It was a widely acknowledged fact at Sunnydale High School that Buffy Summers and Spike Walsh hated each other.

No one was really sure why. Maybe there wasn’t a reason. But one thing was for certain: if the two of them bumped in the hallway, or had differing opinions in English IV or Calculus, then sparks were sure to fly. And not the good kind of sparks, either. No, these were sparks of major badness.

So what happened in the lunchroom one Tuesday a few weeks before Halloween was really no big deal.

To the people around them, anyway. To Buffy and Spike, it was, once again, an epic battle.

It began when Buffy, carrying her tray and waving to another person, forgot to look where she was going and bumped into Spike. It worsened when her mashed potatoes went all over his leather duster.

“Bloody hell, you stupid bint, watch where you’re going!” Spike snapped, glaring at the girl.

Buffy blinked at him. She hadn’t even realized that anyone had been standing there. She’d been waving to—what was his name, again? Oh yes, Tyler, that was it. Tyler was maybe going to take her to the annual Halloween dance, if he groveled enough of course. She was going to wear this way cute pink dress and—

Oh. Spike was still glaring at her. “Yeah, well—“ she stuttered. “If you didn’t wear that stupid coat to school every day, then you wouldn’t be all paranoid about it.” There. She’d managed to insult that coat of his again. Not that she really had anything against it. Actually, it would have made him look really hot, if he wasn’t a total outcast, of course.

Spike blinked at the girl in front of him. Sodding—she was one of the cutest things he’d ever seen, but she didn’t have the sense of a sparrow. “Least the leather’s real,” he shot back, arching an eyebrow at her. “Unlike some things I could name.” He glanced down, very obviously, at her slightly overexposed breasts.

Her mouth fell open in complete shock. “You—you—“ she screeched, stuttering, completely incapable of forming a complete sentence.

“Me?” he prompted, grinning.

She was about to respond with a stream of curse words when someone tapped her on the shoulder. Reached up and tapped her on the shoulder, which told her who it was: Jonathan, the shortest guy in school, and a way big nerd. “What?” she snapped, unaware that the whole cafeteria was watching her.

“Mr. Giles wanted me to tell you two that if you’re not engaged in any terribly exciting activity then he’d like to discuss coming assignations regarding you, Spike, and the coming nine weeks in English IV.” Jonathan had a smirk on his face, and by the end of his little speech, Spike did, too. He knew that Short Stuff hated Buffy. All those big words were probably confusin’ her.

“Need me to translate, luv?”

Buffy’s eyes flew to him, and they instantly narrowed. “No. I so totally got that.” She smiled at Jonathan. Which was weird, since she never smiled at nerds, but if Spike was going to be all condescending, then she didn’t really have a choice, now did she? “Just lead the way!”

Jonathan stared at her, completely expressionless. Spike nudged him. “Hey, Johnny,” he said. “Blondie can’t find her way to Giles’ room. She needs help.”

Jonathan stared at him instead.

It suddenly occurred to Spike that Buffy being nice might’ve been a shock to the poor boy, so he just said, “Right then. ‘ll take her myself.” He shrugged off his jacket and handed it to Jonathan, saying, “Get this back to m’ mates, would you?” When Jonathan nodded, he strode past Buffy without even glancing at her, making a beeline for the nearest cafeteria exit.

It only occurred to him after he left the cafeteria that he’d just willingly gone to close himself in a room with a stuffy British man (the fact that he, too, was British didn’t really register at the time) and the snobbiest bitch California had to offer for what could possibly be an extended period of time.

Damn, he thought with a wince as he turned the corner, mark me as the dumbest wanker the mother country’s ever produced.

He marched into Giles’s room and leaned against the wall, not bothering to announce himself or wait for the man to invite him it. Pulling out his lighter and starting to fiddle with it, he announced, “Okay. Let’s just get this over with, yeah?”

Before Giles had a chance to answer, Buffy came in, gasping for breath. She must’ve run—truly an impressive feat, seein’ as how she was wearing little stiletto heels. Her chest was heaving up and down as she gasped for breath, and Spike took the opportunity, as he had a few minutes ago with that crack ‘bout fake things, to sneak a peek at her breasts. Right nice they were, if a bit small. Too bad the chances of him ever getting to touch him were next to nothin’.

“I’m here!” she gasped, plopping herself down at the desk. “Sorry it took me so long, I totally fell on the stairs.”

“As opposed to only fallin’ a little,” Spike drawled.

Buffy wrinkled her nose at him. “Huh?”

He sighed, staring up at the ceiling. “Never mind.”

She decided to dismiss that last comment as another stupid Spike-ism and turned to Giles with her mega-watt smile on her face. “Anyway, sorry, Mr. Giles. You wanted to talk with us about something?” To add to the whole innocent thing, she pulled out a lollipop and started sucking on it.

“Ah, yes, of course.” Mr. Giles took off his glasses and started cleaning them, a move that made Buffy wonder uneasily just exactly what he was going to say. Mr. Giles never cleaned his glasses unless there was something majorly wrong.

“Now, I don’t know if you two know this, but our next unit will be a rather extensive one. We will be reading The Grapes of Wrath primarily, but our focus will extend to a study of familial relationships and sociology in general.”

Both of them nodded, Buffy with an inner eyeroll. Who didn’t know about the huge soci-whatever unit in Mr. Giles’s class was a better question.

“Good!” Wow. The poor old guy actually thought that stuff getting all notorious was a good thing...

Buffy blinked when she realized that both the Brits were staring at her. Oops, she’d drifted off again. “Um—sorry, what?” She scowled at Spike when he snorted derisively. “Hey, stop!”

“I asked if you knew about the nine weeks’ project I assign as a corollary to the general unit to students I believe will benefit from it?”

Buffy’s eyes began to widen. Oh, no. This could not be happening.

There were horror stories about that project. People said that every semester Mr. Giles picked out two kids he thought should get to know each other better. He’d give them this huge family study project thing, one that required big-time cooperation and stuff.. The teachers said it was this huge success, but the kids all hated it. And now he was going to give it to them.

Eeeew! Buffy thought, half going into major panic mode. He’s gonna make me work with Spike!

“Um, Mr. Giles—“ she began, fully prepared to tell him that he could kill her if he wanted but please don’t make her work with that jerk—but Spike beat her to it.

“There is no bloody way.”

Mr. Giles stared at the student in front of him, clearly perplexed. “Mr. Walsh, I’m terribly sorry you don’t like my proposition, but I’m afraid I didn’t give you a choice.”

“’m not working with Lil’ Miss Bitch Queen!”

“Hey! That is so totally unfair. Mr. Giles, make him stop!” The other teen sitting in front of him twirled a piece of clearly dyed hair in between her fingers, pouting around the lollipop she was currently sucking.

Giles sighed and looked at the ceiling. These two could go at it for hours, with him as the referee, and still hate one another. They had done just that many a time in his English IV class.

“Ms. Summers, Mr. Walsh, I’ve made my decision. You will work on this semester’s project together, or you will fail.”

Spike’s next remark pretty much summarized what both he and Buffy were thinking: “Bloody fuckin’ hell.”

~*~

As soon as Giles released them, after handing them both a sheet that detailed the project requirements, Spike rounded on Buffy and, scowling, informed her, “Just to let you know, ‘m not gonna work with you. You do your half, I’ll do mine, an’ that’s how it’s gonna be.”

She stared up at him. “Yeah right,” she snapped. “I mean, puh-leeze. You think I actually want to work with a dumb punk like you?”

