full 3/4 1/2   skin light dark       
 
The Sharing Game by stuffandnonsense
 
Set II: questions 19-24
 
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“Do you depend on me entirely for food?” Spike asked, looking into her barren fridge. “There’s still leftovers from the last time I was here.”
 
Buffy peeked under his arm. “Oh, that’s newer than last week. I just got the same thing again.”
 
He groaned. “Please tell me your Slayer mojo protects your arteries. D’you even remember what a vegetable looks like?”
 
Buffy laughed. “I eat salads all the time.”
 
Spike snorted. “Never seen the evidence.”
 
“That’s ‘cause I get them from the deli ‘round the corner and they’re too good to share.”
 
He shut the fridge door, and leaned back against it to look at her, one eyebrow raised. “No food, no booze, no blood. Do I need to start doin’ your shopping again?”
 
She picked up a plastic quart bag from the counter and waved it at him. “This’s been defrosting since you got here. There’s more in the freezer. Along with a month’s worth of dinners in tupperware, courtesy of the last time you were expressing your inner Mrs Lovett.”
 
“Oi!” He reached out to grab the bag. “No people in my pies.”
 
Their fingers brushed as he took it from her hands – something that had happened a thousand times before – but somehow this was different. Their eyes met, and they just stood there, fingers semi-entwined around a cold, wet, dripping bag of not-quite-defrosted blood.
 
Spike pulled away first, a smile hovering over his lips, and turned to put the bag in her microwave.
 
“It was freeing, you know?” Buffy said, hoisting herself up to sit on the counter – the only really comfortable way for two people to fit into her tiny kitchen. “I don’t think I said that before, but the day I finally accepted there’s a little bit of monster in me, it was like this huge weight lifting off me….”
 
He turned back from the humming microwave to stare at her incredulously.
 
“Yeah, I know. Totally speechless-making, right? But I spent years thinking some kind of Slayer psycho-whatsis was taking me over, or that all the violence in my life was somehow rubbing off on me. But eventually I got it: I just get angry sometimes, and the only thing that’ll fix it is beating the hell out of something until the only pain left is the bloody knuckles.” She grinned. “You have no idea how much easier everything got once I started doing that.”
 
He cocked his head to one side. “That really true?”
 
She rolled her eyes. “Jeez, Spike, you of all people oughtta know my most taboo f-word is ‘feelings’. I’m not gonna make stuff up just to tell you.”
 
He laughed. “So what’re we drinkin’?”
 
Buffy frowned. “I should still have the rest of that whiskey you brought to my party….”
 
He shook his head. “We drank it – watchin’ the Hellboy films.”
 
“Oh. Yeah. Ummmm, there might be something in that bottom cupboard?”
 
She watched him root around until he came back up, victorious, with a bottle of red. “Thought you hated Italian,” he said, looking at the label.
 
“I’m a big girl now,” Buffy said seriously. “I can make taste compromises for the sake of the greater booze.”
 
He ostentatiously brushed dust off the bottle.
 
She shrugged. “It was a gift.”
 
Smirking, he opened a drawer and got out the bottle opener.
 
While he cut off the foil, Buffy twisted towards the cupboard next to her and pulled out a couple of the mini mason jars with handles that Xander had bought her as a housewarming gift. They were her favourites because you could throw them across the room and they wouldn’t break. Her life didn’t lend itself to easily breakable things.
 
Spike pulled out the cork, and Buffy held the glasses out for him to pour wine.
 
Their eyes met as they clinked and sipped.
 
Buffy put hers down and cleared her throat. “Do you think, maybe, we could try and not have rules about what we can and can’t talk about anymore?”
 
He looked away and started scratching at the back of his neck. “Only ever meant to make things easier.”
 
Buffy took in a deep breath. “I get that you really needed to see that I could respect your boundaries. But I’ve done that now. Haven’t I?”
 
“Rules were never about you, Buffy,” Spike said sharply. His voice softened. “Just … didn’t want to talk about it.”
 
“Oh.” Part of her was relieved, but mostly she was embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to—”
 
He laughed bleakly. “World doesn’t revolve ‘round you. No matter how often you save it.”
 
The microwave pinged. It made her jump.
 
He put down his wine and turned back to the microwave. He poured the bag out into the quart-mug that had appeared in her kitchen right after his first visit. It was black and had ‘Bite Me’ printed across it in big dripping-blood letters.
 
