastes like shite an’ smells even worse.”
 
Buffy sighed. “Whatever. Just – don’t tell them I’m your wife again, or I swear to God, I really will stake you this time.”
 
“Fine,” he sneered. He’d forgotten he’d done that…. Bloody good laugh it was, too. Smiling to himself, Spike got out and went round to her side of the car. Then he picked her up and slung her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
 
Buffy immediately started spluttering and wriggling at the indignity of being upside down with his hand casually fondling her ass.
 
He sighed. “You can’t walk an’ If I carry you any other way, you’re gonna bang your head or your foot on every doorway we go through. Your choice, Slayer.”
 
She let out a disgruntled huff of frustration. But she stopped struggling.
 
Just her luck, the receptionist on the floor she wanted was the same one who’d been there the last time.
 
“Mr and Mrs Summers! Welcome back.”
 
Spike snickered while Buffy stifled a groan.
 
The receptionist’s welcoming grin disappeared when he saw Spike’s scorched face peeping out from behind Buffy’s shoulder.
 
Sadly, the doctor was also the same one they’d seen last time. So she was terrified of Spike, and kept surreptitiously trying to ask Buffy if her husband was abusing her. As tempting as it was for Buffy to say yes, she knew it would be a bad idea: Spike getting arrested might be funny as all get-out, but having to talk to the police afterwards wouldn’t be. So Buffy smiled brightly at the nice doctor, and shunted her “husband” off as quickly as possible to see about treating his burns. Thankfully, Dr Charles’ concerns over Buffy’s home life distracted her from the abnormally fast healing ankle, so Buffy escaped with a Domestic Violence Hotline card and a walking cast that could come off completely in another week. Cue smiles all round. Some of them were even genuine.
 
By the time Buffy left the exam room, Spike was back and lounging in the waiting room doorway, playing with an unlit cigarette. Being able to walk without help felt so good she even forgot to hate him for a minute. He looked better – probably from a visit to the hospital’s blood stores, whatever he might say about the taste. Most of the yellow had reddened and the blisters were looking less blister-y. When she reached him, Buffy found her fingers tracing over the areas of smooth, un-charred skin on his face before she even realised what she was doing. She came back to herself when she saw his eyelids fluttering shut as he leaned into her hand.
 
The burn ointment making his face glisten had also made her fingers sticky. Buffy backed away from him awkwardly, wiping her hands on her skirt.
 
“While yet ‘til sunset,” Spike said quietly. He looked around the waiting room. “May ask you to stake me if we have to sit here watchin’ Maury all that time.”
 
“It’d be murder-suicide.”
 
His lips twitched. “That a joke, Summers?”
 
Buffy shrugged. “I’m feeling all world-loving now I can get around by myself.”
 
“Right.” He straightened up, watching her.
 
He was totally giving her bedroom eyes.
 
Buffy let her mouth drop open ostentatiously. “Seriously? You’re getting all come-hither on me when you’re gross and oozing and without half the skin on your face?”
 
Spike stiffened, disappointment warring with pride. “How much d’you want that lift home?”
 
“You’re demanding sex as payment now?” Buffy’s eyes blazed with righteous indignation.  “My god, you’re disgusting!” Her voice was loud enough to start drawing attention.
 
“Ungrateful bitch!” Spike roared.
 
Heads were poking out of doorways now – including a very worried Dr Charles.
 
“Fine. Go! See if I care,” Buffy hissed. “I don’t need you anyway.”
 
“Oh for fuck’s—” Spike bit off his own curse and tossed a smile towards the onlookers – wide and fake and half-crazed – before dragging Buffy off towards a vacant exam room.
 
She wasn’t yet steady enough on her feet to fight him off properly, but she managed to get in a couple of decent body hits before he shoved her inside and slammed the door behind them.
 
“Don’t you fucking put this on me!” he yelled. “Only reason I’m without half my face is drivin’ you here.”
 
She laughed. “Don’t even try to tell me you’re not getting off on me needing you. God, I hate you!”
 
“Oh, how I want to hate you!” He let out a frustrated half-growl, half-yell. Standing very stiffly at the door, he said, “You called and I came.” He laughed. “More fool me. Learned my lesson now. Shan’t happen again.”
 
He turned and flung open the door.
 
“Wait,” Buffy said. She squeezed her eyes shut, hating herself for saying it.
 
He closed the door with a soft click, but kept his back to her.
 