Spike smirked at her, knowing that his next words were going to shock her. He wasn’t even supposed to know, but bein’ a military kid, well...you learned things. “’m not the one who’d failin’ English here, luv.”

She stared at him, mouth wide open. For a second Spike was worried that she was going to haul off and slap him—that was what she looked like.

But instead she just blinked a few times and said, “Don’t call me love.”

“What the bloody—“ Spike stared at her. Not a single run-on sentence, or like totally. No tears or feel-sorry-for-me looks. No, the bloody chit just popped that lolli back in her mouth and raised her nose.

“It’s, like, common knowledge that my grades suck. So get over it. Oh, and if you think for one second that I’m going to come anywhere near your stupid house, or talk to you, or even look at you during school hours, you are so living in another world.”

Spike sneered at her. “Like I wanna be seen talkin’ to you, Blondie. M’ reputation’d tank.”

“Puh-leeze.” Buffy rolled her eyes and picked up the sheet, scanning it quickly. That crack about her grades had hurt a little—well, actually, it had hurt a lot—but there was no way she was going to let Spike know. He already had enough stuff to use against her, especially since he fought her like every time they talked to each other. Speaking of which...

“Omigod!” Buffy squealed, her brain finally absorbing what she could read on the sheet. “I am so not doing this!”

The sheet said that they’d be doing a project on studying families. They both had to study the other’s family for two months, filling out this huge questionnaire that included questions about The Grapes of Wrath, questions about their own families, and—this was the major ick for her—interview questions. She was going to have to interview Spike Walsh.

Not to mention spend a bunch of time at his house. That was kinda gross, too. But she could talk to his family without actually talking to him, right? It was gonna be a little hard to interview him without talking to him. Maybe she could pay Cordy to do it. Cordy thought Spike was ‘a hunk of salty goodness’. Cordy wouldn’t mind.

Or, actually, she would, and Buffy knew it. She slumped against the wall, groaning dramatically. “We’re screwed,” she whimpered.

Spike lifted his eyes from the paper. “Well, not yet, but hey, ‘f you’re offerin’...” He leered at her.

“Not in a million years.”

“Well, luv, not sure how long I can go for, but we could try for a million years...”

“What the—okay, ew!” Buffy snapped when she realized what he was saying. “If you honestly think I’d do that with you, you so need professional help.”

“So now I have to pay you? Didn’t figure you for the hooker type, Summers.” And—uh-huh, along with that stupid remark came one of those incredibly annoying smirks.


She fought not to roll her eyes, lost the fight, and rolled her eyes incredibly obnoxiously, all under ten seconds. Then she did a bit of quick thinking. So, if she refused to come anywhere near stupid Spike, then Mr. Giles would fail her. And yeah, she was doing the whole Golden Years thing, but she really kinda wanted to graduate this year.

She was doomed.

Spike, meanwhile, was leaning against the wall, once again fiddling with his lighter and eyeing her speculatively. “Made up your mind, pet?”

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped. He arched an eyebrow but didn’t respond, a move she took to mean that he’d given in. Okay. If he was going to be this obedient, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

“And yes, I’ve decided. I’ll do the stupid project.”

“Good,” he said, which just sent her right into a fury again.

It wasn’t the word he’d said. Good was a nice word. Usually, as far as words went, she liked it. But it wasn’t the word she wanted to hear just then.

Because he said it like Daddy said it when she’d agreed to take stupid Dawn shopping. It was the parent-type good, the, ‘I knew you’d see it my way before I had to whack some sense into you’ kind of good.

And it really, really made her mad.

“Good? Good? I agree to hang out with you for this stupid school project and you say good?”

“Well, yeah,” Spike said, as though it should be obvious.

“Auuugh!” she fairly screamed, throwing her hands up and getting quite a few funny looks from kids who’d elected to skip lunch hour. “Okay, that is so it,” she said, pointing a finger at his chest. “I’m done with this.”

“That so?” He smirked at her. “’Cuz y’know, outta the two ‘f us, ‘m not the one who can’t afford to fail, luv.”

She narrowed her eyes. Any other time, she would have completely killed him for calling her ‘luv’; it was almost as bad as ‘pet’, only less, you know, derogatory. Too bad for her, though, he was right. Horribly, incredibly right.

Oh, poop.

“Fine,” she snapped. “I guess we’ve got to, like, hang out and stuff?”

“’s what it says,” Spike told her, scanning the paper. “Less cheer-shit, but yeah.”

She didn’t even bother answering that one. A dumb punk couldn’t possibly understand the athletic demands that came with as competitive a sport as cheerleading. Hello, she had to carry like five pounds of makeup to every game!

“Whatever,” she said. “So, meet me at my house after school.”

“Right,” he said, crumpling up the paper and shoving it in the pocket of his super-tight jeans. “Where d’you live?”

“Ask anybody, they’ll tell you,” she replied. Like she was going to give the bleached idiot her address.

“You don’ listen, do you? ‘m not talkin’ to a bimbo cheerleader or a nancy-boy jock!”

She fisted her hands. She was so going to slap him all the way back to stupid England if he didn’t shut his big mouth about her friends. “1630 Revello Drive,” she ground out, before flouncing away, hair and, she knew, boobs bouncing.

As soon as she got out of sight, though, her footsteps slowed, and the bounce turned into a dragging walk.

As of now, her life totally sucked. And in Buffy’s mind, it was all Spike Walsh’s fault.

Uh-huh, she decided as she pasted a smile back on her face in preparation to enter the cafeteria again. She definitely hated Sunnydale’s resident British Uberfreak.

So now the only question was, how were they going to go for so long around each other—and each other’s families—without going all Jack the Ripper and killing each other?

Buffy sat down at the popular table, a pout forming, one thought foremost in her mind:

Wah.

~*~

A/N: Gotta love family trips…18 hours in a car with my two younger siblings singing N*Sync in the backseat. With my mom’s complete support, because apparently me calling them brats damages their self-esteem, or something. I thought self-esteem was a myth, too… =) Anyway, about the story: I’m trying really hard to make Buffy as annoying and whiny and Harmony-like as possible. In case you didn’t figure it out, this is LA, pre-Slayer Buffy, except, you know, this is AU so there won’t be any Slayer-ing. But there will be a change in her, and soon, because honestly, I can’t really stand even writing this for long. So review and then wait for the next chapter, where I promise things will get interesting. Thanks! =)

~*~

He liked pissin’ her off. Was that normal?

Spike rather thought not.

Still, watchin’ her flounce away like that was quality entertainment. She was so high-and-mighty, so damn sure of herself—but just one little name that was really an endearment, when you thought about it properly, and bam—just like that, Little Miss Bitch Queen had a snit fit.

Damn funny stuff.

Still, he wasn’t exactly singin’ Brit Boy’s praises for giving them this idiot project. He didn’t want to get close to Blondie or what was bound to be her supremely demented family. Not to mention what’d happen to his rep ‘f she started blabbin’ about what his house was like—and, knowing her, it was bound to happen.

Ah, fuck it.

She’d been damn right when she’d said they were screwed. How the hell was he supposed to keep up the tough-guy stuff with the bimbo peekin’ into his private life?

“Spikey!”

He winced. Speakin’ of bimbos…

Harmony was one of the few popular chits who really wanted to jump his bones. Problem was, ‘f he’d thought it would prevent her from tryin’, he’d’ve paid a sodding Satanic cult to do voodoo on her.

She wasn’t just blonde and bouncy and annoyin’ like Summers was. No, Harmony was also damn stupid, and she didn’t get all cute and mad when he insulted her. She was too stupid to realize she was bein’ put down.

