Hannah,

Knowing your mother, I'm not at all surprised she decided to tell you a version of the tale of how she and your daddy fell in love filled with half-truths and well, flat out-non-truths (when I was your age, she had me convienced I'd been adopted from a group of spider monkeys). Being that you're the best, little niece on the planet, I'm writing this letter to you telling the whole story as it really happened.

As fate would have it, your mommy and daddy met at one of the most unlikeliest of places.



Two women, walking down a long, winding corridor, one speaking quickly to the other,

"But it says he was picked up for drunk and disorderly over on Tracie; why isn't this guy fighting off a hangover in the drunk tank down town?"

"Breathalyzer registered on the negative side of things." The redhead gave a brief shrug of her shoulders. "Poor guy was found going at it with a pimp."

Perfectly arched eyebrows quirked upwards. " 'Going at it'?"

"In the fist to fist capacity. Apparently our John Doe was offering to get dates for people..."

A smile formed on the blonde's lips. "And what pimp likes to have his toes stepped on?"

"Not any that I know."

They shared a laugh as they passed through a set of double doors only to end up in another long hallway.

"Wills, dealing with drunks who've decided to enter the competitive world of prostetution isn't exactly my territory. I've got a book to concentrate on -- an advance that I'm this close to returning because looking at love and romance from a scientific perspective, slowly becoming a font of no-inspiration."

Willow slowly reached out for the doorknob. "Something tells me in one second, no inspiration is not gonna be a problem any longer, Buffy."

A loud giggle emitted from the room as they entered; the two nurses standing on either side of the lean, bleached blonde man who casually sat on the examination table were practically fawning over him.

"You see this...?" he pointed to the card in his hand with disdain, "thanks to the bleeding corporate bastards of Hallmark, I'm a sodding winged baby! Does any part of me look infantile like to you ladies?" He waggled his eyebrows, lacivious grin on his lips and the nurses laughed in response. "You won't catch me in a diaper..."


Willow whispered in her friend's ear, "He thinks he's cupid." A Beat, "I want a credit on the 'Thank You' page of your next bestseller."

**

He had been in her presence for a grand total of three minutes. Three minutes and forty-nine seconds. She knew for a fact. She'd counted. And already, Dr. Buffy Summers -- consumate professional: wanted to snap his neck.

Grungy boots carelessly propped on her five-hundred dollar coffee table (cherry wood with a varnish to die for) were sure to leave scuff marks. Never mind the fact he'd completely ignored the cheery greeting she threw his way when he barged into her office; or that he'd scraped off the remains of black fingernail polish graciously brushing the flakes from his lap and onto the plush, white carpet below.

Oh. No. That was nothing compared to...

"There's no smoking in here," Buffy said as calmly as possible.

Taking a long drag off of the Marlboro Red between his fingers, he pursed his lips and blew the smoke out of his nose in perfect imitation of a dragon. "Right. Should've known you'd be one of those Nazi anti-smoking types; you know, ducks, you should put up signs -- clue a fellow in before he goes and lights one up."

Wordlessly, she pointed towards the door.

"Oh." he smiled sheepishly. "Well, that's kind of a bad spot to put one of those things, innit?" And without another word, the offending object found its self 'curtiously' rubbed out right on the shiny, cherry-wooded varnish of Buffy's beloved table.

Part of her wanted to cry. The rest wanted to see how far she could shove the clipboard handily resting on her desk, down his throat. All Buffy could manage, however, was a distressted twitch of her eye.

"Alright..." she began with a heavy sigh, "your name?"

"Cupid," he answered quickly.

"Your name?" The question was repeated without missing a beat.

"Eros." The response was equally as sharp.

"Your name?"

"The bleeding god of love," an eye roll, "are you getting this picture, pet?"

Putting down her pen, Buffy folded her arms over her chest. "I can do this all night."

Tongue curling behind his teeth he chuckled, "Best thing I've heard all day."

Emerald eyes narrowed into slits. "I'm going to kindly ask that you keep your tone with me strictly professional."

"Why?" he grinned. "My animal magnitism making you uncomfortable, luv?"

"No, it's making my skin crawl. And I'm not your 'luv'."

That elicited a snort.

"I wanna help you, but I can't do that..."

Both feet finally made it to the floor and with a serious look marring his features, he leaned forward. "You wanna help me?"

Buffy nodded. "Of course. That's what I'm here for."

"Then get me the hell outta here. You people are bollixing up my employment by keeping me locked up like a fucking prisoner!"


