He was still standing there, contemplating the sky, when Buffy emerged from her house. "Hullo," he said as she glanced his way. He spoke quietly, but his voice felt too loud in the still morning air. "You're out and about early."

She nodded and fumbled through her bag for her keys. "Work," she said. She smiled wearily. "Lucky me."

Spike shuffled his feet. Every cell in his body told him to go to her. He took three halting steps in her direction before she fixed her eyes on him. She had such a wary look about her, but he was drawn to her just the same. He closed the distance between them and looked down at her with concern. She looked so tired; her eyes were bloodshot and her cheeks were pale beneath a light dusting of makeup. He wanted to pull her into his arms; he wanted to tease her golden curls from the severe ponytail in which they were trapped.

He lit a cigarette to busy his hands and keep from touching her. "D'you want me to fetch Dawn after school?" he asked.

Buffy shrugged. "I, uh, I thought I'd call my friends, see if they can help out. I don't want to impose."

"It's not an imposition."

"I know. I mean, I know you don't mind helping with Dawn, and I really appreciate yesterday. I mean, you listening to me and everything, bringing us dinner—"

"Buffy." He'd heard enough nervous babbling. Time to just get it out in the open. "We kissed."

"So?" Her defensive tone stung him to the core, but made him more determined to put this to rest.

"Exactly." Spike swallowed his pride and forced the words out. "I know it didn't mean anything." He bit back the to you his heart so wanted to add. "You were upset, I get that. Doesn't change anything between us."

The relief on Buffy's face hurt more than it should. He knew she didn't feel about him the way he did about her, so there was no earthly reason to be wounded by her reaction.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "I didn't want to … to give you the wrong impression. I don't, I mean—"

He held up a hand. He might be in love with her; that didn't mean he could stand here and listen to her reasons for rejecting him. Even if she wasn't entirely aware that was what she was doing. "Don't worry about it." He took a long drag on his cigarette, then flicked the smoldering butt away. He nodded toward the house. "'S Dawn going to be up and ready for school by the time I get back from the gym?"

"Oh, well, her alarm is set." Buffy gnawed on her bottom lip. "Are you … you're sure this is okay? You've been doing an awful lot for us, and—"

He cut her off with a short laugh. "What else am I gonna do with myself? Don't know if you've noticed, but I'm not exactly in high demand anywhere else." And oh, that sounded a tad bitter. He went with it. "It's been … Buffy, you don't even know. I've been living my life in a fog, sleepwalking through my days. Going through the motions. And then you and Dawn show up, crash into my life—It's … it's like waking up from a long sleep. I haven't had anything—anyone—to care about in a long time." Here he couldn't help himself; he brushed his fingertips gently against her cheek. She flinched at his touch, and he drew his hand back quickly. "And I do, Buffy. I care about you."

Spike watched her shutter herself off, close up right before his eyes, and he tried to backpedal. "You and Dawn, you're … I hope you won't find it too odd if I say you've become very important to me." He cursed his stilted language, the way he stiffened at her withdrawal. He was such a fucking ponce. All it needed was for him to blurt out the words I love you, and his status as an unbearable ninny would be confirmed.

He wavered for a moment, those exact words on his tongue. What did he have to lose? He looked at Buffy, her arms folded around her and her eyes firmly fixed anywhere but on him. Right. Everything.

Dawn was the first person in years to break through his self-imposed solitary confinement. She'd managed to remind him of the man he used to be, the man who had a family. A sister. And then there was Buffy herself. When was the last time a woman had stirred anything within him other than transient lust? Spike couldn't remember.

He took a deep breath and stepped back. "I'm not saying don't call your friends. But I'm here for you, Buffy. Just … let me know what I can do, yeah?" His voice came out raspy; he cleared his throat.

Buffy nodded and shifted her bag from one arm to the other. "Thank you, Spike," she said quietly. "Um, I really have to—" She trailed off and gestured toward her car.

"Oh. Oh, yeah, of course. Off to the gym myself. So, I'll get Dawn, then?"

She nodded again, still looking a bit hesitant. "She has detention after school. So she'll be out late. Not til four or so."