And now she was here. Somebody up there was really hatin’ him right now.

He exhaled. Loudly. “Hey, Harmony.”

“So, like, what are you doing out here all alone and stuff?” Harmony asked.

“’Bout to have a smoke,” he said shortly. Funny how they sounded almost exactly the same, but he couldn’t stand Harmony, and Buffy was actually okay…well, not really, but he didn’t want to kill her like he did with Harmony.

“You wanna do something more interesting?” Harmony asked slyly.

He glanced at her. Curves, lush yet somehow overabundant. Vapid eyes, slack mouth with beaverish front teeth…”No. Thanks.”

“Oh, okay. Maybe, like, later, then.” Harmony propped herself against the wall next to him, apparently with no intention of leaving. He restrained a frustrated groan. The bloody chit simply didn’t know when to quit.

“That was a dismissal, Harm.”

“But, Spikey…” Harmony whined, “I’m cutting. I’m being all bad and stuff. Can’t we…you know…hang?”

“Bloody hell. No.” Spike couldn’t believe he was havin’ this conversation. ‘F Dru could see him now, she’d cackle her bloody head off.

“I can’t believe this!” Harmony screeched in a tone he’d have sworn was damn near as piercing as a dog whistle. “I’m totally nice to you, even though everybody else thinks you’re like this demented Goth guy, and then you go and blow me off. Me! You are like the worst boyfriend ever!”

He refrained from pointing out that he was under no circumstances her sodding boyfriend. “Look, Harm,” he sighed, “’m really not in the mood. Later, a’right?” Of course, there would never be a later, but she didn’t need to know that.

Harmony rolled her eyes. “Like, whatever,” she said finally, and stalked off.

Spike rolled his eyes and lit a fag. Bloody American women with their dense skulls and short skirts...was enough to drive a man utterly insane.

“Damn, stud, you sure have a way with the girls.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Lemme guess—you saw the whole thing?”

Faith emerged from the girl’s bathroom. “Damn right. I’m surprised you didn’t gut her, or something.” She grinned. “But I guess you can’t gut your girlfriend...”

He grunted and took a deep pull on the cigarette between his lips. “Faith, ‘f you wanna get in a spot o’ violence, ‘m all for it. Otherwise, bugger off.”

Faith wasn’t in the least bit impressed, which to tell the truth didn’t surprise him. He an’ Faith’d been friends for longer than he could remember. Cut from the same cloth they were, which was nice, ‘cept he couldn’t intimidate her to save his life.

“Fuck that,” Faith said predictably. “So, what’re you doin’ out here, anyway?”

“You din’ hear?” Maybe his rep’d be worth somethin’ after all...

“Nah. For once, I actually had to piss.” Faith’s way of saying that usually the bathrooms were host to rather different extracurriculars. “So what’s up?”

“Sodding teacher wants me to work with...” Spike hesitated. Bleeding hell. Faith wasn’t a blabbermouth, not the way the blonde bimbos were, but ‘f he told her, it was like admitting it was actually true.

Ah, screw it. “Teach wants me to work with Buffy Summers.” He spat the name out.

Faith stared at him for a moment, face completely incredulous. Actually, she looked like what he’d felt when Giles’d dropped his big, evil bomb. “You’re tripppin’.”

“Wish I was,” Spike shot back. “’S for Giles’s semester project. Bloke thinks we oughta be best friends, or somethin’.”

Faith continued to stare at him; he glared back. ‘F he wasn’t mistaken, he could see something in her eyes that looked a bit like—

“Oh my God!” Faith leaned against the wall and burst out laughing.

Spike’s scowl deepened as he finished his thought: amusement.

“This is fuckin’ hilarious! Faith gasped, clutching her belly, wheezing from laughter. “You—and—and B—working toge—e—e—ther!” Her voice caught on the last word and she convulsed in loud, obnoxious laughter, clutching at the wall for support.

“Yeah, yeah, barrel full ‘f laughs ‘f you’re not me,” Spike snapped. “You done yet?”

“Gimme a sec.” She leaned up against the wall, gasping, chuckling every few minutes. When she was reasonably calm she said, “So Giles is makin’ you work with a bouncy cheerleader, huh?” At Spike curt nod, she grinned. “Damn. Sucks ass to be you.”

“Yeah.”

“What d’you have to do?”

“Get to know her family an’ friends an’ interview her, an’ then write a paper on the whole sodding thing,” Spike grumbled.

“And lemme guess—she’s gotta do the same for you?”

“Yeah,” Spike affirmed again.

“Huh.” She stared into space for a moment, a grin on her face. He watched her suspiciously; Faith never grinned unless someone else was gonna catch it.

“One of the school’s biggest airheads is gonna be hanging out with us? That blows.”

“Tell me ’bout it,” Spike groaned. “’m gonna have to get to know the bint.”

“Might not be that bad...” Faith mused, staring into space.

He shot her a sarcastic look. “Right. Tell me another one.”

“Hey, anything’s possible.”

He didn’t even favor that with an answer. Anything might be possible, but spendin’ time with Buffy Summers and not hating it was ‘bout as likely as Britain gettin’ annexed by France. Meaning, not very.

He was gonna answer, but the bell rang. He exhaled loudly—his next class was Computer, one that was required for graduating but about as interesting as the sodding Discovery Channel.

Or listenin’ to Buffy Summers blabber ‘bout her life...

“Listen, gotta go,” he told Faith. Faith nodded but made no move to leave, which made sense. She had Chemistry next block, Spike knew. The chances of her attending were next to zero.

“Oh, yeah,” he added as he went to walk away, “Where’d you put m’ coat?”

Okay, the grin on Faith’s face was definitely mischievous. “Well, Jonathan doesn’t really know any of your friends, so he just gave it to someone he knew you knew...” she trailed off, leaving him to stew.

“Faith.” A growl. He could growl pretty well, when he wanted to.

“Relax, stud. He gave it to Xander, who’s keepin’ it real safe...walking around in it and all.”

He was cursing all the way to Computer.

~*~

The afternoon came way too bloody soon. He almost never dreaded after school. The only thing worse than Sunnydale High was that military camp his Da had sent him to for elementary school...which jus’ barely topped the science school Mum made him go to for middle school. It’d been in England; that was where he’d picked up the accent that he kept just to annoy his parents.

Yeah, school was pretty damn bad. But although he hated school, it didn’t have anything on how much he hated Buffy Summers. So when the last bell rang, he gathered his stuff with a groan.

“Sodding hell. Can’t school last a little longer?” Never thought he’d be saying that...

“Spike! Hey, Spike, over here!”

He whipped his head around. Anya was bouncing up and down, waving her arms. Beside her, the whelp was cringing, looking everywhere but at his friend.

Cringing and, Spike noticed, holding his leather duster against a wall. Wonderful. Idiot boy was gonna scratch it!

He stalked over and snatched the duster out of Xander’s hands. The boy just stared at him. “Yeah, you’re welcome for carrying your potato-covered coat around all day long!”

“You were ruinin’ it,” Spike informed him, before turning to Anya.

“Spike!” she beamed. “I’m so glad you’re here! I heard about the project, and I can’t believe it. I mean, out of all the people Giles could choose—“

“Yeah, I know, people’ve been sayin’ that,” he said impatiently. “Now listen, ‘ve gotta get to her house. We set up a meeting."

Anya blinked at him. “Are you going to have many orgasms with her?”