Smile curling on her pouty lips, Buffy pointed to herself. "Lets get one thing straight -- I am your ticket out of here. So, if you want a wardrobe that doesn't consist of hospital gown perriwinkle, I suggest you start cooperating." Pen in hand, her eyes returned to the stack of papers in front of her. "Now, your name?"

"The name..." he sighed heavily, "is Cupid. You stupid, bint."

After making what could only be described as an 'amazingly horrible' first impression, your dad was determined to show her he was a good man who had nothing but the utmost respect for women...



"What've you got there, luv?" A cheeky grin crossed his lips as the woman laid her cards on the table. "Ooh, a pair of three's -- tough break, kitten. And you're all out of socks; looks like the top's next..."

With a shy giggle she reached for the bottom of her shirt and -

"Hey, Cupid!" Arms folded, Xander Harris leaned against the rec room's door frame looking less than pleased. This guy had been at the hospital for all of two days and already was commandering a game of strip poker!

And hadn't bothered to invite him! "Get your clothes back on, Spanky before I write your crazy ass up. Dr. Summers is waiting."

Chair scraping loudly across the tiled floor, the bleached blonde climbed to his feet and grabbed a nearby robe. "Keep your shirt on, nurse-maid. You'll be back to changing bedpans in no time."

Xander's eyes narrowed at the Brit as he squeezed past him,

"I'm an orderly. Not a nurse."

A snicker. "Whatever you say, Nancy."

"They're two completely different things!"

"Sounds like someone's got masculine identity issues."

The brunette's feet skidded to a stop. "I do not have..."

"Which is too bad..." he began, head cocking to the side, "for Elsie."

"It is not too -- wait, what about Elsie?" Xander asked.

"Cute, little nurse, B - Wing, right?" he grinned.

"Yeah."

"Couldn't take her eyes off you, mate."

The orderly's mouth opened and closed in perfect imitation of a fish. "Get out."

He dramatically brought a hand over his heart. "Swear on my mum's life."

"Wow," Xander breathed. "I never would've guessed it -- but you know, I always felt we had some kind of connection..."

"Of course."

"So, uh -- what do I do? How do I approach her?" he rambled as they passed into another hallway.

"Feed her compliments, birds lap that kind of shit up." A beat, "Tell her -- tell her you love the way she smiles. That, the best part of your whole pathetic day is seeing her laugh. You might wanna leave out 'pathetic' though; give it a less stalker-y quality."

"Right, right..."

"And then..." he continued, "you wanna tell her how much you love looking at her silhouette when she dopes up the alzhimer's patients over by those bay windows at dawn."

Xander sighed dreamily. "She does look amazing by that window, with the ferns and the light." Suddenly, he shook his head. "But, I can't just walk up to her and say that. I talk, women immediately run in the other direction."

"Oh, piffle!" He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "The trick to most women is, as long as you're prattling on and on about them, they'll pay close attention."

"Is that right?" a mocking voice called from behind.

Floppy brown hair covered his eyes as Xander turned around with a nervous laugh. "Oh, hey, Buff! I was just -- uh, chatting up Cupid. You know, seeing what kind of insane you were up against - definitely not getting advice." With a low whistle he gave the 'crazy' signal as he slowly backed away. "Boy, you've got your hands full with this one. Well, I'm off to empty those bedpans I love so much..."

'We'll talk later,' he stealthily mouthed to the Brit before practically running down the hall.

With her hands placed firmly on her hips, Buffy's eyes rolled in her patient's direction and were met with an irritating smirk.

"Crack staff you got here, Doc," he chortled.

**

"So, how are things on Mt. Olympus?" Buffy said as patronizingly as possible.

With a snort, the man stopped pacing the room and made himself comfortable on the window sill.

"Good, I s'ppose. One non-stop clothing optional party, lots of wine and frolicking nymphs..." He trailed off as he cracked the window and began padding the pockets of his robe. Pulling out a pack of cigarettes, he slipped one between his lips, "If you could imagine."

She shrugged. "I saw Boogie Nights." Buffy looked up briefly from her notes, frowning. "And there's still no smoking in here."

Curiously, he quirked an eyebrow. "You'll breathe the shit out there but heaven forbid a lil second hand crosses your path."

"My lungs are fickle that way," she deadpanned. "So, why aren't you currently living it up with the nympths?

"At the expulsion hearing the blighters went on and on about me 'relearning my craft'." He rolled his eyes. "The state of romance and love, bladdy, blah, blah -- all a gigantic waste of time."

"Why's that?" Buffy asked.