She passed over her jar of burba weed. “Will you promise to tell me?” she asked.
 
“Tell you what?” he asked, stirring in the spice.
 
Before she could answer, he started drinking, swallowing the blood down in great, hungry, gulps. Buffy forgot, sometimes, that people-food couldn’t fill him up – not really.
 
“Nothing,” she said quickly.
 
He stopped drinking and gave her a ‘do you really think I’m that stupid?’ look.
 
“Everything, maybe? Just … I want us to keep talking like this. I don’t want to wait for years and then sit down one night and deal with all the stuff that’s going on now.”
 
“‘S a lot I don’t tell you,” Spike said slowly, holding his mug with both hands and staring into it.
 
“I know,” she said. “But I kinda always thought that was part of the whole me-and-boundaries-thing. And, hey, not about me anymore. So.”
 
He glared at her. “Look, I was always all about someone else. Always. But I came back and … and you were gone. Dawn was – everyone and everything I cared about was just gone. Nineteen days. Nineteen fuckin’ days!” He slammed his mug down on the counter. “And I was a ghost and all I had was Angel.” A giggle bubbled up. “I was…” His voice dropped to a whisper. “It was terrifying. On every level imaginable.”
 
“Oh, Spike,” Buffy said softly.
 
He laughed. “I was gone.” He slouched back against the counter, arms tight across his chest, staring at the floor.
 
Buffy slipped off the counter to stand in front of him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, reaching out and brushing her fingertips over his forearm. “I should’ve—”
 
“You thought I was dead,” he said, shaking off her hand. His gaze stayed firmly rooted to the floor. “My fault – never called,” he said quietly. “Should’ve found a way.”
 
She held his face with both hands; he still wouldn’t look up. “I should’ve come for you. Or waited. Something.” She stroked his cheeks with her thumbs. “We’re both all kinds of stupid.”
 
He very gently took her hands in his. “When we started talking again, I thought I might lose myself. But I can’t go back to that. I can’t go back to where I don’t exist because you’re not in the room.”
 
“Never gonna happen,” Buffy said, lacing her fingers through his. “Keep taking whatever space you need. And don’t tell me everything. Just … please let me back in?”
 
Finally, he looked up. “Reckon I can do that.” He looked shaky, but his voice was firm.
 
She let go of his left hand to pick up her wine, but kept holding tight to his right. He let her lead him back to the living room, and down next to her on the sofa.
 
It felt weird.
 
He’d slept there a fair few times, when it was too close to sunup or he was too drunk to go home. But they’d never, ever, sat on it together. It was his chair and her sofa. Always.
 
Buffy carefully balanced her wine on the arm so she didn’t have to let go of his hand to pick up the questionnaire. “You ready?”
 
He nodded and swallowed half his wine in one gulp.
 
“Okay.... If you knew that in one year you would die suddenly—
 
They both exploded into fits of laughter. By the time they’d recovered, they lay sprawled out over the sofa, floppy and breathless and suddenly it was just them again, hanging out, like they did most nights. The fear and fragility was gone.
 
“You happy?” Spike asked lazily, turning his head towards her without lifting it from the cushion.
 
They weren’t holding hands anymore, but her knee was touching his thigh, and it felt natural in a way that the hand-holding had not.
 
Buffy nodded. “Content, anyway. My life feels like it’s really mine for the first time. Dawn’s grown up. The rest of the world has a gazillion other slayers to look after it. I get to live for me now.”
 
His eyes roved around the room. “Still in California, though; still out killin’ what goes bumpy in the night. Not much has changed.”
 
“Maybe, but … everything I have now, I chose. I tried not slaying and I know that I never, ever, want to try it again. I’ve travelled all over, but I came back here because it feels like home.” She took a sip of her wine. “It might all change again down the line, but for right now … I like my life.”
 
“‘M glad. You deserve that.”
 
“How about you?”
 
He shrugged. “Like you say, content.”
 
She smirked. “That all you have to say?”
 
He pursed his lips. “What more d’you want?”
 
“Do you really want everything to be the same a year from now?” She thought about asking him if he wanted them to be the same in a year, but she wasn’t quite brave enough. Not yet.
 
“There somethin’ you want to change,” he downed the rest of his wine, “in particular?” He’d wanted to say ‘about us’, but … hadn’t.
 
“No,” Buffy said firmly. “I was thinking more, um, are you seeing anyone right now?”
 