“What?! No!” Spike practically yelled. Bloody hell, just the thought made him cringe. Not that she wasn’t attractive, mind, but there wasn’t exactly a lot upstairs. “’ve just gotta go to her house for the interview crap, is all.”

”Uh-huh.” Xander grinned at him. “’Cuz we all know Spike’s an innocent widdle boy who’d never try to seduce the Teen Queen.”

Augh. There it was again, that picture.... and it wasn’t exactly pleasant. “Hardly,” he scoffed. "‘ve got standards, y’know.” Sure, he had fun gettin’ her goat, but aside from that, spending time ‘round her was kinda like gettin’ a cavity filled. Not fun.

“Right, because Drusilla really raised the bar.”

“’ey!” That was all he could get out, because at the mention of Dru’s name, his throat closed up. Even now, two years later, she could still do that to him.

“I gotta go,” he said tersely, choosing to ignore the whelp’s comment altogether.

Anya rolled her eyes, but even she knew not to push him on that particular subject. “Fine. Try to make it quick. We’re all meeting at the Bronze later, right?”

“’F I survive,” Spike said grimly. Ignoring his friends’ laughter, he stalked off to his car.

Buffy came home early, since she didn’t know how fast Spike would haul his butt over there. It turned out that she had to endure twenty minutes of Dawn’s whining and her mom’s nagging before she saw his car pull in.

It was so ugly. Why couldn’t he just buy a Honda, or something, like a normal person? Big black cars were so not cool. Especially when driven by obnoxious punks.

She was about to walk out to the driveway and insult him somehow—she didn’t know how but that was okay, she would’ve been able to figure it out—when she heard her mother yell her name.

“Bu-ffy!”

Buffy gulped. Uh-oh. Mom sounded mad. What had happened this time that—

Her mother walked into the family room, angrily waving a trophy around. Oh, yeah. That.

“I told you to put this away weeks ago!”

She winced. She’d gotten the trophy at Regionals. When she’d gotten home she’d completely forgotten about the whole nothing-goes-on-the-desk-excpet-Dawn’s-writing-stuff rule. To her defense, it had been two AM, but Mom didn’t really care.

“Mom, it was just last weekend,” she pointed out in what she thought was a raional voice—but apparently not.

“Don’t you give me that tone!” Joyce exclaimed, waving the trophy around, her voice gaining volume as she got into stride. Buffy restrained a sigh. This was gonna take awhile.

“You know that desk is reserved for Dawn! Unlike some people in this household, Dawn pulls her own weight. Her teacher this year thinks she’s a brilliant writer, and if we play our cards right, those wonderful journals of hers may have some chance of getting published! How dare you think you can jeopardize that?”

“Um...I don’t?” Buffy offered. She was starting to worry. Shouldn’t Spike be at the door by now? And oh God, if he walked in and saw her and her mom fighting, he would so never let her hear the end of it! And then the whole school would find out, and her life would be totally over!

“Uh, Mom?” Buffy cut in. “I’ve got a—um—friend—coming over. Can we, like, do this later?”

“Do this later? Do this later?” Joyce screeched. “We are not going to do this later, we’re going to do this now!”

She winced, burying her head in a couch pillow. There was no way Spike was gonna walk up to their house and not hear all the yelling.

Joyce was halfway through a lecture on responsibility and Dawn’s writing and how important it was to the family when a knock sounded at the door. Buffy groaned, knowing that her mom would tell Dawn to get it and keep going with the stupid lecture.

Sure enough, Joyce paused long enough to hear Dawn yelling, “Got it!” before continuing: “And if you think for one second that bouncing around with pom-poms will do anything for you in the real world, missy, you’ve got another think coming! I spend hundreds of dollars on your silly activities. You need to learn to—oh, hello!” Joyce voice changed instantly. Buffy yanked her head up and restrained a groan.

Spike Walsh was standing in her living room.

Was that totally creepy, or what? And now he was graciously apologizing for interrupting their talk—and that was what he called it, a talk! Was he insane?—and Mom was being all nice and stuff. It was completely gag-worthy.

When he was done charming her mom he turned to her. “Right, then,” he said briskly, “Let’s get this over with.”

Mom shot her a look. “We’re not done here, young lady. I’ll be talking to you later!”

“So can’t wait,” Buffy muttered at her mom’s retreating back. As soon as she heard Joyce start banging around in the kitchen, she turned to Spike. “Can we just, like, get this over with?” she asked, automatically reverting back to cheer-leader speak.

Spike was staring at her, brow slightly wrinkled. She waited for him to respond for a few seconds before snapping, “What?”

“You mum always like that?” Spike asked, jerking his head toward the kitchen, where Dawn and Joyce were talking animatedly.

“It’s none of your business,” Buffy snapped, standing up. “Come on. We can work in my room.”

“Actually, ‘s very much my business,” he pointed out, “Seein’ ‘s how we’re doin’ the whole getting-to-know you bit.”

“Yeah, well, it’s still none of your business, so stop being Nosy-Guy,” she ordered, and opened the door to her room. Holding her head high, she walked inside and plopped herself down at her desk. Let him find his own place to sit.

Unfortunately for her, he chose her bed. Eeew. I’m gonna have to like disinfect it or something, she thought, wrinkling her nose.

He arched an eyebrow at her. God, that was a way annoying habit. It made him look totally arrogant. “So, Summers, we gonna start or what?”

“My name’s not Summers,” she snapped—and then the second it was out of her mouth she realized how dumb it sounded. Not just, like, Valley-Girl dumb—Harmony dumb.

And he wasn’t about to let her get away with it. “Really? What’s your last name, then? Bimbo? Moron?” He looked her up and down and then grinned. “Needagym?”

“Hey! I am so not fat!”

“Yeah, pet, you go on believin’ that,” he said, grinning still. She narrowed her eyes at him. God, guys like him were so annoying...

“Fine. Let’s just get this over with,” she snapped. “Did you, like, take notes on my family?”

“’m gonna come over some other time for that,” Spike told her. “Today’s interview day.”

She scowled. He was actually planning on taking more than a day to come over to her house? God, she was gonna have to like pay someone to paint his car, or something. If word got out that Spike Walsh was coming over to her house...she shuddered. Total ruination.

“Hey! Blondie! Know there’s not much up there, but answer me already!”

“Huh?” Buffy blinked, then realized she’d been drifting off. “Oh! Sorry! What was the question?”

“What’s your relationship with your family like?”

“Um...” Buffy frowned. Everyone thought that her parents were great because they were always out of town so she could throw parties and stuff. The truth was that Buffy hated them, but she couldn’t exactly tell Spike that. If she did, everyone else would find out about it the next day. She pasted a smile on her face. “They’re awesome!” she chirped. “I love them soooo much!”

He gave her a look. An, I-know-you’re-lying, please-how-dumb-do-you-think-I-am look. “Right. Was really feelin’ the love in the room few minutes ago.”

“That was—I mean, she almost never—“ Buffy stuttered, but from the look on Spike’s face, her lies weren’t exactly convincing him. “Okay, fine. We fight a lot,” she snapped. “But if you ever tell anyone I’m so gonna kill you...”

He snorted as he jotted something down. “Please. ‘ve got better things to do then talk ‘bout you.”

“Like what?” she asked acidly. “Getting high?”

He apparently thought that didn’t even deserve an answer, since he just rolled his eyes and continues scribbling.

“Okay, next question,” she said impatiently, really, really wanting to get this over with.

“Right. Um...” he scanned the sheet. “What’re your fights ‘bout?”

“You’re making that up!” she accused. “Butthead!”

