“Come on,” Buffy muttered under her breath. “They should be here. I just bought them this morning.” She dug through the contents of the kitchen counter--Doritos, Oreos, half empty tubes of Pringles, Jaffa Cakes, Wheetabix, and was that an open can of ravioli?--balancing on her tiptoes and stretching so she could reach the top shelf. “Please don’t tell me they’ve been eaten already.”
She was so preoccupied with her search that she didn’t hear him enter the kitchen. It wasn’t until the familiar tingles hit the back of her neck and a pale forearm suddenly appeared in front of her that she even knew he was there. A cool body pressed against her back and she tensed as the arm reached forward, up over her head, past the top shelf to the small wooden basket on the top of the cabinet and came back down again with a packet of baking chocolate and bag of mini marshmallows in hand.
“This what you’re lookin’ for, luv?” Spike asked, voice soft so as not to wake anyone. She could feel the vibrations of his voice rumble in his chest and her spine stiffened even more, but if he noticed her tension he didn’t give it away as stepped back and offered her the treats.
“Yeah,” she answered, turning around and taking the packages from him. “How did you know where they were?”
“I’m the one that put ‘em there.” When her brows furrowed in confusion he shoved his hands in his pockets and explained. “Figured with this many teenage girls runnin’ around there was no way a packet of chocolate would last more than an hour in this house. So I hid it.”
Oh. He hid it so it wouldn’t get eaten? For her? She wanted to say it was because he wanted to make hot chocolate for himself--she knew he loved it--but despite his love for human food, ever since he moved into the house he’d been on a strictly blood diet, knowing, she suspected, that with all the new mouths to feed it was a struggle to pay for food already. So he had to have done it for her.
She smiled awkwardly. “Thanks.”
He shrugged and moved aside as she made her way to the fridge, placing the chocolate and marshmallows on the counter before grabbing the milk. “Can you get the cream out of the pantry?”
“Sure.” He headed over to the small pantry beside the basement door.
She set the milk down beside the chocolate and crouched down in front of he lower cabinet where all the pots and pans were stored. Her mouth dropped open at the state of the cabinet. How was she supposed to find anything in that mess? It looked like the time Dawn had dragged out all the pots and pans to use as drums and then shoved them all back in so Mom wouldn’t find out about it. She groaned as she started moving everything around, searching for the pot she needed. By the time she had found it she was beyond frustrated, slamming the pot down hard on the stove, heedless of the noise. She’d already made enough noise searching for the damn thing that she was sure half the house was awake and wondering if the Apocalypse had come early.
“You’re gonna wake everyone up like that, pet” Spike said from behind her. When she whirled on him, hands on her hips and glare on her face he backed away, hands--one of which held a can of heavy cream--up in the air. “Right then. You go ahead an’ make all the noise you want. It’s your house, innit?”
She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I turn into Bitchy Buffy when I’m tired.”
“Tired, huh?” he asked and she nodded.
Really, she was beyond tired. She was exhausted. She hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in what felt like weeks, too stressed over this thing with the First. The steady flow of Slayer dreams didn’t help much either.
“Well, then,” he said, voice suddenly brisk as he stepped between her and the stove. “You go sit down an’ I’ll make the chocolate.” His hands were already opening the packet of bittersweet squares.
She hesitated. “But…”
“Buffy.” He stopped ripping at cardboard and plastic to look intently at her. “I know how to make a cup of hot chocolate. You’re tired. Go sit down.”
She was going to argue more but for the first time in a long time his voice wasn’t careful and polite, but soft and warm in a way she hadn’t heard since before he left for Africa. His face had that look of amused fondness that was so familiar that she looked away, nodding silently before she sat down at the island.
“Good,” he stated, before turning back to the stove.
She let out a sigh and propped her elbows up on the counter, leaning her face into her palms so she could rub tiredly at her eyes. She could hear him as he turned on the stove and set the pot on the burner--much more quietly than she had--but didn’t turn to watch him. He was right. If Buffy, with her limited cooking skills, could manage to make a cup of hot chocolate than he certainly could. And without her standing over him to make sure he did everything right.
“So, couldn’t sleep again, huh?”
She looked up. He’d already poured the milk and was now mixing the cream into it. “How did you know I haven’t been sleeping?” she asked, the faintest strains of suspicion lacing her tone.
He didn’t react to it. “Could hear you.” He tapped his jaw right below his ear for emphasis. “Every night for the past three days you’ve banged your way around this kitchen. Always ‘round the same time, too.”
“Yeah, well, you try sleeping when you have five or six teenage girls having a camp out on your bedroom floor,” she muttered.
“Try sleeping during the day when they're awake,” he countered. “And…energetic.” He gave a dramatic shudder and she couldn’t help the small grin that made its way to her face.