He blinked. “Not at the moment, no.” Not for … nearly a year now. But she didn’t need to know that. Did she?
 
Buffy felt a great rush of relief and it terrified her.
 
“You’ve never asked before,” he said slowly.
 
“Nope. But since I tell you everything about the never-ending car crash that is my love life, and you never say a word about yours, I kinda thought,” Buffy blushed, “that maybe you didn’t trust me not to be weird about it? I used to get kinda weird about you sleeping with people who weren’t me.”
 
Spike nodded. “Weird’s one way to describe it … homicidal’s another.”
 
Her blush turned a little darker. “I don’t want you to worry about how I’ll react to stuff.”
 
He sighed. “‘M sorry you thought I didn’t trust you. Would’ve never told you ‘bout bein’ human – or Dru – if I didn’t trust you. Never spoken to anyone else about that stuff. Ever.” He looked slightly shamefaced. “Don’t talk much ‘bout the, er, the other ‘cause you an’ I don’t talk about sex, and there’s precious little else to tell.”
 
“So, what, Mr Monogamous is some kind of man-whore now?” Buffy said, half-gleeful, half-shocked.
 
“Not quite so bad as all that,” Spike said with an awkward chuckle. Then he shrugged. “I’m no good at being alone. Never have been.”
 
“But you’re not alone,” she said, confused and a little hurt. “You’ve got me.”
 
“This may be the best and closest friendship I’ve ever known, Buffy,” Spike said, a trifle more harshly than he’d intended, “but I’ve never mistaken it for havin’ you.”
 
“Oh,” she said quietly, abashed. She wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Then the rest of what he’d said penetrated. “This is really the best friendship you’re ever known?”
 
“Course it bloody is!” He glared at her. “Can count the number of people ‘ve called friend on one hand and we’ve paid in blood a thousand times over for this – for us – to keep somethin’. Course it means everythin’ to me.”
 
Buffy grinned. “I … you mean everything to me, too.”
 
Spike looked poleaxed.
 
“Next question?” Buffy asked brightly.
 
He nodded, still looking dazed.
 
What does friendship mean to you?
 
They both laughed.
 
“So much for a subject change,” Buffy said wryly.
 
“Never really had friends ‘til the last few years,” Spike said thoughtfully. “Contacts, acquaintances,” he grimaced, “family. Always thought … thought that love should be enough, you know? Like … like having anyone outside of it is cheatin’.”
 
“Yeah,” Buffy snorted. “Somebody still has over-commitment issues.”
 
“Just ‘cause you’re bloody phobic about it.…” He made a face at her. “Seriously, though, you’re the one made me think there might actually be a point in havin’ friends.”
 
“Whatever happened to Clem?” Buffy asked suddenly.
 
Spike frowned. “Dunno. He got out of Sunnydale – know that much. Not heard from him since.”
 
“I liked Clem,” Buffy said.
 
“And me.”
 
Buffy took another sip of wine. “You once told me it was my friends that made me different from other Slayers – that they kept me alive. You were right: for me, friendship is survival.”
 
“Makes the unbearable bearable,” he said quietly.
 
He picked up the wine bottle from where he’d left it on the floor and refilled their glasses.
 
Buffy sighed. “I also like the part where your friends will forgive you, no matter what. That’s save-the-world-tastic.”
 
He wondered who she was talking about. Herself? Him? Someone else entirely? “You forgiven all your Scooby mob?” he asked. “You don’t talk much about ‘em anymore.”
 
“That’s ‘cause you hate them.”
 
“Do not.”
 
She raised her eyebrows.
 
“What,” he said, laughing. “I’m not allowed to move on?”
 
“I believe you,” she said, tipping her glass towards him. “Thousands wouldn’t.”
 
They smiled at each other.
 
“We still talk and everything,” Buffy continued. “No lingering ‘issues’. But … we don’t have much everyday stuff in common anymore. I know that when we do see each other it’ll be like no time has passed. But until then? They’re not so much in my life anymore.”
 
Spike nodded in understanding. “Got one or two like that. You go through enough with someone … know you can click back any time, but there’s nothin’ pulling you together anymore.”
 
“I made all my friends through slaying,” Buffy said thoughtfully. “I never really thought about that before. It’s actually kinda depressing.”
 
“Not like you’ve ever had time for anything else,” Spike said. “And that dance of ‘so what do you do for a livin’?’ must get a bit awkward with outsiders.”
 