"Like I said, pet, not much else I've got to do." Okay, so maybe he should go a little lighter on the pathetic loser-ness aspect of his life. "Have a good day at work, Buffy." By some supreme effort of will he didn't pull her to him for a parting kiss, but watched her get in her car and drive away.

It didn't mean anything.

She'd spent half of last night replaying their kiss in her mind, all the while telling herself over and over that it was a mistake. That it didn't mean a thing.

So why did it sting so much to hear the same words from Spike?

Buffy shook her head and tightened her grip on the steering wheel. She was obviously insane. Lack of sleep and stress were driving her up a wall. She shouldn't be hurt, for crying out loud—she ought to be relieved. Which she was. Extremely.

Only then he'd gone and said all that stuff about caring for her and Dawn. And what did that mean? Was he lying about the kiss not meaning anything? Or was it … oh, god. He thought of her like a sister, that had to be what that little speech was all about. No wonder he'd pushed her away yesterday. He was probably totally grossed out. And who could blame him? Buffy blushed when she remembered—again—the disgusting way she'd jumped on him.

Except … He hadn't seemed disgusted. He'd kissed her back. Touched her. And then he'd brought her dinner. Okay, maybe that was more for Dawn's benefit than hers, but he'd still done it. She was confused, because what did he want from her? What did she want from him? They'd developed an easy camaraderie over the past week, and it was tempting to continue to rely on him.

Buffy pulled into the Doublemeat parking lot and parked her car. Not for the first time, she wished for a job that took a little more brain power, something that would distract her from the tumult of thoughts filling her head. She'd spent the night before trying to suppress her undeniably lusty thoughts about Spike; while her worry for Dawn had distracted her, she'd still spent more time than she'd have liked focused on her neighbor. It would be easy to let him keep taking care of her and Dawn. But Buffy wasn't sure that was the best idea, not the way she was feeling about him. She just needed some space, some time, to let her emotions settle. There had been so much turmoil in her life for the past half year; the last thing she needed was an ill-advised affair with her neighbor. That would be awkward when it was over.

She was going to call Willow—maybe Dawn could spend some time with her and Tara after school for a while. They were both so good at school, so enthusiastic about it; they were bound to be good for Dawn. She'd call them tomorrow. Today, Spike could get her to and from school. He'd probably give her a good scolding along the way. Odds were, that would make more of an impression on Dawn than anything Buffy might have to say.

Manny appeared at the employee entrance, arms folded and toe tapping impatiently. "Drama queen," she muttered, and slid out of her car with a resigned sigh.

The piercing shrill of her alarm yanked Dawn from an unsettling dream. The details faded too quickly to capture more than a fleeting impression in her conscious mind: herself at her kitchen table, someone at the stove behind her, a creeping sense of dread. Her mother's eyes—

Dawn darted out of bed and pressed play on her cd player. She swiped away a tear as the music blared from her stereo, chasing away the last fragments of the dream. She was glad Buffy wasn't here this morning to tell her to keep it down; she needed the noise to drown out the thoughts and memories circling in her mind.

"I wish I was someone else. I'm confused, I'm afraid, I hate the loneliness," Dawn wailed along with the Ramones as she hurried through her morning routine. She balked momentarily when she came to the kitchen door and flashed on her dream. Then she pushed past the unease and poured herself a bowl of cereal and a glass of orange juice.

She ate slowly, methodically, her mind whirling despite her determination to not think about anything at all. Dawn wondered what foster care was like, if it was really as bad as all those after-school specials and melodramatic teen novels made it out to be. That was probably just so they could sell books or ad space on a TV show or whatever; no way would kids get put in homes where they were going to be hurt. Right?

It was a stupid thing to worry about, anyway, so Dawn commanded herself to stop. A minute later, she found herself picturing her father—his broad shoulders and wide smile. And were his eyes blue, like Dawn's? It bothered her a little that she couldn't remember, and that she was wasting time imagining where he might be right now. Probably somewhere sunny; he always loved their trips to the beach.

It was a relief when the doorbell rang, though Dawn's stomach clenched at the thought of facing Spike this morning. He was probably going to be mad at her, too. She dropped her dishes into the sink with a clatter and quickly ran some water over them. Her spoon rattled into the bowl, sploosh, and she went to answer the door, a smile she didn't quite feel plastered on her face.