“’Least ‘m not as immature as a third-grader,” he shot back. “An’ that’s what it says. Lookit your sheet ‘f you don’t believe me.”

She looked down obediently. Sure enough, if the answer to the first question mentioned fighting, then you had to go to a whole new set of questions. Dammit. Stupid, stupid Buffy.

She sighed, not even bothering to respond to the whole third-grader thing. It looked like the only way she could get Spike out of her house really fast would be to answer the questions as quickly as possible.

“Usually it’s about Dawn. I left something on Dawn’s desk, or I, like, stepped in her precious room, or whatever. It’s bullshit, usually.”

“Really.”

How could he make one word sound so surprised? She was kinda shocked too, to tell the truth—where had all the uber-meanness come from? She sounded like Lizzie Borden or something. “I mean, it’s just a little, you know, annoying,” she finished.

“So, lemme get this straight—your mum’s a complete bitch ‘bout anything involvin’ your sister?”

Wow, he’d totally just summed up everything in her head—which, for some reason, really pissed Buffy off.

So she glared at him. “No. We have little fights. That’s, like, all.”

“Right.”

“It is!” she cried, not really sure why she was being so defensive, since what he was saying was the truth. She just—didn’t want to tell him, was all.”

“’m writin’ down what I heard,” he told her, scribbling on the sheet he held again.

She scowled. Knowing Spike, he was so going to write down that whole bitch thing. “Whatever.”

“’K...do you think your parents have a good marriage?”

“Well, duh,” she said, staring up at her ceiling. There was a crack in the plaster right next to her Jessica Simpson poster...God, she was bored.

“Well, duh, what?” he prodded.

Buffy frowned, thinking. Just yesterday, her parents had had this huge fight about which publisher stupid Dawn should send her stupid diaries to. “Well, duh, yes!” she snapped. Screw getting a good grade. This was turning into a super-freaky, shrink-style getting-to-know-you thing. She was not gonna go along with it.

Spike cocked his head. Downstairs, her mother was just audible, yelling to someone on the phone.

“Hank, Goddammit, I told you no! Our daughters are not going to—“

“You’re lyin’,” he told her, smirking.

It was the smirk more than the (completely true) statement that really pissed her off.
She leapt out of her desk. “Out!” she screeched, grabbing a pillow and hurling it at him.

“’ey! Watch it!” Spike yelled, batting the pillow out of the way and leaping to his feet.

“Out! Out!” Buffy screamed, hurling pillows with absolutely no regard for their pretty prints getting on his icky body. “Out!”

“’m still—“ he ducked—“tryin’”—dodged—“to interview you!”

“Well, I don’t want to be interviewed!” She took an aggressive step forward, jutting her chin out stubbornly. Good Girl Buffy didn’t get in fights...but Good Girl Buffy was currently out cold, and Pissed Off Buffy had taken her place.

“So you’re gonna what—fail an’ give your mum more things to yell at you ‘bout?” He moved forward, an angry glint in his eye, his hands fisted. He looked just as ready to fight as she was.

Buffy gasped slightly. That had hurt. Fortunately for her, she was used to getting into hurtful fights with Spike. She just raised her chin a little more and said, “Well, at least people at school still like me. You’re like a total outcast...”

“’ve got friend who know ‘bout m’ family an’ don’t give a damn,” he told her. “How many friends ‘ve you got that know ‘bout your mum?”

She was used to comments that hurt. What she wasn’t used to was him standing just a few inches from her face, staring down at her with a strangely intent look on his face, kinda like he was trying to read her soul through her eyes. His own, she suddenly realized, were very, very blue...

And then she realized what she’d said, and to her horror, tears came into her eyes. “You—you can’t—“ she stuttered, before finally saying, “Get the hell out of my house, you bastard!”

“Wait,” he said, not moving, even though Buffy was really, really close to smacking him, “We need to set up a time—“

“No. No times. You didn’t hear me, did you? It’s finished. Tell Mr. Giles that he can find someone else for his stupid project, because I’m—not—doing—it!” She screamed the last part furiously. You could totally have heard her in China, but Spike, weirdo that he was, didn’t move.

“Tomorrow. After school. M’ address is 1465 Starview Lane.” He wrote it down on a strip of paper, which he reached out and dropped on her desk. He was still staring into her eyes. It was seriously wigging her out.

“No.” One word. It was way weird for her to say just one word, but right now, she was argued-out.

He ignored her. Grabbing a notebook from where it had been laying on the bed, he glanced at her one last time. “See you.”

“Like, never,” Buffy retorted—but by the time she’d summoned enough calm to speak, he’d already closed the door and left.

She sat down on her bed, staring around the room. Pretty pink paper, chosen by her mother. Pile of trophies no one else in the family cared about. Pictures of dancers and singers. Messy papers covered in doodles.

The image blurred as she buried her head in her hands and tears once more appeared in her eyes.

I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him— she thought fiercely, trying to block out the other phrase running through her head.

I hate her I hate her I hate her I hate her I hate her...

And the really whacked-out part? She wasn’t even sure who her was.

Tomorrow. Wonderful, she thought. Can’t freakin’ wait.

~*~

A/N: So... do you still hate Buffy? I hope not. I kinda tried to get the point by that her family, um, sucks. And she’ll get less annoying—promise =)

~*~

The next day at lunch, Buffy’s mind was not on her food, or on the kinda boring conversation. Instead, she was thinking about what the most annoying person in her life had said to her the day before.

How many friends have you got that know about your mom?

The answer, she was disturbed to know, was a big, fat zero.

And for some reason, that was bugging her big-time.

She looked around her table at the people she called her friends: Cordy, Harmony, Angel, Parker, and Veruca. Somehow, she didn’t think a single one of them would understand the thing with her mom.

“—And I can’t believe she, like, actually thought I was serious!” Harmony said. “Like, who in the world actually wears those things?”

“Humongo geeks like Willow Rosenberg?” Cordelia suggested, earning a laugh from everyone at the table.

Everyone except Buffy, that is. She was frowning. She’d never really thought about it before, but people sounded really dumb when they said “like” all the time. And she said it almost as often as Harmony.

Willow...that name sounded familiar. Wait—Buffy glanced over at the table Spike and his friends occupied. It was a mix of punks, geeks, nerds, and just all-around outcasts. Usually she and everyone she sat with looked down upon that table. Today, though, she studied it, looking for the redhead she knew she’d vaguely recognize.

There she was, sitting next to a short guy Buffy vaguely recognized as belonging to a band called Dalmatians Ate My Boyfriend, or something. Cordy had dated their lead singer for awhile...

As she watched, Willow laughed at something a slutty-looking brunette said. From across the table, Spike scowled at them.

Buffy felt a smile of her own come to her face. They all looked so normal. So friendly. Her friends never teased each other, because they were all so obsessive about the whole social status thing...

Wait—what the hell was she doing? Staring at Spike’s friends and wishing they were hers? Staring at Spike and wishing she knew what it was like to have friends who cared about you, not your reputation?

Well, okay, that did sound kinda nice. But that wasn’t the point. The point was that Buffy was at the tippy-top of the social ladder and had every intention of staying that way. So she couldn’t envy Spike. Not even the littlest bit.

“So, Buffy, are we gonna like go Bronzing this afternoon? Because I so totally know this guy who might be willing to, you know, slip us a few beers...” Harmony trailed off under Buffy’s intent gaze.

The smaller blonde was staring at Harmony, head cocked, thinking, You know, it never occurred to me before, but I really, really don’t like her. She was so vapid, so shallow, so...

like me. Ew!