“I guess. But … I really did do the non-slaying gig for a while.” She frowned. “Shouldn’t I have at least one outside friendship by now?”
 
Spike smiled. “Maybe when you go back an’ finish that degree.”
 
“Maybe.” She folded back the next question. “What roles do love and affection play in your life?
 
Spike laughed. “Christ! What a question.”
 
“They scare me,” Buffy said seriously.
 
“Still?”
 
She nodded.
 
“Would’ve thought … you seem different now. More sure of yourself. That last bloke you were seein’ was alright, wasn’t he?”
 
Buffy hooted with laughter. “That was, like, a year ago!”
 
Spike’s eyes widened. “That long?” He hadn’t thought about it, but … yeah. It had been a long time since Buffy had even talked about going on a date.
 
Buffy nodded, still smiling. “Poor Matt never had a hope.”
 
Spike cocked his head to one side. “Why’s that, then?”
 
“You.”
 
He looked terrified. “Buffy….”
 
“God, full of yourself much?” She giggled. “I don’t mean it like that. A visit from Willow would’ve done the same.”
 
“You wanna unvague that a bit for me?”
 
She grinned. “I realised I’d said more to you over one dinner than I had in six months of dating Matt. That wasn’t fair to him, so I ended it.”
 
Spike visibly relaxed. “Like I keep tellin’ you: bleedin’ tragic taste in men. Need to let someone else pick the next one.”
 
“I hope that’s not an offer. I may have tragic taste, but at least I’ve had a few that never tried to kill me.”
 
“Oi!” He laughed. “Don’t reckon I’d be any good at matchmaking anyway.”
 
“You need it, don’t you?”
 
He frowned. “Need what?”
 
“Love and affection. Like babies get sick without enough touch – what is it they call it?” She thought for a second. “Failing to thrive!”
 
He smiled warily. “‘M no baby.”
 
She turned serious. “But you do need it, don’t you?” She started tracing patterns on the sofa cushion.
 
He shrugged. “Always been Love’s Bitch,” he said lightly.
 
She wanted to ask him if he was in love with anyone, but she wasn’t brave enough. It was true what she’d said – breaking up with Matt had only been very indirectly because of Spike. But she had to admit to herself that the continuing absence of a Matt-sequel was more directly his fault. The last couple years, either he’d calmed down or she’d got better at following his rules – she still wasn’t sure which – and hanging out together had gone from a day or two whenever Spike was in between bolts to once a week, then twice, then most nights, and without even noticing it she’d just stopped looking. There wasn’t enough space in her life for another close relationship.
 
She wished she knew if Spike felt the same way. What did ‘not at the moment’ mean?
 
Buffy folded back the next question. “Alternate sharing something you consider a positive characteristic of your partner. Share a total of five items.”
 
“Total of five each? Or five across both of us?”
 
Buffy shrugged. “It says ‘total of five items’. Wouldn’t it say ‘each’ if it meant ‘each’?”
 
“S’pose.”
 
“I’ll start: you’re really brave when it comes to your feelings.”
 
He smiled wryly. “Not sure how true that is, these days.”
 
She shrugged. “Braver than me.”
 
Everyone’s braver’n you emotionally. Hardly a positive characteristic.”
 
“Hey! You’re supposed to say something nice.”
 
He looked at her consideringly. “You expect great things from everyone around you – and you inspire them to rise to meet those expectations.”
 
Buffy shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah … not so much these days. General Buffy is pretty much retired.”
 
“Not talkin’ ‘bout that – though it’s true enough. Talkin’ ‘bout the great things you expected from me when no one in their right mind would’ve.”
 
“What did I ever expect from you?”
 
“Humanity.”
 
Buffy’s face crinkled up in confusion. “Huh?”
 
He grinned. “Got angry when I acted like a monster, didn’t you? No one else did – never occurred to them to expect anythin’ better.”
 
“Oh,” Buffy said. “I didn’t … I never thought about it like that, but … yeah, okay.”
 
He smirked. “Right then, tell me another of my positive characteristics!”
 
Grinning, Buffy said, “You change. You don’t hold on to things long after you should let them go.”
 
Spike frowned. “Know that’s not true.”
 
Buffy smiled. “My next one was gonna be: but you never let go of people, even when you probably should.”
 