She dropped the cheerful expression when Spike didn't respond in kind. He muttered a curt "Let's go," and walked off to his car before she could even answer. Dawn gathered her things and hurried to catch up with him, sliding her arms into her coat as she walked.

"Thanks for taking me to school," she said once they were on their way. It was the wrong thing to say, she could tell that immediately from the sour expression on Spike's face when she broke the silence.

"Right. And you'll be attending all your classes today, will you?"

Dawn cringed at his sarcastic tone. "I'm sorry," she mumbled.

He shrugged and lit a cigarette. Dawn stared at him; he hardly ever smoked around her anymore, and when he did, it was always with a guilty look and a warning to never start smoking. "Yeah, well, you should be sorry," he said finally. His fingers tapped impatiently on the steering wheel as they waited at a red light. "What did you think was going to happen?" He took a drag off his cigarette and exhaled a cloud of smoke before looking at her.

"I don't know," Dawn said. She shrank into her seat under the force of Spike's glower. "I guess I figured I'd get some detention and … But now they might take me away from Buffy. Did you know that?" Spike nodded. "Well, that's just stupid! How was I supposed to know they'd— I mean, it's not like anyone's lining up to take responsibility for me. Buffy doesn't even want—"

"Don't you say that!" He tossed his cigarette butt out the window and turned to glare at her. Dawn was glad they were almost to the school; Spike was definitely driving angry. "Don't you think for even a minute that your sister doesn't want you around. This is killing her, worrying about you."

"Oh." Her voice was small. She fidgeted with the window crank, pushing it forward and backward. "I didn't think—"

"Too bloody right, you didn't think." Spike snorted, half-angry, half-amused. "And what exactly were you doing instead of going to school?"

"Oh, um, nothing." Dawn ducked her head. No one else had thought to ask her what she'd been doing. They were more concerned with what she hadn't been doing. "Mostly I was at the library. Stuff like that."

They pulled up in front of the school. Spike put the car in park. He fixed her with a skeptical look, and Dawn rushed to defend herself.

"I'm serious! I know it's totally dorky, but I didn't know where else to go. There's only so much time even I can spend at the mall."

Spike looked at her and chuckled. Dawn let out a breath; maybe he wasn't too mad at her. "So, not off with your little boyfriend, then? Not gonna have to worry about another little Summers running around?"

"What?" It took a second to absorb his meaning. "Ew, Spike, no!" She blushed, though, because there was that one day, an afternoon spent riding around in the car with Jason and a couple of his friends. They had shared a moment, albeit one marred by his buddies arguing over the radio in the front seat. Jason had leaned over and whispered in her ear. Dawn had committed to memory the look in his eyes, the sound of his voice as he told her she was the sweetest girl in the world. Then he'd kissed her, a brief, chaste peck on the lips that was ended when the car hit a bump, knocking their heads together. They'd laughed about it, both rubbing at the knots on their foreheads. Dawn thought he might have kissed her again, only Brandon stretched an arm over the back seat and passed a joint into Jason's waiting hand. So yeah, that wasn't a story she would be telling Spike anytime soon.

"Right, well, let's keep it that way," Spike said. He watched her steadily for a moment. "Big Sis know yet that you've got a suitor?"

Dawn crinkled up her face. "A suitor? You really are Little Lord Fauntelroy, Spike." She was relieved when he laughed at that, too. "And no. Because Jason's not … he's not my boyfriend. I don't think. So don't say anything to Buffy. Please?"

Spike sighed. "You just keep yourself out of trouble, all right?"

"I will," Dawn said. She gathered up her bookbag and opened the door. "Thanks again for the ride and everything."

"Sure thing, pigeon." He smiled at her, and the last remnants of tension in her chest relaxed at his easy manner. "And Dawn—" He stopped her with a hand on her arm as she moved to get out of the car. "I don't want to see you go anywhere, either. Okay? So behave yourself."

Dawn had to fight off a sudden wave of emotion at his words. She wasn't going to cry today; she'd done enough of that yesterday. "I promise," she said.