“Hello? Earth to Buffy!” Harmony said, annoyed, waving her hand in front of Buffy’s face.

“Oh! Sorry. Um...I can’t go.” She dug into her low-cal, low-carb, low-fat salad. “I have an, um, thing?” The last part came out sounding like a question; everyone at the table was suddenly staring at her.

“You don’t have time for us?” Veruca asked, her skanky voice more venomous than usual. And yes, a voice could be skanky. Everything about Veruca was skanky.

“Well, see, it’s just the whole project thing I told you about, I’m supposed to interview Spike today...” She had of course told all them about the project, even about the “interview” yesterday...she just hadn’t told them about the super-blue eyes or the argument.

“We’re getting the brush-off for Captain Peroxide?” Wonderful, now Angel was picking at her. She so needed that...

Not.

“You’re not getting the brush-off,” she said, forcing herself to smile. “I just wanna pass English, okay?”

“Aw, you’re smart, Buffy. You should be able to pass anyway,” Parker told her with his best sweet-boy smile.

Smart compared to a block of wood like you, maybe, Buffy wanted to say, but instead she just smiled. “Thanks, but I really have to do this. I mean, I don’t want to, because I’m gonna like have to touch his stuff and everything, but...” Buffy trailed off.

“Are you okay, Buffy? You sound all smart and stuff,” Cordelia said earnestly. Buffy forced herself to smile at the brunette.

“I’m fine. Just feeling a little...off,” she said.

“I so totally get that!” Harmony gushed. “I mean, with Spike coming in and sitting on your bed and stuff—ew!” Harmony wrinkled her nose. “You probably had to disinfect the sheets afterward!”

Everyone else at the table burst into laughter, but Buffy winced. Omigod, I think like Harmony. How tot—how traumatic can you get? She wasn’t going to say stuff like totally in her thoughts. She had to stop this whole Harmony-clone thing, and her thoughts seemed like a good place to start.

But looking around the table, she realized something—pretty much everyone there was like Harmony. Even the guys were sort of all the same. It was kinda creepy, actually.

“Buffy!” This time it was Cordy who snapped her fingers in Buffy’s face. “God, what is wrong with you? You’re so spacey, it’s like Invasion of the Pod People or something...except that’s a geek movie,” she added when everyone raised their eyebrows.

Except that it’s a geek movie. God, could these people get any more picky? Geeks, nerds, punks, they were all below Buffy’s little group. And all of a sudden, she was really tired of the whole thing.

“Um, guys? You’re right, I’m not feeling too well,” Buffy lied quickly.

She regretted it when Parker jumped up and said, “I’ll help you to the nurse’s office if you like, Buffy. I know that when girls don’t feel good their stomachs can trouble them, and I just want what’s best for you.”

She waved him away. “For God’s sake, I’ll be fine,” she snapped—and then realized that everyone at the table was staring at her. Again. She belatedly remembered that just last week she’d told Cordy she though Parker was “like a major honey”.

“I mean,” she said, smiling through gritted teeth, “That I wouldn’t want to pull you away from your lunch. Okay?”

He looked disappointed, but said, “Of course, Buffy. Whatever you want,” and sat down again.

She practically ran out of the lunchroom. Well, okay, she didn’t run. She knew better than to do that. But she did walk as fast as you could in a short skirt. I gotta get out of here before I lose it and rip Harmony’s cheap-dye-job hair out.

*

He saw her leave, of course. Sodding hell, his eyes had been fixed on her from the second she’d walked into the cafeteria, surrounded by friends.

His conscience had really been bugging him ‘bout the day before, for several different reasons. First off, he was plagued with guilt about almost makin’ her cry. He hadn’t meant to yell at her, he’d just been frustrated. She looked so innocent, so pure—it infuriated him to see her lyin’ her brains out about her mum.

The other thing was the fact that her eyes looked so gorgeous when she cried. Bloody—he’d made her cry, for Christ’s sake, and all he could do was think about how beautiful she was when she did. Her eyes seemed to get greener, and this little flush went across her cheeks, and there was such feeling in her face—the only time he’d ever seen her like that before was when she was pissed off at him, and then, he hadn’t wanted to cuddle her.

When she’d gotten tears in her eyes, all he’d wanted to do was hold her, kiss her, and make them go away.

And that was what was really buggin’ him. Not the crying, or the yelling—the sudden, almost irresistible urge to plant a kiss on those sweet little lips.

‘Course, he’d always known she was a hot little thing. Every wanker with two eyes and a dick could see that. But the thought of actually snogging with her had always been rather unappetizing, on account of how dumb she was. Might as well try to get it on with a cow, if there’d been any cows in Sunnydale.

But yesterday had been different. For the first time he’d seen an emotion in her eyes that went deeper than simple anger or delight that CVS had started selling Cover Girl lipstick for low, low prices. The fact that the emotion had been sadness just made him want to comfort her.

And now he was philosophizin’ more than Plato himself. “Bugger,” he muttered under his breath before turning to Willow.

“Hey, Red, do me a favor, would you? Go check up on Summers, make sure she’s a’right.”

“But I thought you hated her, what with all the ‘grr, I hate Buffy’ and stuff,” Willow said, a puzzled frown on her face.

Good point. “I just, uh, wanna make sure she’s not sick. Interview and all today,” he lied quickly.

Willow raised her eyebrows, but was for once silent. She stood up and walked out of the cafeteria after Buffy.

Spike’s satisfied smile melted under the pressure of Xander’s gaze. “Got a problem, mate?”

“He’s just wondering when you’re going to admit that you want to be orgasm partners with Buffy, not just enemies,” Anya said in her usual blunt style.

He never knew how he managed it, but somehow, Spike kept his cool. “Don’t wanna be orgasm-buddies. Just wanna make sure I get an A.”

“How ‘bout a P, as in, piece of ass?” Faith asked. “Come on, how long are you gonna keep this up? You and B wanna get it on.”

“’ey! Do not!”

“Uh-huh. I think Spike Jr. has a little something to say about that.”

When Spike looked down at his crotch in horror, Faith reached over and stole one of the wings he’d bought from the cafeteria. He looked up to see her munching on it, grinning.

“You little—“

“Yeah, yeah, you know you love me,” Faith said cheerfully. Spike groaned and put his head in his hands.

He looked up when someone nudged him. He smiled when he saw it was Tara. She was a nice bird, she wouldn’t take the others’ side—

“You can go b-buy more wings,” Tara suggested. “And while you’re at it, you might want to pick up some ice.”

“’m not—“ he began, but renewed laughter drowned him out.

Oz just shrugged when Spike looked at him imploringly. “On your own,” he said in his usual expressionless manner—except that he wore a faint smile.

“Bloody hell,” Spike growled, digging into his food. Not only was he very much not hard, but now he was out a spicy buffalo wing, too. Stupid bint. Why the hell do I keep talkin’ to her? He wasn’t sure if he meant Faith or Buffy.

Twitch. He looked down and groaned.

Every time he thought about her name, he got that much closer to proving Anya right. And this afternoon she was gonna be with him, in his house, in his room.

Fuck, he realized. ’M a dead man walkin’.

~*~

Buffy was leaning against the wall near the bathrooms where she’d left Spike the day before. She was frowning and staring into space, two things she almost never did.

She knew that she was going to have serious problems with the whole social status thing. Running out of the bathroom was so incredibly not good.

It was kinda funny how she didn’t really care.

