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Chapter 6 – Dirty Laundry


Buffy walked downstairs and towards the kitchen, quietly mumbling to herself as she opened the refrigerator up.

“Is everything alright, dear?” Mrs. Lawson asked as she walked in through the back door, looking over at Buffy. “You seem kind of frustrated.”

“Has anyone ever told you that your son can be a pain?” Buffy asked, frowning. Anne quietly laughed and patted her shoulder.

“You’re not the first person, no,” she replied. “I know he can be a menace, but under that tough guy exterior lies a sweet boy.”

“Man,” Spike corrected as he walked into the kitchen, looking between his mom and Buffy. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you two seem like friends.”

“She’s a lovely young woman,” Anne replied, walking towards William and kissing his cheek. “She reminds me of myself at that age.” Anne winked at Buffy, who raised an eyebrow. “I’m heading out to run some errands fairly soon. Will you two be okay alone?” Buffy shot Spike a scathing look before smiling politely at Anne.

“We’ll be fine,” she said.

“If there are any cop cars or ambulances outside when you return, don’t be surprised, Mum,” Spike replied, glaring at Buffy.

“Be nice, William,” Anne said firmly. “I don’t want you to cause any trouble, understand?”

“I only will if I’m provoked,” he said, crossing his arms. Anne sighed and grabbed her purse.

“Good luck, Buffy,” she said as she walked to the door. “And there better not be any bloodshed in my absence.” Both teens watched Anne leave before looking at each other.

“Forming an alliance with my mother?” Spike asked, leaning against a countertop.

“I honestly don’t understand why you’re such a bastard,” Buffy said, grabbing two eggs and some bread before going towards the oven and toaster. “She’s such a sweet lady- there’s no reason for you to be such a jerk.”

“I wouldn’t be a jerk if you weren’t such a bitch half the time,” he replied. She shot him a look before scouring through a cabinet. “What are you looking for?”

“Frying pan,” she said. “I suppose I can make you an omelet or something.”

He smirked and walked to a cabinet on the other side of the kitchen, opening it up and retrieving a frying pan before handing it to her.

“Thanks,” she said, putting it on the stove before looking at him. “Why are you down here? I would’ve thought you’d go back to sleep.”

“Have to make sure you’re not going to poison my food,” he said, sitting on the island in the center of the room.

“I hadn’t even thought of that,” she said, shrugging. “But I’ll file the idea away for later use.”

“You’re funny,” Spike said sarcastically, glaring at her. “So, luv, I came up with another chore for you to do today.”

“And what’s that?” she asked, cracking the eggs and pouring the contents of them into the frying pan.

“I was thinking maybe you could wash my car,” he replied. “Since it’s such a nice day, and all.”

“You’re going to let me touch your precious piece of junk?” she asked, her eyes wide in faux surprise. “Wow, Spike, I’m honored. I just hope I don’t scratch the paint or dent anything.” Buffy suppressed a smile as his eyes narrowed.

“Ruin anything and lose a hand,” he replied sharply. She smirked and saw a container on one of the counters that had ‘Flour’ written on the front of it. She had an idea suddenly and went over to it. Spike watched her, confused. “I’m pretty sure omelets don’t need flour, Goldilocks. What kind of chef are you?”

“I’ve never really cooked anything,” she said, shrugging. “I was thinking of maybe baking you cookies or something.” He raised an eyebrow as she opened the lid of the container and stuck her hand inside of it, grabbing a fistful of the powder. She looked at it in her hand and tilted her head. “Is this really even important in cooking?” Just as Spike was about to answer, she faked a sneeze as she opened her hand up, effectively blowing the flour towards Spike and covering him in it. He growled as he tried shaking it off of his black shirt and skin. She giggled quietly and dusted her hands off over the sink. “Sorry, I must be coming down with something.” She returned to the frying pan.

“I’m going to have to wash this now,” Spike said, frowning disgustedly. “It’s got your germs all over it.”

“Oh, boo hoo,” she replied before another idea hit her.

‘God, this is too easy,’ she thought.

“What am I talking about?” Spike asked, smirking. “You can do my laundry for me.”

“Fine,” she replied angrily, even though she was scheming inside. “Assemble your dirty clothes and point me in the direction of your washer and dryer.”

“They’re in the basement,” he said. “I’ll be right back.” He headed for the stairs before stopping. “If my food tastes funny, I’m making you start over again.”

“Whatever you say, captain,” she replied, giving him a mock salute. As soon as he was out of earshot, she grinned. “Dumb ass.”

* * * * *

After finishing his breakfast, Spike walked down to the basement and opened up the dryer to get his clothes. As he pulled them out and began to look at them, he clenched his jaw and growled. He held up one of his black t-shirts and tilted his head.

“Buffy!” he yelled, narrowing his eyes as she walked down the stairs, a smile plastered on her face. “What the bloody hell happened to my shirt?”

“I washed it,” she said innocently, her smile never faltering. “It’s what you wanted, right?”

“You shrunk my shirt!” he bellowed, holding it up in front of her face. “It couldn’t even fit you!”

“Oops, I must’ve done something wrong,” she said, sighing. “Oh well, it could be worse.”

“You can’t do laundry?” he asked sharply, looking at her. “Is there anything you’re good at?”

“I’m a swell bowler,” she replied, biting her lip to keep from laughing.

“You’re insufferable,” he mumbled, picking up his clothes and frowning. “What the hell am I supposed to do with these?”

“No idea,” she answered. “Guess you’ll have to go get new stuff.” He raised an eyebrow.

“You’re going to pay for this,” he said sternly, handing her the clothes he was holding. “Never mess with a guy like me, pet, unless you can handle the repercussions.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Spike,” she said, turning on her heel and heading towards the stairs as she tossed the clothes on the floor. “You’re just an asshole with bad hair.”

“What’s your problem?” he hissed, staring at her. She looked back at him.

“You are,” she answered, shooting him one last look before going upstairs.

“She doesn’t know who she’s screwing with,” he growled, watching her leave. “It’s time to enact a little revenge.”





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