Spike nodded, satisfied, and released her arm. "Off you go, pidge. I'll see you after detention."

Dawn groaned at the reminder of her after-school activities. The next couple weeks were really going to suck.

Two weeks later. Thanksgiving Day

Buffy lay in bed, still caught in a fuzzy half-sleep after hitting snooze on her alarm. It was altogether too early to be waking up, especially on her day off. She'd promised Dawn a real Thanksgiving dinner, though, just like mom used to make. For a minute, she allowed herself to wish that things were different. If Joyce were still alive, she'd be getting up around now to get the turkey in the oven and start the final preparations for a big family celebration. Buffy snuggled deeper into her covers and drifted off to the warm fantasy of her mother's capable hands turning dough into pie crusts.

The alarm sounded again, and Buffy roused herself. The pies weren't going to make themselves, and wishing for her life to be normal again was nothing but a waste of time. She pulled on an old t-shirt and a pair of lounge pants, then stumbled down the stairs and yawned her way into the kitchen. She carefully read the small print on the plastic shrink wrap around the turkey before cutting it off. She set the oven to 350 degrees, rinsed the turkey and … gross. Buffy stared with dismay at the lumpy, bloody package of bits that fell out of the bird into the sink. Was she supposed to do something with that? She fleetingly thought of Joyce, who would know exactly what that stuff was, then shrugged and wrestled the turkey into the roasting pan before moving on to the next item on her cooking agenda.

For the next several hours, Buffy measured and chopped, sliced and diced, peeled and pared her way through her Thanksgiving menu. Dawn wandered into the kitchen and sniffed approvingly at the aroma of slow-roasting turkey filling the air. She happily stationed herself at the sink and started peeling potatoes as Buffy finished mixing up the pumpkin pie filling. With the pies in the oven, Buffy turned her attention to quartering potatoes. She stood next to Dawn as they worked, and for just a moment she was able to pretend they were merely acting as their mother's helpers. Like any other holiday, any other year. Then Dawn asked for another task, and the illusion was shattered.

"I don't know right now, Dawn," Buffy said. "Let me get the potatoes going and clean up a little bit, then we'll see what else needs to be done."

Dawn nodded and flipped the switch for the garbage disposal. She rinsed the potato peels and other detritus from the morning's work down the drain. There was a sudden grinding noise followed by a metallic squeal, and then thick, greyish water began rising in the sink.

"Ew, ew!" Dawn shrieked a little and reached for the switch. She flipped the disposal off, and the noise ceased. The water didn't go down, however, and Buffy quickly reached around her sister to turn off the faucet.

"That's not good," Buffy muttered. She ducked down and rummaged beneath the sink until she found the reset button on the garbage disposal. She turned the water back on and tried the device again, with no better results. If anything, the water level in the sink rose even more.

"Buffy, what are we going to do about that?" Dawn eyed the sludge-filled sink, her nose wrinkled in distaste at the potato and carrot peelings floating in the water.

Buffy thanked her lucky stars she had a landlord to deal with problems like this. She'd have to call Mr. Giles and just hope she wasn't disturbing him on the holiday. Except he was British; did they even celebrate Thanksgiving? She didn't think they did.

The phone rang four times before a woman answered. "Rupert's phone," she said.

"Um, hi. I—This is Buffy Summers. I rent a house from Mr. Giles, and—"

The woman giggled. "Just a moment, dear. I'll get Mister Giles for you." There was a rustle of cloth in the background and a brief, muffled conversation.

"Miss Summers." Mr. Giles' smooth, accented voice came over the line. "What may I do for you?"

Buffy bit her tongue on the litany of things she would like someone to do for her. None of them were anything like the responsibility of a landlord. Unfortunately. "Our garbage disposal is, well, it's not disposing. More like regurgitating. And I'm making Thanksgiving dinner, and my company is going to be here soon, and—"

"I do apologize, I'm unavoidably tied up right now. And I doubt you'll find a plumber on the holiday." He paused for a moment. "Ah, my nephew, William, might be available if that's acceptable."

"Oh, I don't want to bother anyone on the holiday." But please send someone over here to fix this, she tried to silently communicate.