“I can’t afford a cab,” she bit out. “I’ll have to walk home if you won’t drive me.” Her voice didn’t break or waver, not once, and she was very proud of that.
 
He turned around and slouched against the door. Her strong, calm voice couldn’t hide the racing of her heart or the stink of her fear. “How bad is it?”
 
Buffy shrugged stiffly.
 
You got enough to eat?” he asked softly.
 
The last bit of fight seemed to run out of her. “Aunt Lolly gave us all the leftovers from Thanksgiving. If I’m careful, we should be okay.”
 
“Does ‘careful’ mean you live off fumes while Dawn eats proper?”
 
“No,” she said petulantly.
 
He sighed, pretty sure that meant ‘yes’. He went back to where Buffy was perched on the edge of the exam table. She looked all-in, her skin grey with exhaustion. Moving slowly and carefully he let the tips of his fingers brush against her shoulders. “You sleepin’?”
 
“Not really.”
 
He stepped in a little closer, letting his fingers trace along the planes of her back.
 
She bowed her head and let her forehead rest against his chest. More than he’d hoped. Better still was when she moved her legs so he could step in and hold her. She didn’t reciprocate – her arms just lay limply at her sides – but that was okay. He wasn’t the one who was only hanging on by a thread.
 
“Could sleep here, for a bit,” he said, pulling away just far enough to be able to look at her.
 
Buffy shrugged dully against him.
 
“Rest, Love. I’ll make sure no one disturbs you.”
 
To her shock and his, Buffy lay down on the exam table, facing the wall.
 
Spike considered pulling over a chair and sitting down, but all the chairs looked hard and uncomfortable. He shrugged out of his coat and hopped up beside her on the exam table.
 
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Buffy snapped, twisting in on herself even tighter.
 
He curled himself around her and draped the coat over them both. “Could use a bit of kip myself.”
 
Buffy seriously considered fighting him off, but she was just too damn tired. And it was warm, here. Quiet and dark. Maybe it would be okay….
 

Dawn let herself into the house.
 
3:25. Yes!
 
If she’d actually been at school, this is exactly when she’d be getting back. Janice had been so right – an afternoon at the mall had totally made up for Buffy’s bizarre refusal to let her celebrate Black Friday with their cousins.
 
Dawn slammed the door shut and waited a few seconds in the hallway, listening.
 
No Buffy. Like there’s a surprise. She’d barely been home all week. Dawn might as well have stayed out and got ice cream with everyone else. Mind you, that would’ve required cash, and any time Dawn mentioned “allowance” these days, Buffy suddenly found somewhere else she desperately needed to be. Dawn almost missed all those weeks Buffy hadn’t got out of bed unless she was forced to. At least she’d been there.
 
Dawn dumped her bag on the kitchen island and untied the cutest top in the history of ever from around her waist. There were funky frog earrings stuffed into her cast and a sweet silver chain in her back pocket. Retail therapy: cures what ails you. She cut off the tags and carefully buried them under the other garbage. Then she opened the fridge. No change since yesterday. Buffy still hadn’t gone food shopping.
 
Yeesh. A girl could only eat so much yam.
 
They’d been out of cereal for two days now. Popcorn for three. Although they seemed to be weirdly well stocked with yoghourt still … almost like it was breeding in there.
 
Dawn grabbed the jar of pickles from the back of the fridge. They were kinda old, but they’d have to do for now.
 
Where was Buffy going all day every day that couldn’t include a market? Not like Dawn missed her sister or anything, because she didn’t. Buffy and her had never really gotten along that well. Just because she’d been dead for a few months didn’t mean Dawn suddenly wanted to spend all her time with her. Because she totally wasn’t interested in doing that. Not even remotely. And Dawn didn’t miss any of Buffy’s friends, either. Just because they’d all hovered obsessively while Buffy was gone didn’t mean Dawn cared that they’d dropped her completely as soon as Buffy came back. She didn’t need Buffy’s friends. She had her own friends – friends who actually wanted to spend time with her.
 
And really, so what if Spike had basically stopped being her friend since whatever weirdness had made him leave Lolly’s? Buffy could have him. He was lame. Also moody. And if this week was anything to go by, he had terrible taste in take-out – everything he got was too spicy, and he put anchovies on pizza. Gross. He’d probably bring something even worse for dinner tonight. Stupid vampire.
 
But Dawn would be fine. She had her pickles. And, courtesy of Janice’s brilliant idea to fake a migraine and go to the mall, she now had all weekend to study for her biology test. There were definitely things to be thankful for. And it could only get better, right?