Chapter 2: Starting Over

Buffy hit the front porch at top speed, barely skidding to a stop in time to unlock the door before she ran right through it. Spike tumbled into the foyer behind her, rain sluicing off his leather coat into puddles on the floor.

“Spike! You’re getting water all over the place!” she cried, trying to shove him back outside. He rolled his eyes and shrugged out of his duster, leaving it draped over a chair on the porch before he came back inside. The sight of her stopped him in his tracks. The rain had plastered her cotton blouse to her body, and he could see every curve as easily defined as if she were naked. Swallowing hard, he suppressed a groan as he closed the front door behind him and leaned back against it. He pressed one hand lightly against the front of his own wet t-shirt, feeling the spot on his chest where her hot little hand had been when she pushed him out the door. It still burned. He shifted his weight, hoping she wouldn’t notice his growing arousal through the rain-soaked denim.

Buffy pushed her wet hair out of her face and tried to pull her clingy clothes away from her body, all too aware of Spike’s wandering eyes. She crossed her arms self-consciously over her chest. “C’mon,” she said, unnecessarily brusque. “Upstairs.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Spike replied in a low, sexy voice, which earned him a dirty look from the Slayer. She sooo didn’t need that right now. Just the way he was looking at her, drinking her in as if she were a mirage in the desert, was enough to send shivers down her spine. She firmly refused to acknowledge the possible implications of her reaction as she led him into her bedroom. “Take off your clothes,” she said, wincing at the poor choice of words that had slipped out, and she hastened to add, “I’ll throw them in the dryer.”

“Always happy to oblige, love,” said Spike, using the same sultry tone.

“Could you knock off the sexual innuendo? I’ll find you something to wear.”

“Not my fault, pet. You’re the little dominatrix, ordering me to strip.”

Buffy ignored him and rummaged through her drawers, trying to find clothes that would fit Spike – not an easy task for a tiny girl like herself. Finally, she pulled out a T-shirt and tossed it to him. It was light pink and had kittens on the front, along with the name of a beach she’d never been to. She vaguely remembered her father bringing it back for her as a souvenir of a trip he’d taken, probably with his secretary-slash-girlfriend. The girlishness of the design merely served to underscore how detached Hank was from his daughter. Buffy wouldn’t have been caught dead in that shirt, not even at Dawn’s age.

Spike stared at her. “You remember I’m a vampire, right?” Kittens, he thought indignantly. Bloody kittens playing on the beach. God, she must be loving this.

“Sorry,” Buffy replied, though she was really more amused than apologetic. “It’s the biggest shirt I have.”

“It’s fine.” The expression on Spike’s face indicated it was anything other than fine. “But all the other vampires are gonna think I’m a poofter.”

She handed him a pair of gray sweatpants. “You can change in the bathroom.”

Changed into dry clothes herself, Buffy met Spike in the hallway and had to suppress a giggle. Even though they were the loosest clothes she owned, the kitten T-shirt was still a little too tight and the sweatpants a smidge too short on Spike. On the other hand, he’d towel-dried his hair and it was now messy and curly and pretty sexy.

No! she chastised herself. Not sexy. Because Spike? Evil. Not sexy. Not… oh, give it up, Buffy. The man is sex on legs. You’re not fooling anyone.

“Quiet, you,” he growled, halting both her audible giggles and her inner monologue. “I’m bloody glad I don’t have a reflection right now.” He dumped his wet clothes into Buffy’s outstretched arms and followed her downstairs.

Spike headed into the kitchen to put on a pot of water for tea while Buffy went down to the basement to stick the clothes in the dryer. “Don’t shrink ’em!” he called after her, as he set about getting mugs and teabags out of the cupboards as easily as if he lived there. The water was boiling when Buffy returned, and he fixed her a mug and handed it to her as she leaned on the island in the middle of the kitchen.

“Here you are, love. One cup of steaming English goodness. Warm you right up.”

Buffy idly thought that he could just as easily have been talking about himself as the tea, and she felt a little tingly. Then the idea of Spike warming her up caused her to wrinkle her nose in alarm. Didn’t we just go over this? she asked herself. She wasn’t supposed to have those kinds of thoughts about Spike, particularly not ones accompanied by tingles of any sort. She quickly took a gulp of her tea to hide her reaction, and nearly choked as it scalded her mouth and throat.

“Told you it was hot,” Spike said. Buffy let out a hmmph in response.

They stood in silence for a while, sipping their tea and listening to the rain pounding on the roof. The sound was repetitive and calming, and Buffy remembered why she had sought out Spike for comfort after her friends brought her back. Unlike her friends, Spike understood her need for silence.

Draining her mug, Buffy peered out the window. “It doesn’t look like stopping anytime soon.”

“’S all right. I’ll build the ark, you gather the animals.”

Buffy smiled. “I think you’re supposed to do that before it starts raining.” She hesitated. “What I meant was… you probably shouldn’t go back out in that.”