Spike didn’t quite know how to take that. Did she mean she didn’t want him to let go of her? Or did she think he already had and that that was a good thing? It occurred to him that a kick of that emotional bravery wouldn’t go amiss just now. “Stuck with the last one, now, am I?”
 
She nodded smugly.
 
He took in a deep breath. “You love, with everything you have, even when it kills you.”
 
“I do not,” Buffy said sharply.
 
“Dawn,” Spike said softly. “Was thinking of Dawn.”
 
“Oh,” Buffy said, surprised. “Well … you’re still delusional. I’m all stunted-growth-girl with the love.” She wagged a finger at him. “And everyone but you recognises this.”
 
He smiled. “Know you like to think so – let other people think so. Keeps you safe.”
 
She frowned. “I am so over safe. Matt was safe.”
 
“So why hasn’t there been anyone since?”
 
“I’ve been busy,” Buffy said lamely, barely believing herself anymore. Even though that’s exactly how she would’ve answered if someone had asked her that an hour ago.
 
“Right,” Spike said, nodding sagely. “Course you have.”
 
Buffy cleared her throat and rustled her paper. “How close and warm is your family? Do you feel your childhood was happier than most other people’s?” Buffy looked over at him expectantly.
 
He frowned in concentration. “I was loved as a child – really loved. Was my mum’s whole world. So, warm, yes, and very close.” He took a sip of wine. “Not sure I’d describe it as happy, though.”
 
“How come?”
 
He smiled grimly. “Was the youngest of four, and the only one to make double digits.”
 
“I’m sorry.”
 
He shrugged. “Long time ago, now. Can’t even rightly remember the others’ faces anymore.”
 
“My cousin died, when I was nine. She was like my sister. I know it’s not the same, but….”
 
“You get it,” he said, nodding.
 
“Your dad died before you were born, right?”
 
“When I was a baby, but he’d been away for a while when he died.”
 
Buffy struggled with the thought of Spike as a baby. It just seemed wrong. “So, do you have daddy issues, too?”
 
He grinned. “Nah. Grand-daddy issues, now….”
 
“Ha ha.”
 
“Your childhood must’ve been pretty alright, though, hey?”
 
Buffy shrugged. “It’s … it’s weird. I kind of have two sets of memories of my childhood now – one with Dawn, one without. But either way, I wouldn’t describe it as warm. Or happy.”
 
Spike frowned. “Can’t imagine Joyce bein’ cold.”
 
Buffy smiled. “You didn’t know her way back when. She mellowed a lot, post-divorce. Well, post-post-divorce-drinking, anyway.”
 
“Seriously?”
 
Buffy nodded. “In retrospect? I think she just got caught up in the society lifestyle stuff – parties and charities and all that. When I was little, Dad was the one I was closest to. He was actually around on weekends and he really used to care, you know? I was never so sure of Mom.” She shrugged. “That all changed after I was called. Turned out Dad wasn’t so interested in screw-up-daughter. Mom was, though. She really stepped up.” Buffy sighed. “That’s one of the things I’d like to talk to her about. She … she didn’t always do a great job, but oh man, did she try.” Buffy laughed. “Even when she was still telling me I could abandon the Hellmouth for college and look forward to ‘some day’ when I’d finally get a normal life complete with a fulfilling office job and a picket fence and babies and stuff.”
 
“Any of that actually an option for you?”
 
Buffy grinned. “Seriously? Can you imagine me ever being fulfilled by an office job? And a picket fence might be handy for stakes in a pinch, but otherwise….”
 
Spike remained serious – grave, even. “No. Was thinkin’ ‘bout the babies.”
 
She rubbed her hands over her thighs, scrambling for a plausible lie – a change of subject, something. But she left it too long, and he read the answer from the tension in her body.
 
“Knew you never, um … you know, bled,” he said, so softly it was almost a whisper.
 
She smiled weakly. “You would notice that.”
 
“Did Joyce know you can't?”
 
Buffy shook her head.
 
“You ever tell anyone?”
 
“Not ‘til now,” she said softly.
 
“You shouldn’t’ve had to go through that alone.”
 
Buffy shrugged. “When I found out for sure, there wasn’t anyone around to tell, and by the time there was … I didn’t want a pity party.
 
“I’m sorry.”
 
“I’ve made my peace with it.”
 
He stared at her. “You’re a good mum, you know.”
 
“What?” She laughed. “I don’t – what are you—?”
 