Pausing thoughtfully, he let the cigarette rest between his pouty lips. "Ten couples -- I've got one bloody week to unite ten couples without the aid of my bow and arrow and then I can be let back in - to frolick or what have you."

Buffy quickly scribbled down some notes before looking up again. "Okay, so, Neptune - what's the word on him?"

"Cheap pillock." He took a long drag and exhaled, watching the smoke curl out the open window. "Gives me a team of oxen and a handful of sheep every year for my birthday."

Buffy stared at him blankly. "Not exactly the information I was looking for..."

"Neptune..." he began sighing heavily, "Jupiter's older brother, helped defeat the Titans, and rules the seas. Does a so-so job of it."

"Venus and Mars?"

He shot her a look over his shoulder. "Mum and Da -- come on, Doc."

Putting her pen down Buffy looked him directly in the eye. If he wanted a challenge, boy, she was going to give him one. "Romulus?"

"Founder of Rome."

Her teeth clenched. "Minotaur?"

"Nasty buggers," he grinned, "bull's head, man's body -- tends to leave a dump about this high in the middle of the streets."

Eyes narrowing, he casually left his perch on the window and Buffy leaned forward,

"Peleleous!" they shouted simultaniously.

"Theban leader during the Trojan War. Needs gastric bypass surgery."


Graduated at sixteen, the validictorian of her high school, went on to Harvard on a full scholarship and was third in her class -- the same could be said about her performance in graduate school. Through tremdous focus and determination, Buffy Summers nabbed her PhD in Psychology at the tender age of twenty-four and proudly had her own, successful practice in her home town of Sunnydale just three years later.

She was a contributing author to the likes of Cosmo and GQ on the subject of relationships. She was looked up to, respected, and was suddenly very willing to throw all of this away just to put the heel of her size seven Minlo Blahniks up 'Cupid's' ass.

"Fine," Buffy sighed throwing her hands in the air, "you know your mythology -- anyone with half a brain can crack a book. So, tell me, how did Psyche react when the gods booted you back to earth?"

"Who?"

She eyed him curiously. "Psyche. Your wife."

"Ohh..." he breathed deeply, running a hand through his platnium curls, "you mean Dru."

"Dru?"

"Nutter changed her name about a thousand years ago." He shook his head. "Didn't think 'Psyche' was dangerous enough for the likes of her..."

"Wheras 'Dru' strikes that certain fear in your heart," Buffy said with a snort.

Pausing briefly, he smiled - a geniune smile, regarding her. "You know, luv, your hair would look much better down."

Unconsciously Buffy's hand shot up to her ponytail. She scowled. "There's nothing wrong with my hair; and I'm not your 'luv'."

"Right." He nodded. "Anyway, Dru and I split a while ago."

"Cupid divorced!" she gasped in mock disblief. "Say it isn't so."

"Shit happens." He frowned. "Or in my case, butch water nymphs happen," a sigh, "I swear that chit was more manly than I am, and that's hard to do lady! Had a tattoo on under her chin that said 'untouched by man'. Pfft! As if any self respecting bloke would want to put his dick in..."

"Okay!" Buffy shouted throwing her hands up. "I get the picture!" Disgusted she made a face, "God you're a pig."


**

"In conclusion, after weeks of therapy, I believe this patient is no danger to himself or to others. Therefore I am reccomending to this competency committee his immdiate release. He has taken great strides in overcoming his delusional state and no longer believes he is Cupid."

"And yet you still have no idea of his true identity?"

Buffy swallowed the huge lump that had suddenly formed in her throat and gave the stuffy committee a weary smile. "Well...I..."

"It's William," he spoke up so sudden, the tiny blonde practically jumped out of her skin. "William Hale. Most people call me Spike."

"Spike?" Buffy asked quietly

His tongue curled behind his teeth in a lascivious smile. "Care to find out why, pet?"

"Not unless I'm currently unconscious," she ground out.

"Does he have any money? A place to stay?" one of the comittee members asked in earnest.

"Well, when we found him he had a total of forty seven dollars and fifty cents in his pocket," Buffy answered.

"Good enough for one cup of coffee at Starbucks," Spike snickered.

"He's right; that amount of money isn't going to get him anywhere in this town."

Buffy smiled brightly. "I'm sure he'll have no trouble finding employment..."

"Under the circumstances, Ms. Summers we believe Mr. Hale should be strictly under your care until it is proven he is able to function entirely on his own..."

Her face quicky fell. "But, Mr. Hale can fuction just fine on his own right now! He - he's a function machine!."