"Not a bother. The only reason I'm out of town is because you Yanks insist on having a four-day weekend to eat turkey and watch American football. Who am I to argue with that?" A clink, like ice rattling in a glass, accompanied his words. Buffy wondered if her landlord was drinking. At ten in the morning. She rapidly readjusted her assessment of him as stuffy and dull.

"Well, if you're sure it won't be any trouble," she said.

"I'll ring William and send him 'round as soon as possible."

Buffy let out a relieved sigh as she said thank you and ended the call. She turned to Dawn and smiled. "Crisis averted. I hope." She glanced down at her outfit and considered changing, then discarded the notion. Mr. Giles' nephew would just have to deal with her as she was; she still had work to do. "Okay, Dawnie, do you want to whip the cream for pies, or—"

"Ooh, I'll do the whipped cream." Dawn dragged a bowl out of the cupboard and clunked it down on the counter. She had just submerged the hand mixer into the whipping cream when the doorbell rang. The sisters looked at each other.

"That was quick." Buffy went to answer the door. She opened it to reveal her neighbor. The one she'd been studiously avoiding. "Spike," she said, taken aback by his unannounced presence. "What's up?"

Spike regarded her solemnly and hefted the tool box he held in his right hand. "Rupert called, said you had some plumbing problem."

"You're William?" Buffy grinned as a flush spread across Spike's face. Then she realized he looked more angry than embarrassed and quelled her desire to tease him. But seriously: William Williams? No wonder he'd changed his name. "Um, yeah, our kitchen sink is—"

He brushed by her into the house and headed for the kitchen without another word. "Nice to see you, too," she said to herself as she closed the door. She heard Dawn's excited greeting on seeing Spike, and his pleasant response. Obviously, his grumpy mood only extended to Buffy; she supposed that was what she got for laughing about his name.

And for not bothering to talk to him for the past two weeks, she reminded herself. If one of her friends had given her the silent treatment for no apparent reason, she'd probably be miffed, too. Yet he'd shown up at her house—promptly, no questions asked—when he knew she needed help. Buffy sighed and headed for the kitchen, determined to fix the mess she'd made.

Spike wiggled on the kitchen floor, trying to find a spot where the edge of the cabinet wasn't digging into his back. Wasn't happening. "Hand me that wrench," he said. Dawn complied eagerly, and he twisted the final nut into place and crawled out from beneath the sink. "Okay, try it now."

Dawn flipped the switch for the garbage disposal. It roared to life, and the brackish standing water swirled down the drain. "You fixed it!" she said with a smile.

Spike nodded and handed the wrench back to his assistant. He glanced up at Buffy as he helped Dawn put his tools away. She hadn't said more than two words to him since he'd started working. Not that he'd expected anything else from her. She'd shut him out completely after they'd kissed. That hadn't been much of a surprise, given her skittish attitude the next morning. The one thing that had kept him from barging in on her privacy was knowing what she was going through with Dawn. It still hurt, though, even as he told himself she had more than enough to deal with in her life without a lovesick idiot following her around like a puppy.

He slammed the tool box lid down and stood up. "There you have it, ladies. The kitchen is all yours again."

"Are you leaving already?" Dawn blinked up at him. "We haven't seen you in forever."

Spike flicked his eyes to Buffy and back to Dawn. "You've had other stuff going on, pigeon. Detention and whatnot, yeah?"

"I guess." She sounded doubtful. Then her face brightened. "Oh, you should stay for dinner! Right, Buffy? Willow and Tara and Xander and Anya are going to be here, too, do you remember them? None of them really have families, either—or at least, not ones they want to hang out with—so we're going to have an Orphan's Thanksgiving. Tara and I came up with that, even though none of us are actually orphans. And your family isn't around, so you're kind of an orphan, too. So have dinner with us?"

He couldn't help but grin at Dawn's flood of words. He'd missed her, missed having the energy she brought into his life. His house had been too quiet and empty; he'd gotten accustomed much too quickly to having Buffy and Dawn around. His smile faded, and he shook his head in response to Dawn's last question. "Don't want to intrude," he said. "It's not really my holiday, anyway."

"But, turkey!" Dawn protested. "And there's pie! You don't have to be an American to like pie and turkey."

