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.
 
 
 
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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’.”
 
 
 
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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?
 
 
 
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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.
 
 
 
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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….
 
 
 
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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!