Spike stared at her blankly. "Who or what taught you how to talk."

"It's just..." Buffy continued desperately, "I've got a full case load as it is and..."

"It's obvious Mr. Hale would further improve if he was in your hands, Ms. Summers -- are you willing to accept this resonsiblity."

Hesitating, Buffy took a deep breath,

"Yeah. I guess."

Though you could say it wasn't entirely her decision, Buffy jumped at the chance to spend more time with Spike...



"Oh, no, no, no!"

Looking truly helpless, The blonde's bottom lip jutted out in a perfect pout as she stalked close on her friend's heels. "Come on, Xand! I've known you since I was five -- I used to play naked in the wading pool in your parents' backyard...!"

Xander stopped dead in his tracks vehemently shaking his head. "Nope -- you are not gonna use nakedness as a barganing chip! And, five year-old-Buffy nakedness at that!"

"I look up to you!" she cried desperately. "You're like my brother -- I would so do this for you if it were the other way around."

"Okay, first of all -- you look up to me?!" he laughed loudly. "Little miss Harvard McSmarty Pants?!"

Buffy rolled her eyes.

"Buff, I love you - you know that." He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "You're one of my best friends in the entire world, and I would do anything for you." A beat, "Except, let that psycho stay in my house."

"Xander, he's got no place else to go!" she groaned in frustration.

He shrugged. "So, get him a padded cell with a view. I'm not harboring any member of the criminally insane out-patient program."

"He's harmless," she huffed.

"If he's so harmless..." Xander began eyeing her wearily, "take him home with you."

"What are you damaged?!" Buffy looked horrified.

"That's what I thought," he scoffed.

Buffy worried her bottom lip between her teeth; she could feel her sanity slowly slipping away. That padded cell wasn't sounding all that bad...

"Besides, you know I can't," she sighed.

"They'll eat our little love monkey alive?" Xander grinned.

She frowned. "Exactly."


**

Hazel eyes peered out through the tiny slit in the venetian blinds. A squeal would be held back every time a pair of headlights that didn't swing into the driveway, rolled down the street. Those eyes left their watch for only a second to glance at the clock.

8:59 p.m...

A sigh, "Where is she?"

"Where's my cashmere sweater?!"
"How the hell should I know?"

9:02 p.m...

Finally! The sight of the black Explorer pulling into 1630 Revello's driveway caused the little boy to do the dance of joy in the middle of the living room. He loved his sisters (cause he had to of course) but being left alone with the two of them for long periods of time was never a good --

"You would know because you're always stealing my stuff!"
"I prefer to call it borrowing..."

They always seemed to be down each other's throats and there was only one way Andrew knew how to prevent the bloodshed (for now).

"Buffy's home!" the little boy yelled at the top of his lungs as he took off for the front door. Waisting no time, he quickly threw it open. "You're late," he said as sternly as possible complete with tiny hands on tiny hips.

Buffy shrugged with a smile as she walked inside. "Does this mean I'm on punishment?"

He paused thoughtfully. "I'll have to think about it."

Dawn ran up. "Good, you're home."

"Are you feeling okay?" Buffy said sardonically, giving her a look.

"I've got a question -- and since you're the psych expert and all..."

"Shoot, kidlet."

"Okay," Dawn continued, "is it healthy for me to let certain things slide because of mom and stuff still being kinda hard and all?"

Buffy eyed her sister concernedly. "Dawn, no," she shook her head. "Yeah, things are tough right now, but it's good to try and keep some sense of normalcy."

"Thank you." The girl smiled brightly, turning on her heels. "Faith!" Dawn roared as she ran upstairs "I want my sweater right now, butt-head!"

"I don't have your damn sweater!"
"Bull!"

"Home, sweet, home," Buffy sighed heavily.

"So, why are you late?" Andrew asked.

"Nice place you got here, Doc." Spike pushed his way inside the house, waisting no time he flopped down on the couch and put his feet up. "Very cozy. Martha Stewart would be proud."

**

Faith paced the floor of her bedroom wringing her hands. "You're letting a mental patient stay in our home?!" she huffed and shook her head, adding, "Social Services is not gonna look fondly on this, B."

"Tell them, and I'm sure they'll have no trouble finding a nice spot for you in the foster care system, F," Buffy shot back, annoyed. "Spike staying here is strictly on a temporary basis -- he's actively trying to find another place. I know, I'll be forcing him."

"He didn't look all that crazy," Andrew spoke up before standing and pulling the seat of his Spiderman PJ's out of his butt.