And that was really freaking her out. Two days ago she would have been totally neurotic if she thought she was even the least littlest bit less popular. Now she just wanted to figure out why it was that Spike Walsh, who was way less popular and a total freak, was happier than she, Miss Popular herself, was. It made absolutely no sense.

Or...maybe it did. Buffy stuck her lip out, pouting. That was the problem—she wasn’t even sure if stuff made sense or not. The whole stupid thing was senseless!

“Um, Buffy?”

Buffy’s head whipped around. The girl she’d identified earlier as Willow was standing a few feet away, looking nervous.

“Yeah? Hi! What?” As soon as the reply came out of her mouth she cringed. Could she get any more Dumb Valley Girl?

“I was just wondering, well actually we were all just wondering—well okay, Spike sent me out here,” the nervous girl admitted. “He wanted to make sure—ummm...that you were OK. Because you, you ran out, and everything. And I’m sorry now I’m bothering you, and of course you wouldn’t want me to talk to you since you’re a cheerleader and I’m this horrible geek, so I’ll just—go now,” Willow said, turning around and starting to walk back to the lunchroom.

“No!” The order flew out of Buffy’s mouth almost involuntarily. When Willow turned back around she blushed and said, “Sorry. I’m just feeling kinda...weird.” She winced inwardly; she’d barely stopped herself from saying like totally wigged out or something equally as mortifying.

“Weird how?” Willow leaned up against the wall next to Buffy, studying the blonde’s face intently.

Suddenly Buffy felt a rush of gratitude towards Spike. He was still a big stupid jerk, yeah, but he was at least a big stupid jerk who had the niceness to send someone out to check on her who was willing to listen to her dumb problems.

“Weird as in I feel like...I dunno.” She bit her tongue. Weird as in I feel like the only person in the world I can trust is Spike, which since he’s like my greatest enemy is way insane!

“Like the whole world’s all topsy-turvy?” Willow offered. Buffy grimaced and nodded.

“You too, huh?”

“I think maybe it’s a senior year thing,” Willow mused. “I mean, what with my boyfriend, and Spike becoming completely unbearable because of the whole project thing, and—“

“Wait—what?” Buffy cut in. “Spike’s unbearable...how?”

Willow furrowed her brow, and Buffy realized that the redhead was starting to think that maybe she shouldn’t have said that. “Too late, Willow. Spill.”

“Okay, okay.” Willow caved. “I mean, first he was all with the ‘grr. I don’t want to work with stupid Buffy Summers’—I mean, no offense or anything, but—“

A day ago she would have called geeky Willow Rosenberg all kinds of mean things for calling her stupid, even if she was just quoting Spike. Now, though, she just smiled. Funny how she talks like Spike has feelings...it’s an interesting idea. “It’s okay. I get it. Keep going.”

“And then he was whining because he had that interview thing, and now it’s the day after the interview thing and he’s all broody even though he says nothing happened.” Willow frowned. “It’s all very strange.”

“Wait—he didn’t tell you about the interview?”

“He said there was nothing to tell,” Willow said with a shrug.

Nothing to tell. Did that mean that he was all uncaring about the interview? She had yelled at him...which led her to wonder why he was being all nice and stuff. He was, like—arrg! No! He was being kinda schizo with all the fighting/checking up on her.

Oh. Wait. Buffy suddenly realized that she’d been spacing big-time—Willow was staring at her questioningly.

“Buffy? You okay?”

“Huh? Oh. Yeah.” Buffy smiled at the redhead. “Sorry, I’m just—has he said anything about me?” she asked quickly.

“Has who said anything about you?”

“Sp—Spike,” she stuttered, gripping her purse tightly. God. First she pulled a Nancy Drew with the questioning about the interview, and now she was doing the ‘has he said anything about me?’ routine. If I’m not careful, they’re going to start to think I like him. Ew. We so do not mesh...he’s all arrogant and annoying and really hot in that jacket and OH MY GOD I’M INSANE!!! Buffy gritted her teeth and smiled at Willow, waiting for the girl’s answer.

I really, really need a psychiatrist.

“Just the usual day to day stuff,” Willow was saying. “You know, I hate Buffy, Buffy should die, stupid cheerleading chit...whatever a chit is. Just, you know, normal stuff.”

And her heart sank at that...why? God. She really needed to work on remembering that Spike was a stupid insulting jerk. “Right. Normal. ‘Cause he’s always way nice to me...” She trailed off when she noticed that Willow was frowning at her, clearly confused. “That was sarcasm,” she added.

“Oh! Right. I got that,” Willow said. “It’s just that cheerleaders and sarcasm don’t usually—“

“Buffy! Oh my God, why are you talking to a geek?”

“Go together,” Willow finished with a ‘just-kill-me-now’ look on her face.

“Cordy, chill out,” Buffy snapped, automatically making her voice way whinier than it had been a minute ago. “We were talking.”

“Uh-huh. I saw that,” she said snidely. “What I want to know is why. Did you, like, need science homework or something? Because I so could have given it to you.”

“No, Cordelia, I didn’t need homework,” Buffy said impatiently.

“Well then, why are you talking to her? And what’s up with you, anyway? You sound all...serious.” She said the last word like most people would say “Ebola virus”.

“Um, yeah. This is serious.” Buffy rolled her eyes. Cordy was nice and everything, but she’d met balloons that were less air-headed.

“Whatever. Can I talk to you? Like, in private?”

Buffy rolled her eyes but allowed Cordy to propel her a few feet to the left. This was sooo stupid. Willow could totally still hear what they were saying... Hey, Buffy, cut it out! Cordelia’s your friend!

Yeah, a friend who’s completely insulting and totally stupid sometimes, that oh-so-snarky inner voice shot back.

Well, okay. That was true.

So, accordingly, she scowled at Cordy. “What do you want?”

“I’m worried about you,” she said earnestly. “You’ve been completely weird all day long. Angel and Parker are saying that—“

“Omigod, Cordy, please.” Buffy rolled her eyes. “Do you honestly think I give a damn about what Angel and Parker say? They’re, like, total idiots.”

“Total idiots who totally control the whole high school!” Cordelia was whispering frantically. “Buffy, they’re talking about kicking you out!”

She blinked. “Kicking me out of where?”

“Out of—you know,” Cordelia hissed. When Buffy continued to just stare at her, she said, “The group!”

The desperation in Cordy’s voice was just enough to actually be comical. Buffy couldn’t stop a grin from coming to her face. “Oh, the horror,” she said in a dry, very un-Buffy-like voice. “However will I survive being kicked out of the group?”

“Buffy...” Cordelia said in a warning voice. “You’re my friend, and I completely understand what you’re going through, but—“

“No, you don’t! How could you possibly understand?” Ugh. Bad teen movie much?

“Oh, please. Have you ever seen Xander Harris? Totally hot and totally off limits,” Cordy pointed out. “He’s a nerd, Buffy, just like Willow’s a geek.”

“And Spike?” As soon as the words popped out of her mouth she wanted to stuff them back in. No one, especially not one of the school’s biggest gossips, needed to know about her changing feelings towards Spike.

“Punk rock weirdo,” Cordelia said instantly. Her tone was dismissive, superior, even, and it took her less than a second to come up with a label for Spike. Buffy realized that Cordy could label anyone in the school at the drop of a hat. Could and would.

And for some reason that she didn’t really feel like figuring out, that made her mad. Really, really mad.

So what came out of her mouth wasn’t agreement with what Cordy just said, which would have been smart, since she was about to be kicked out of the in crowd by people she called her friends. No, instead she just said, “You’re really quick to label people, Cordelia.”

