CHAPTER ELEVEN

Buffy let the front door announce her return rather than her usual loud-voiced greeting. She dropped her keys in the bowl, let the door swing shut behind her and kicked off her shoes, all the while juggling the bags in her arms. Part of her was telling her to immediately check on Spike, but the Slayer in her refused to indulge that weakness, leading her to the kitchen instead of searching him out.

Dumping a little more than half the bags on the dining room table, she barrelled her way into the kitchen and towards the fridge, head down in the hopes that her mother wouldn’t force her to stop and talk. She couldn’t handle talk. She dumped the bags on the counter, glancing at her mother as she did.

Joyce sat at the kitchen island, a coffee mug clutched tightly in both hands. It was full to the brim with milky tea, and her mother’s eyes were staring down at it like it held the answer to everything in the world. Chewing her lip, Buffy leaned forward and eased it out of her hands. Stone cold. Joyce looked up at her like she’d only just noticed her daughter’s arrival, before flustering into action.

“Buffy, you’re home!” She stood and started opening the bags in front of her, not reacting in the slightest to the bags upon bags of pigs blood inside. She didn’t say a word when Buffy dumped the tea down the sink. “Did you get everything you needed?”

“I think so,” Buffy hedged, packing several blood bags into the freezer before stacking the rest in the fridge as he mother passed them to her with jittering hands. “You can pick up anything I missed?”

“After work tomorrow, of course,” Joyce nodded. “Anything I can do to help.”

Buffy paused, one hand gripping a blood bag, the other, an old coffee mug. “Thank you, Mom. I don’t think I can do this without you.” Her voice cracked on the last few words. After all the trouble her mother was having with her illness, she was realising how much she needed her, now more than ever.

“Oh, Buffy, honey,” Joyce opened her arms, and her daughter all but dove into them, wrapping her own around her waist. “I’ll always be here for you, you know that.”

“I know.” Buffy pulled back, forcing a small smile. She nodded, took a shaky breath and moved to the microwave, opening the bag and pouring its contents into the mug before setting it inside and setting the timer.

“And honey?” Joyce paused in the doorway.

“Yeah, Mom?”

“What you’re doing for Spike? It’s the right thing, Buffy.”

Buffy nodded again, her hand gripping the meat thermometer tightly.
 

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“Here, I figured you’d need this.” Buffy had found the vampire almost exactly where she’d left him, only he’d moved to the two-seater to join Dawn. Or was forced there by the youngest Summers. His hand was clenched over the end of the chair’s arm as usual, his other resting uncertainly in his lap.

Dawn was sitting next to him, but with what seemed to be as much distance as possible between them, thumbing nervously through a magazine. She glanced at her sister every few moments before her eyes darted to Spike, and Buffy could tell that her little sister had tried and failed to create a light-hearted atmosphere in the Summers home.

Spike’s head rose as soon as he heard her voice, although, as a vampire, he must have heard her enter the room long before.

“It’s blood.” Buffy explained, and pressed the cup carefully into his outstretched hand. He took it and held it to his mouth, but didn’t drink. “Pig’s blood. Ninety-eight point six, right?”

Spike nodded, the edge of the mug brushing his lips as he muttered, “Thanks, love.”

The Slayer bit her lip, turning away as he swallowed down the blood, the action a reminder of her argument with Xander. Dawn glanced up at her and threw her an almost uncharacteristically empathetic smile, before standing, muttering an excuse and leaving the room.

“Scared away the nibblet, have I?” Spike asked, sitting back. “Wondered how long it’d be before she’d crack.”

Buffy sighed, taking his empty mug and setting it down on the coffee table and then sitting down next to it. “She’s just... having a trouble adjusting to the idea.”

“I know, Slayer. She’s having a hard time with it. But it’s not her fault.”

Buffy glanced up then, her eyes having been fixed on the floor. A small smile formed on her lips, and she ducked her head. “She feels bad all the same.”

Spike sat up, leaning his body forward instead of against the back. He reached forward and shakily found her knee, patting it awkwardly. His face was turned to face just over her shoulder. “’S natural, pet. Doesn’t mean it’s her fault.”

Buffy’s smile became wry, and she glanced down at the hand on her knee. Realising the contact, she jumped to standing, almost knocking over the coffee table in the process. He pulled back, and she could see the slightest crease to his forehead. She brushed hair behind her ear, flustered before taking another step back.

As soon as she’d seen his worry, she felt terrible for her reaction, but she couldn’t help the repeated ringing of Xander’s argument in her head. He was a vampire, not a guy. Not Riley. Something in Buffy broke, and she scowled. Who was Xander to dictate the way she handled the situation? She tightened her jaw and stepped forward, taking Spike’s arm. He started, as usual, but stood carefully. “C’mon. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

 
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Willow was on her way out the door as she heard the phone ring, followed by her own cheery voice informing the caller whose dorm room they had reached. She smiled as the machine reminded her of who she shared a room with and who she was going to meet, having slept in after the late night researching.

She thought about leaving it to the machine, but with all that was going on with Buffy and Spike’s new problem, she picked up. “Hello?”

“Willow? It’s Xander.”