Glancing at her brother, Dawn snickered, "Oh, that's attractive."

"He doesn't seem crazy now -- just wait until you wake up missing a few fingers and toes." Faith smiled wickedly at him.

The little boy's eyes widend. "Buffy!"

"Nobody's going to wake up missing body parts," Buffy told him reassuringly before turning to glare at her sister. "Except for maybe Faith if she doesn't stop making that annoying talk-y sound."

Faith rolled her eyes.

"Spike's harmless; I wouldn't have brought him here if I didn't think so. Besides, he'll be gone in a few days."


**

He had work to do, and very little time to do it if he was going to get off of this buggering shit hole of a planet! He couldn't sit around playing house (even if Doc Summers was extremely more attractive than those gorrilas in white tights back at the hospital) --

Slathering the sandwich with mustard, Spike topped it with the piece of white bread and began the process of stuffing everything back into the refridgerator.

But, while he was here he might as well make himself comfortable.

Roast beef and swiss in hand he left the kitchen and quietly browsed the downstairs of the Summers' home.

It really was a nice, little slice of suburbia -- that surprisingly didn't make him throw up a little in his mouth. Bypassing most of the decor, Spike headed straight for the fireplace mantel and more specifically the photgraphs resting on said mantel.

Taking a bite of the sandwich, he snatched one down, studying it closely. Buffy smiled back at him, along with the little bugger with the squinty eyes who'd been down stairs earlier. Spike gathered the other two girls in the picture must be the rugrats who were screaming about a sweater when he came in the door; and the older woman with her arms around them...

"I see you had no trouble making yourself right at home."

Spike looked up to find Buffy sporting a crooked smile and an arm full of bedsheets.

He shrugged. "You're all out of mayo by the way."

"Thanks for the info," she replied dryly.

"No problem," he said without missing a beat. "You know, you look sorta young to have squeezed out three little ones. But, hey, these days you'll find fifteen year old chit's on Maury looking for the daddy of their fifth child. Right appaling sex education you American's have got going here."

Chuckling softly, Buffy moved closer to him and used her free hand to point to the picture. "That would be my baby brother Andrew. He's six, you met him earlier..."

Spike nodded. "I seem to remember." he smiled.

Buffy continued, "And those are my sister's, Dawn and Faith; thirteen, twins, and professional pains in my ass."

"And this must be your mum. When am I going to get to meet her?"

"You're not." A rueful smile formed on her lips. "She died a month ago. Brain tumor..."

Spike's face fell. "God -- I'm such a wanker, Buffy, I'm sorry."

"It's okay." She shrugged it off. "Not like you knew or anything. Anyway, due to our serious lack of space -- you're gonna have to crash on the couch."

"I've had worse," he chortled.

Grinning sheepishly, Buffy held up the sheets in her hand. "Hope you like Barbie," she laughed, embarrassed. "I couldn't find the guest sheets; my mom always took care of that stuff."

"They're very whimsical." He smiled.

**

It may have been three in the morning -- he wasn't sure. But, Spike had a pretty good idea that it was one of those ungodly hours normal blokes weren't meant to see when they were dog-shit tired. One, blood-shot eye cracked open as every muscle in his body tensed:

He wasn't alone.

An arm snaked out from underneath the pink and white of the Barbie sheets to click on the nearby lamp...

"Oh, for fuck's sake..." Spike groaned.

Andrew pushed a wisp of dirty blonde hair out of his face and snorted loudly, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his PJ's.

"Does your sis know you're up?"

The boy shook his head and continued to stand there staring wide-eyed at the house guest.

With a mumbled curse, Spike sat up. "Is there something you wanted?" he said, visibly irritated.

Andrew rocked back and forth on the balls of feet. "Are you going to cut off my fingers and toes?"

Spike quirked a brow. "Depends on how much sleep I get."

"Oh." A beat, "Can I try on your coat?"

If there was any doubt in Spike's mind, it was now completely gone. He had to work to get out here as soon as possible; and by the end of the week ten couples would be basking in the glow of 'new relationship' and he would be back to doing shots out of the belly-button of one of Zeus' daughters.

To Be Continued...

Author's Note: Short chapter, but more to come soon. Keep readin and reviewin and I'll keep writing (holds out slimy hand) do we have a deal?

**

In one night, your dad endeared himself to the whole family (that's just the kind of guy Spike is, but of course, you knew that). Really, we were glad to have him around the house.

