CHAPTER EIGHT

Buffy woke with a groan, her back aching. Apparently the floor’s back-support is even worse than the couch’s. Of course, wrestling nasty demons before bed probably doesn’t help any. The light behind her eyes was muted enough to tell her that the curtains were still safely closed, but bright enough to tell her it was late in the morning. Beauty of having a Mom who knew the big secret? She lets you sleep in on weekends and keeps bratty sisters away from your room.

Buffy’s brow furrowed slightly as her fingers flexed, and she opened her eyes slowly. She was still on her side, still facing the bed, and her hand was touching cool fingers. Spike was still asleep above her, but at some point during the night, he’d let her hand slip from his hold and the arm closest to her had followed it, hanging down to cover her fingers with his.

Buffy studied their hands for a few more moments before her eyes widened and she snatched hers away, quickly sitting and brushing the hair out of her eyes.

What the hell was she doing? Fair enough, sympathy for the vampire, but why the friendly touching, the romantic hand holding?

Wait, whoa, there was no romance, and no hand holding. There was comfort and hand... touching. Nothing romantic about it. Or holding for that matter. You’re just feeling the after-math of the big Riley departure. Nothing else.

Buffy shoved the quilt off her body and stood, mindful of the still-sleeping vampire in her bed. Quietly edging her way across the room to her wardrobe, she glanced once more at him before grabbing the first set of clothing she could and headed out the door, closing it gently behind her.

Buffy made her way to the bathroom, shut the door behind her and stripped off in quick succession, stepping into the shower and running it hot. Using the time to inspect her own injuries, she found a few minor cuts on her arms and bruises where the demon had hit her, already lightening thanks to Slayer healing. She winced as her fingers prodded a particularly bad bruise on her hip, where she’d landed after Spike had pushed her out of the way.

Buffy faltered, hands pausing in the middle of scrubbing shampoo through her hair. A lump had formed in her throat, painfully tight, and her eyes burned, blurring. He’d saved her. Why?

She quickly rinsed out her hair and turned off the shower, grabbing her towel from the railing.

Shortest shower ever.
 


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“Afternoon, lazy-ass,” Dawn called up from the couch, wrinkling her nose. “I thought the dress-like-the-fashion-challenged stage of the Riley break up was over. I mean, that stage’s ending usually coincides with the Dawn’s-allowed-to-say-his-name-again stage.”

Buffy stuck her tongue out at her sister, glancing down at herself. She was wearing a pair of cut-off denim shorts and an oversized grey sweater, the sleeves bunched around her wrists to free her hands. She’d tied her hair up in a messy bun, several strands falling free to hang around her neck and face. She’d forgone makeup, apart from the usual under-eye creams to hide the almost permanent dark circles, emphasized by the long night before.

Okay, not her best look, sure, but it wasn’t like she was wearing her yummy sushi pyjamas in the middle of the day, was it?

“Shut up, I’m adorable.” Buffy replied, grinning. “Get off your butt; I need to talk to you and Mom.”

Dawn sighed, switching off the TV and pushing herself off the couch. “Alright, but if there is some new big-wig evil-y in town, you are so changing before you go and fight it.”

“What’s with the fashion police? Have you been raiding my Cosmo again?”

Dawn waved her off as they entered the kitchen, taking a seat at the counter and immediately helping herself to the leftover pancakes. Buffy gave her a swift glare at the non-answer, and grabbed herself the last of the coffee, downing it lukewarm and black. Yuck.

“I was wondering when you were getting up,” Joyce smiled at her eldest, drying her hands and throwing the dish towel on the counter. “Late night slaying, honey?”

“You could say that,” Buffy hedged, biting her lip. “Patrol actually ended pretty early.”

“Then why—“

“Research meeting at Giles’, had some... issues to look into.”

“I knew it! New, big scary demon thing-y, right? Some mucho monster of the damned?”

“Okay, Dawnie, you and Xander aren’t going to be allowed to hang out if you keep watching crappy cable together. You’re starting to sound like him.”

Dawn pouted.

“It’s not a demon problem. Well, it is, but it’s kind of a side-plot.” Buffy explained, brow furrowed and hands gesturing, “Well, not really, because demons are kind of a recurring theme in this story, and hey, kind of a recurring theme in my life too, what with me being a Slayer and all. And I—“

“Okay, tangent!” Dawn interrupted, with her mouth full. “Is there some point to the family meeting?”

Buffy scowled half-heartedly at her sister. “I have a problem.”

“What kind of a—“ Joyce was cut off by a loud thump, a smash and a muffled shout. Buffy’s eyes widened, shooting to the ceiling. “What on earth was that?”

She jerked out of her leaning position against the counter and headed directly for the stairs, the youngest Summers hot on her heels. Buffy quickly intercepted, stepping in front of them with both hands up. “Wait! No, Mom, it’s okay. I’ll go... And I promise I’ll explain when I come back down. Just... Just wait for me in the living room, okay? I’ll be back down in a minute, I promise.”

“Buffy, what was that?” Joyce followed Buffy as he made her way hastily for the stairs. “Do you have a boy up there or something?”

“Mom, please. Just... stay here. I’ll be back down in a minute.”

Joyce took one look at her daughter’s face and led Dawn straight to the couch. She’d never seen her daughter look so worried, so tired and so terrified.

Buffy didn’t even glance back at her mother as she all but ran up the stairs.