Spike arched his eyebrows. “You inviting me to spend the night, pet?”

“I can’t send you out in the pouring rain. Even if you are a vampire. I mean, after the whole saving my life thing, it would just be rude.”

Spike tilted his head to one side, gazing at her intently. It was the first time she’d mentioned the incident on the bluff. He knew a lot had gone on that night beyond just the dragon slaying, but if there’d been some battling of emotional demons as well, she didn’t seem to want to talk about it. It was enough for him that she seemed to have regained a little of the spirit she had before she died.

He smiled, taking her cup and placing it in the sink along with his. “I can sleep on the couch.”

Buffy shook her head. “That’s silly. You can sleep upstairs.” Even as she said it, her stomach lurched a bit at the idea of Spike sleeping in her mother’s room. She didn’t know why – it hadn’t bothered her as much when Willow and Tara lived there.

Nevertheless, she led him upstairs and eased open the door. As she flicked on the lights, she heard Spike say quietly, “Just like old times, then.”

“What?” She froze. When the hell did Spike sleep here?

Spike’s jaw dropped as he realized what he’d said. “Right after you… well, I wouldn’t let Niblet out of my sight, so I – I just… Not good for a little thing like her, being alone at night.” He’d basically moved in, unwilling to leave Dawn alone for even a single night, but he tried to make it seem like less of a big deal, since Buffy clearly knew nothing about it. If Dawn hadn’t mentioned it, it was probably because the Slayer wouldn’t approve.

Buffy nodded slowly, taking in the information. She’d had no idea. She knew Spike took care of Dawn after she died, but for some reason the idea of him sleeping in the house never occurred to her.

“Of course, then Red decided it’d be best if she lived here.” He realized he sounded a little bitter, so quickly added, “She was right, of course. I mean, if anyone found out what I was, they’d probably take Dawn away.” He smiled sheepishly. “But sometimes I miss my Little Bit, you know?” He didn’t tell her the whole truth – that he was so wracked with grief and remorse, and was so afraid of something happening to Dawn, that since he’d moved back to his crypt he couldn’t catch a decent day’s sleep until Buffy came back.

Buffy was about to respond when Spike crept quietly to the door that led to Dawn’s room. He eased it open slowly and peeked in. Dawn was sound asleep, curled into a peaceful question mark. He slipped to the side of the bed, bent down and kissed her cheek. She shifted slightly and let out a small whimper at his cool touch, but didn’t wake up. As Spike slipped out of the room again, he couldn’t hide the small smile that had snuck onto his face. Buffy watched him in awe, realizing that he’d probably done that on many nights while she’d been gone. He was so tender with her sister, it almost made her forget he was a vampire.

It still amazed her that she was able to do that, to forget what he was and see him as a person. She tried to think back, to remember when that had changed so profoundly. She recalled the soft, tragic tenderness on his face, his voice breaking when he’d told her, “I know I’m a monster… but you treat me like a man.” She’d known by then that he truly loved her. For all her protestations at first – which were quite justified, in her opinion, since he did have her chained to the wall and was threatening to let Drusilla kill her – those final days had proved to her the depth of his feelings. When it seemed like the whole world was against her, when she felt its weight bearing down on her shoulders and none of her friends could lift the burden – there he was, willing to die to save her and her sister – something utterly unthinkable for a vampire. And so it was that when she invited him inside that last night, allowed him to resume his rightful place fighting by her side, when she asked him to protect Dawn, she couldn’t help wondering if there was something more between them than just the trust and respect of allies.

As it turned out, it didn’t matter, because she died, and that effectively ended any chance of anything developing further between them. But he’d taken the promise he made and clung to it, fiercely guarding Dawn as a substitute for the one he couldn’t save. And he’d guarded her too, once she was alive again. He’d been the only one she could turn to, and somehow, she’d let him in, let him get close, building a friendship she’d vehemently denied herself before.

Maybe coming back was a chance to start over.

Spike noticed her watching him and tilted his head to one side. “You all right, love?”

“Yeah.” Buffy smiled, pulling herself out of her reverie. “I’m fine.”

He nodded. “I’ll say goodnight, then.” He waited, expecting her to go, but instead of turning away she suddenly grew serious.

“I never said thank you,” she said. “For what you did – for Dawn. While I was – over the summer.”

He opened his mouth to respond, to shrug it off as less than it was, but she kept on, not giving him the chance. “For what you did for me, too. After I came back. Not just – not just the Cliffs of Insanity heroics. All of it.” She closed the distance between them, her hand coming to rest on his cheek, her hazel eyes peering up at him with such intensity. “I don’t think I would’ve made it, if you hadn’t –”

She broke off suddenly, as though whatever courage was powering her had abruptly shut off and left her trembling in front of him. He reached up to cover her hand with his, gently pulling it towards his lips. He pressed a soft kiss to her palm before letting her go. “Goodnight, love.”

I’ve been looking for something
Something I’ve never seen
We’re all looking for something
Something to be