"Son of a bitch," Dawn mumbled the curse before biting her lip and folding her arms to convey a sign of maximum annoyance. Just who the hell did this guy think he was?! Riding the chairty ticket into her home, eating the rest of her roast beef and then taking a --

She glanced down at the Spongebob watch adorning her right wrist and let out an almost inhuman growl.

Hour and thirty minute shower!

Buffy hadn't mentioned him as being part of the mentally challenged community, and Dawn was sure this guy was dapper of brain enough to know they're were four other people in this household. Three of which were school aged; who would most certainly need a handy, empty bathroom at their disposal.

Foam was on the verge of frothing up the corners of her mouth when the water finally shut off. Dawn's foot tapped uncontrollably at the sound of various cabinet doors being opened and closed, followed by the running of the faucet and the distinct swish, scrub of toothbrush on teeth.

Hour and forty five minutes...

At last, a sigh of relief escaped the young teen's mouth when the lock popped and the doorknob was slowly turned:

Shower fog billowed out into the hall as the hot air smacked her in the face. It was enough to choke her, and her hair frizzed within a nano second; ten to one the shower was going to shoot out chunks of ice when she stepped into it, but suddenly, Dawn could care less.

Standing in front of her, towel perfectly knotted around his perfect waist, water droplets clinging to his perfect chest, and abs, and perfectly curly, blonde hair matted to his head, was the most gorgeous man she'd ever had the privilege to lay eyes upon (as of today, Dawn's walls would be stripped bear of Chad Michael Murray's face).

He smiled at her and the teen went slack-jawed.

"Sorry, Bit. Didn't mean to take so long, the stink of mental hospital required a few extra scrubs." He winked. Dear god, he winked a wink that shot Dawn through the rest of puberty in three seconds.

Man of her dreams was looking at her expectantly; Christ! She should say something! "Ha, extra scrub, good one!" or, "It was no problem -- really, take as long as you like in the shower. I can be three hours late for school.", and, "Marry me! It's probably legal in Kentucky..."

Dawn's mouth opened for a second chance at forming words --

"You the stray B brought home last night?" Faith had come out of nowhere with her swagger and cocksure attitude -- guaranteeing to make her twin look five years younger in comparison.

Spike grinned with a nod of his head. "Milk bones and all," he replied.

Making no attempt to hide the fact she was admiring his 'assets', Faith breezed past her sister and into the bathroom. Hand resting on the door, she drawled, "Stay as long as you like." before quickly closing it on a stupefied Dawn.

"Ha! Extra scrub! That's a good one!" Dawn finally laughed loudly -- a little too loudly, but Spike had already disappeared down the hall, leaving the poor girl to look as if she were the Sunnydale General cast-off.

Weary hand reaching her head, Dawn mumbled, "Smooth, Summers. Very smooth."

**

Buffy carefully examined the three outfits laid out before her. She wasn't sure if he'd like them; from the little she had seen of Spike's wardrobe, it was clear he didn't like any styles dated after 1985...

"Those for me?"

She casually turned around to find a half-naked Spike smirking behind her.

She now understood why the guy had a 'Greek God' complex -- with that impossibly lean and muscular body, complete with well-defined arms and legs, and abs, what man wouldn't?

Oh god -- abs.

How long has it been since I ended things with Riley, again...?

Inner Buffy was swiftly given a kick in the ass as Outer Buffy -- in all of her poised glory, struggled to regain control of all thoughts and motor skills. Arms folded a scowl locked into place.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Spike quirked a brow. "Problem?"

She made frenzied gestures at his towel-d form. "This does not meet Summers Home dress code standards! Standards that are in place to combat certain thirteen year old hormone bombs! And you..." She was getting flustered and Spike knew it -- the smile on his face said it all. Ass. "Just -- try running around the house with some clothes on next time."

Spike snickered. "That's what I'm here for, ducks." He eyed the clothes on the bed from over her shoulder. "Looks respectable enough. That's what we're goin' for, innit?"

Buffy cleared her throat before saying, "Yup," popping the 'P'. "Unless, you wanted a lucrative career at the local Hot Topic." Heading toward the door, she added, "Anyway, I'm gonna leave you to solve that nakedness problem."

Quickly closing it behind her, Buffy rested against the door for a moment, eyes shutting briefly only to open and come face to face with her little sister's.

Dawn stammered, "I was just...Andrew peed on the toilet seat again,"she finished lamely and practically ran into her room.

Smoothing out the planes of her shirt, Buffy took the girl's lead and wasted no time dashing for the stairs.

To Be Continued...