They didn’t say anything for a while after that. Buffy leaned her head on her hand and let her eyes drift shut, the steady swish of the chocolate mixture as he stirred it soothing to her ears. She remembered when they used to do this all the time, sit in silence. Before everything became so screwed up between them. They’d go on patrol, silently guarding each other’s backs, or they’d sit on the front porch and listen to the crickets or watch fireflies. A few times after she’d been resurrected she’d even gone to his crypt and just sat there with him, relieved to be away from all the pressure and expectations her friends unknowingly put on her. Being natural enemies had never stopped them enjoying the silence together. It was funny, in a way, that it had been when they tried being something else that the comforting silences were no longer shared.
“Wanna grab a mug, Slayer?” Spike finally said. “Chocolate’s finished now.”
She got up and pulled a couple mugs from the cabinet, walking back to the stove to stand beside him. He raised an eyebrow when he saw she grabbed two and she blushed, remembering the last time she had hot chocolate with him in the kitchen. She hadn’t been able to look at the island for weeks afterwards without her face heating up from a mixture of embarrassment and shame. And she had a hard time explaining to Dawn why exactly she was furiously scrubbing down the island countertop with Lysol when her sister got home the next day.
They took their mugs to the island, sitting again across from each other, elbows propped up and mugs cradled in their palms. She felt her face heat up again at the similarity, but at the same time it was comforting. It was nice, to think that no matter how much things had changed, some things could remain the same.
She curled her fingers around the mug and took a deep breath, the smell of the rich chocolate taking her back to the nights she used to spend with her mother, just like this. Closing her eyes she blew out the breath over the chocolate, letting cool slightly before taking sip.
Her eyes snapped open.
She looked from Spike to the chocolate and back to Spike again. He stared back at her, eyebrows furrowed slightly as he watched her. “What is it?”
“It tastes just like Mom’s.” She took another sip and felt her eyes prickle with tears, causing her to blink rapidly in effort to keep them at bay. She’d tried again and again to replicate her mother‘s recipe, but never managed to. She’d gotten close, but no matter what, there was always something just a little bit off about it. This though, this was it exactly.
“Oh. Well, I watched your mum make it a few times. Jus’ repeated what she did.” He suddenly looked uncertain, eyes shifting from her back to the chocolate. “’s that alright? I mean if you’d rather I didn’t use her recipe or you find it too hard to be reminded--”
“No!” She blurted loudly, cutting him off. She took a deep breath. “I mean, I’m glad that you know how she made it. Someone should.” She looked down at her mug. “I never asked her how,” she said quietly, and her eyes prickled again.
“It’s almost exactly how you make it,” he told her softly. She looked up and he gave her a small, understanding smile. “I jus’ added a pinch of chili powder, is all.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Chili powder?”
“Yup. ‘s how the Mayan’s used to make their hot chocolate, back when it was called xocoatl and wasn’t as sweet. You see, it’s the combination of bitter and sweet and spicy that makes the hot chocolate just right.”
“Hmm. Chili powder. I’ll have to remember that.“ Buffy took another sip of the warm liquid, eyes slitting shut as she took in its rich taste and all the memories that accompanied it. Bittersweet. Yeah.
By the time they’d finished their chocolate Buffy was warm and tired, holding back a yawn even as she drained the last of the mug.
“Think you should head on up to bed, pet.” Spike took the mug from her and carried them both to the sink to rinse.
She nodded. “Yeah. I’ve got a fun filled day tomorrow packed with training and researching and fights over the shower roster and threats of imminent destruction. Gotta be well rested for that.”
Spike chuckled. “Especially for the roster fights. Gotta have your wits about you for that. Those girls can be down right vicious.”
“Don’t I know it.” She stood up from the chair but hesitated before she walked out of the kitchen. She looked over her shoulder at Spike. He was turned away from her, using the faucet hose to get all the chocolate remains out of the mugs. “Spike?”
He stopped and looked back at her. “Yeah, Slayer?”
“Thanks for the hot chocolate.”
He smiled. “Sure thing, pet. Same time tomorrow night?”
She shrugged, but a small smiled made its way to her lips. “Sure. The girls’ll probably keep me up tomorrow just like they did tonight.”
“Right then. G’night, Slayer.”
“’Night.”
She gave a sort of half-hearted wave of her hand before heading out of the kitchen and up the stairs. When she got to her room she didn’t bother to try to change into her pajamas, knowing she’d just trip over one of the girls sleeping on her floor. Instead she just kicked off her shoes and got into bed. She could hear Spike turn off the water downstairs and then the creak of a door and fading footsteps as he headed back down the basement. She fell asleep soon after that.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters mentioned in the story, I'm just having fun with them.
A/N: This is a sequel to a drabble of mine called Hot Chocolate, but you don't need to read that to understand this.
A/N: This is a sequel to a drabble of mine called Hot Chocolate, but you don't need to read that to understand this.