"Dawn, I said—"

"Please, Spike." Buffy's quiet voice interrupted him. "We'd love to have you join us." She looked up at him, met his eyes for the first time since answering the door, and a slow, shy smile spread across her face.

Spike found himself nodding in agreement before he'd made the conscious decision to accept her invitation. It wasn't fair, the way she could melt him with a word or a look. He really didn't stand a chance when it came to Buffy Summers.

Dawn engulfed him in a hug, and he amended his earlier thought. Both these girls had him wrapped around their little fingers. Spike smiled, and for the first time in weeks, he felt at home.

Buffy spared a second for one last glance in the mirror. She gave her reflection a wavery smile; she barely recognized the girl in the mirror. When was the last time she'd bothered with make-up or curled her hair? Didn't really pay when she spent most of her time wearing an ugly hat and sweating over the fryers at the Doublemeat. Not for the first time, Buffy vowed she was going to find a different job. As soon as the holidays are over, she promised herself.

She fluffed her fingers through her curls, letting them fall haphazardly around her shoulders, and opened her bedroom door. The aroma of turkey wafted up the stairs along with the rumble of Spike's voice and Dawn's answering lilt. She sounded happy, and Buffy felt a surge of warmth for Spike's ability to bring a smile to Dawn's face. She had been worried that today would be too full of memories for either of them to enjoy the holiday the way they wanted to. The way they always had.

Thanksgiving had always been a riotous occasion at the Summers household. Any friend who didn't have anywhere else to go was invited to their house. Buffy's friends had been regular attendees ever since they'd met in high school. Joyce always managed to find some lonely, starving artist—or, one memorable year, a troupe of performance artists—and wrangle them into a spot at the table. Buffy had hesitated to even suggest a big meal this year, because celebrating Joyce's favorite holiday without her seemed too much like admitting she was really gone.

But Dawn had insisted that she wanted to do Thanksgiving the way they always had. So they'd invited their friends and put together a menu comprised of Joyce's tried and true favorites. They had talked a lot about their mother as they made their plans, and more than once, Dawn had dissolved into tears. Buffy wasn't sure how to help her sister, not when she had to fight off tears herself. So she'd had misgivings about today; would it just be a reminder of how much they'd lost?

When the doorbell rang, Buffy shook herself from her thoughts. "I've got it," she called, and made her way downstairs. She plastered on a wide smile, determined to at least appear happy for Dawn's sake.

"Happy Thanksgiving!" Willow and Tara greeted her; behind them, Xander and Anya were just pulling up to the curb. Buffy ushered the women in and waited for the others to join them.

"Let me take your coats," she said, once everyone was inside. The small living room was abuzz with their voices. Buffy's smile became less forced the longer she listened to their animated chatter. It was good to have her friends around, and she felt some of her tension about the day dissipate.

Spike and Dawn wandered into living room. Well, Dawn barreled in and dispensed hugs while Spike hovered in the doorway. He leaned one shoulder against the door frame and watched the flurry of greetings with a small, sad smile on his face.

"You guys remember Spike, right?" Buffy re-introduced Spike to her friends. She remembered the circumstances of their first and only meeting. She snuck a glance at Spike and couldn't help thinking of how she had so wildly misjudged him. Neither of them had been at their best that first day. He looked up at her as she watched him make polite, manly conversation with Xander—who had always been a vociferous campaigner for adding more guys to their little gang. Her eyes met Spike's, and she felt an almost physical connection to him at that moment.

"I didn't know you and Spike were so friendly." Willow's quiet words startled Buffy; she'd been off in her own world and hadn't noticed her friend's approach.

"Oh, he, uh, we had a little plumbing issue this morning, which he fixed. So we asked him to stay for dinner." Buffy quailed at the questions in Willow's eyes and took the coward's way out. "Dawn gets along with him really well. Um, I'm going to go put these away," she said, indicating the armful of coats she still held, and escaped up the stairs before she had to explain why Dawn's friendship with their neighbor translated into Buffy making googly eyes at him. She dropped the coats on the bed and took a moment to gather her thoughts before returning to the kitchen to complete the final preparations for dinner.