“Saw Dawn through to adulthood, didn’t you?” Spike pointed at Buffy with his wine jar. “An’ she’s pro’ly the least fucked up out of anyone you or I know.”
 
“Not sure she’d agree with you there. She keeps threatening me with therapy bills.”
 
“Laugh all you want, Summers. I know you. You’re a good mum.”
 
“Hmmmm. Ready for the last question?”
 
He nodded.
 
She folded down the paper and started laughing again.
 
“What?”
 
How do you feel about your relationship with your mother? Guess I’m done.”
 
Spike looked almost sick. “I’m not.”
 
Buffy shot him a quizzical look.
 
“There’s stuff I never told you – about the First’s trigger. About the night I let Wood live.” He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.
 
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Buffy said gently, meaning it.
 
He smiled tightly. “I know. But … now we’ve started, ‘d rather keep goin’.” He smiled. “Might not be brave enough to tell you later.”
 
“Spike … you’ve gotta stop expecting the worst from me. Have I ever got judge-y at you the last couple years?”
 
He shrugged. “Know that here,” he indicated his head. “But … always feel like I’m waitin’ for the other shoe to drop with you. Always been steps back for every last inch forward. Hard habit to break, expectin’ the worst.”
 
“Whatever it is, I will be okay with it. I know you. I trust you.” She paused. “I’m not looking for reasons to hate you anymore. I haven’t been for a long time. If anything, I’m looking for reasons to—” She stopped and picked up his free hand in both of hers. “You can tell me now, or later, or not at all. It’s okay. Whatever you need.”
 
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “When I met Dru, my mum was sick – months to live at most.” He opened his eyes. “I wanted … thought if I turned her, she’d be free. Like I was.” He looked straight at Buffy, challenging. “Becoming a vampire was the best thing that ever happened to me an’ I wanted to share it with her.”
 
Buffy didn’t even flinch, she just held onto him a little tighter.
 
“Only … only she took to freedom a bit different.” Spike looked down at where her hands held his. “Came on to me, first.”
 
Buffy winced sympathetically.
 
“Then she ripped into every single insecurity I’d ever had. Finally she tried to put me out of her misery.” He laughed. “Staked her five minutes after she rose.”
 
“Oh, god,” Buffy whispered. “That’s … that’s awful.”
 
He started laughing again. “Yeah,” he said. He was trying to fold the corners of his mouth down, to stop laughing, but he couldn’t quite manage it.
 
“I’m so, so sorry.”
 
He looked up at her and saw nothing but compassion. The laughter stopped. “You really are, aren’t you?”
 
“Spike … I know exactly what it’s like to watch someone lose their soul. I know what it’s like to have to kill someone you love.” She shifted a little closer to him. “It’s not something you ever get over.”
 
He frowned grimly. “Had to. It was – the First’s trigger was somethin’ my mum used to sing to me.”
 
“And that’s why – so, wait, what happened when you and Robin were fighting?”
 
Spike sighed. “Wood was tryin’ to convince himself his mum wasn’t the Slayer first an’ a mum last. Made me realise mine could never have – knew it couldn’t’ve been her anymore.”
 
“I can’t say I’m sorry you’re one of the freaky ones who was still the same person after.”
 
“Wasn’t.” He stared into her eyes. “You’d’ve despised the man I was. Just … maybe I don’t let go quite right, like you said.”
 
Buffy rolled her eyes. “My point is that you could still love, even without a soul and it sounds like your mom couldn’t. Like Angel … and Charlie’s sister. How do you feel about her now?”
 
Spike frowned, staring down at his hands. “Been dead a long time. Stopped thinkin’ ‘bout her after I staked her.”
 
“Ya-huh. You don’t actually expect me to believe that, do you?”
 
He smiled. “No, but … let me pretend I do?”
 
“I can do that.” Buffy rearranged her legs, accidentally brushing her foot across his knee. She waited for him to react, but … nothing. “So d’you wanna go on to set three?”
 
Spike shook his head. “‘S late.”
 
Buffy’s face fell. “Oh, sure.”
 
He put his wine down, and reached out to yank on a strand of her hair. “Not saying I’m leavin’.” He laid his hand over hers and settled a bit deeper into the sofa. “Just … reckon we’ve done enough heavy talk for one night.”
 
“Oh,” Buffy said, smiling. “Okay.”
 
He jerked his head towards the TV in a silent question.
 
She nodded. “We’re still not watching Juno, though.”
 
 
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