Buffy announced that the meal was ready, and there was a brief scramble as everyone milled about the table. Dawn orchestrated the seating arrangements, and soon they were sitting down, a little crowded in the smallish dining area. But no one seemed to mind the occasional bumped elbow as they filled their plates. Buffy watched her guests nervously as they took their first bites. She felt like everything had gone well—apart from the minor almost-disaster of the morning—but was still relieved to see the yummy expressions that surrounded her.

"This is delicious, pet," Spike said. She sat at the head of the table, and Dawn had coerced Spike into taking the spot to Buffy's left. He tilted his head and smiled softly at her. "Think you've been fooling me about you needing cooking lessons."

Buffy ignored Willow's sudden look of pointed interest; that girl's eyebrows alone could say a thousand words. She shook her head, negating Spike's statement. "I can do simple stuff. Mashed potatoes and stuffing mix? Not really haute cuisine."

"S'okay." Spike leaned closer to her and spoke low so curious ears at the table couldn't hear him. "I don't mind doing the teaching."

Buffy couldn't ignore the quiver in her stomach his words triggered. She knew her cheeks were flushed, and she was sure everyone's eyes were on her. This was exactly why she'd been staying away from Spike. She wanted to ... She forced those thoughts out of her head. They were so far from PG-13 it wasn't even funny. Definitely not appropriate for a family dinner.

"How's school?" She directed her attention to Tara, who was seated to her right.

Tara had just popped a forkful of turkey into her mouth, so it was Willow who spoke up instead. "It's great! We've both been looking at options for grad school. There's a fantastic program at Berkley that Tara's interested in, and I like their physics department, so that's a possibility."

"B-but there's also MIT," Tara added. "That would be a great opportunity for you, sweetie. I can do my grad work almost anywhere."

"MIT?" Dawn said. "What's that? Where's that?"

Spike answered her question, and the conversation quickly rolled on. Buffy, though, was still stuck on the 'Massachusetts' portion of his response. She'd had no idea Willow and Tara were entertaining the idea of moving across the country. It was her own fault, she supposed. She was the one who'd stopped returning phone calls or making any effort to get together with her friends. It had been easy to bow out of long-standing social events, like Thursday nights at the Bronze, though it occurred to Buffy that her friends had easily accepted her flimsy excuses, as well.

She swirled her fork through her mashed potatoes and gravy, her good mood and her appetite taking a serious hit. It wasn't just the thought of two of her closest friends being thousands of miles away. She should be graduating from college in the spring, too; if her life hadn't been derailed, she might be making plans for grad school herself.

Buffy snickered. Okay, probably not grad school. Getting through undergrad studies had been work enough; school never had been her strong point. But the fact remained that while her friends were moving on with their lives, doing the things that any young adult might reasonably expect to do, she was stuck. Only twenty-two—well, nearly—and already in a dead-end job and saddled with a kid—

Buffy quelled that thought. She loved Dawn and wanted her around. It just ... wasn't fair. And there was nothing she could do about it. When she noticed Spike staring at her with a concerned look in his deep blue eyes, she forced a smile onto her face and her attention back to the conversation.

"—the summer in Europe. Well, a month, at least," Willow was saying. "We'd like to hit the highlights, you know? London, Paris, Rome, oh my."

"That sounds wonderful," Buffy said. The words sounded wooden to her ears, but no one seemed to notice her insincerity. "You guys will have a great time."

Xander cleared his throat and sent a meaningful glance at Anya. "Since we're talking about plans for next year," he began, "there's something we'd like to announce." He took his girlfriend's hand in his and smiled warmly at her. She grinned back, then turned to their waiting audience.

"We're getting married!"

The table erupted at the news; hugs and felicitations were dispensed, and Dawn peppered them with questions about their plans. Buffy could tell she was angling for an invitation to be a bridesmaid. She added her own congratulations, grateful for the level of excitement Willow and Tara were displaying, so her own rather hollow response went unremarked upon. She felt Spike's eyes on her again and raised her wine glass with a cheerful grin that didn't quite match up with her emotions.

"To Xander and Anya," she said, and everyone clinked their glasses together in a toast to the happy couple.