And the creepy part was, it didn’t sound like her. Not even a tiny bit. It sounded like—someone serious, someone grown-up. Someone who was not Buffy Summers.

“Your point being?” Cordelia arched an eyebrow. She sounded perfectly serious and perfectly bitchy—total Cordelia. In their little group, Cordy had always been the bitchy one. Buffy was just the cute blonde.

And now, even though part of her was screaming what the hell are you doing??!!! at her, she just wanted it to be over.

I’m tired of it, she realized suddenly. I’m tired of pretending everything’s okay when it’s not, I’m tired of acting like I don’t have any brains...

And I’m tired of pretending those people are my friends.

So she raised her chin and looked Cordy in the eye, even though her own were beginning to sparkle with tears. She knew that in this world, the world of high school, what she was about to do could alienate her from her “friends” forever. People in high school didn’t forgive and they never forgot. It was a hellish place where every little thing you said was heard and repeated and twisted until whatever truth that had originally been contained in it was, as often as not, lost.

And what she was about to say would be repeated for quite some time. That much, at least, she was sure of.

“My point being that I’m tired of this,” she snapped. “I’m tired of watching everything I say and do, and I’m just—just—“

Cordy held up a hand. “Don’t worry,” she said sweetly. “I get it.”

“Y—you do?” Buffy said nervously. Well, that makes one of us, at least. I so don’t understand anything I’m saying.

“Of course I do,” the other girl assured her.

“Oh, thank God,” Buffy said, relieved. “Now, if you can just tell Angel and everybody that—“

“I’ll tell them what I heard.” Cordy’s voice and face all of a sudden turned malicious. “Little Miss Buffy Summers is out.” And with that, she turned on her heel and walked back into the cafeteria.

Buffy stared after her, slack-jawed, her entire world reeling on its axis.

Part of her—the grown-up part, the part that had been doing most of the talking for the past twenty minutes or so—was snickering and thinking, well, that went well. Stupid little high school clichés intact and everything. But most of her was just thinking about her former friend and the look that had been on her face when she said those hurtful, if hopelessly immature, words.

It was a look she’d seen dozens of times before—every time Cordelia put a nerd or a geek or a punk or anybody, really, in their place. She’d never realized before how much that look of utter and complete contempt could really hurt.

They’d been going over to each others’ houses for sleepovers and late-night talks since the seventh grade. That was, like, six whole years of girly bonding. Buffy couldn’t even count the number of secrets she’d told Cordy over the years. And now the girl was completely repudiating her because she’d had the nerve to act like a person, not some walking, talking trained poodle.

Buffy inhaled sharply and realized that she was very, very close to crying.

And then the tears started running.

Well, it wasn’t her fault. Twenty-four hours ago things had been just fine. Well, okay, she’d been flunking English and hated Spike and her parents had been big jerks. But—she’d at least held most of the school in thrall. Even if she hadn’t been able to control her own life, she’d had that. She’d had her popularity.

Or...she’d thought she had.

And now? What did she have now? She was still failing English, she still hated Spike—or at least, she was pretty sure she did. If she didn’t then she’d just go kill herself, because not hating Spike would be like someone telling her the sky was purple and the grass was orange.

And her parents were still big buttholes. That much she was sure of.

So would someone like to tell me why I just went all Wonder Woman, Justice For the People on Cordy?

Willow, who’d been watching Buffy cry and frantically trying to think of what to do, took a hesitant step forward. “Um...Buffy? A-Are you okay?”

Oh, yeah. That’s why. Someone had actually been nice to her. It had been a good feeling...usually, her and niceness were like oil and water. Very un-mixy.

“I—I dunno.” She wiped her cheeks and tried for a feeble smile. “I’m Raccoon-Girl now, aren’t I?”

“No, of course not. You look nice.” Willow offered the girl a smile, but to Buffy it looked kinda false.

Or maybe just disbelieving? She briefly tried to put herself in the other girl’s shoes. Until like two minutes ago, Buffy had been a typical Teen Queen. People like her didn’t give people like Willow so much as the time of day. There was no reason they didn’t, that was just the way it was. It was stupid...but Buffy was starting to think that all of high school was stupid.

“Thanks,” she sniffled. “Ummmm...look, this is horrible, especially since I still totally hate Spike, and I barely know you, but...can I...” She looked down at her hands. “Can I sit with you at lunch?”

Most other people in the school would have completely spurned her request. Actually, most people would have done so with glee. Buffy couldn’t count the number of people she’d been cruel to just in the past year. Though she didn’t remember any particular events involving Willow, there probably had been at least one.

But Willow just smiled and helped Buffy to her feet, saying, “Sure. We’d be glad to have you. Well, except Spike, he’ll probably throw a fit...but that’s okay. Faith can deal with grumpy Spike.”

Buffy frowned. Faith as in the freaky Goth slut everybody she knew utterly despised?

Oh, wait. Everybody despised her now, too.

“Okay,” she whispered. Willow smiled encouragingly and started to walk back towards the cafeteria. Buffy felt a profound gratitude towards the redhead, gratitude that she knew would probably turn into friendship. Willow was just so...nice. It was a dumb word, but she was. She was nice and forgiving and suddenly Buffy realized that she’d much rather be friends with Willow than with Cordelia.

Somehow, she knew Willow wouldn’t reject her if Buffy’s whole attitude suddenly changed like it had with Cordy a little while ago. Granted, Willow might tie her down and demand to know what was going on, but she wouldn’t go all Ice Queen and just tell her that she was out.

And because Willow was so much nicer than Cordelia, Buffy was going to go eat at the reject table. With Spike.

She gulped.

Here we go, she thought nervously, and she followed Willow into the cafeteria.

~*~

A/N: So, the weirdest thing has been happening lately. My family’s got this twisted idea that just because the computer with Internet access is in the family room and is referred to as the ‘family computer’, they’ve got dibs on it over me, or something. So updates might be few and far between for a little while until my mom’s computer gets fixed or I make my family a little bit smaller *crazy serial killer laughter*...okay. No more coffee for the teenager =) Thanks to people who reviewed, you guys make my day!!!!! Hope you liked smarter Buffy. If you did, then by all means, tell me ;)

~*~

As soon as they neared the table, Spike looked up. Buffy watched his eyes go dark with anger.

“Bloody hell, Red,” he snapped at Willow. “I asked you to check up on her, not play the sodding mother hen.”

“Spike...” Willow warned, sitting down, but Buffy wasn’t listening.

She was staring across the cafeteria at the table nearest the huge windows. Sunlight streamed in, and it was always pleasantly warm—so that was the table Sunnydale’s upper crust sat at. That was where she had sat ever since she started going out with Angel in the tenth grade.

Angel had broken up with her to go with Cordelia, accusing Buffy of being a “frigid bitch”...but since Buffy and Cordy were like best friends, Buffy had continued to sit with them. Of course, it helped that she was a cheerleader and stuff. But mostly, it was because she was tight with Cordy.

Now, though, they were staring at her. Veruca and Harmony were whispering, and as she watched, Harmony threw back her head and laughed.

At her.

Buffy winced. It was almost too much, seeing her former friends there snickering at her. Of course, the whole cafeteria was looking at her, since it wasn’t every day a varsity cheerleader and former girlfriend of the school’s most popular guys sat down at the reject table...but Buffy had never cared about those other people. She cared about her friends—people who, apparently, didn’t exactly return the feeling.

Wonderful. Abso-freaking-lutely terrific.

Pouting angrily, she sat down next to Willow.

As soon as she looked up, she had to restrain herself from sighing and rolling her eyes. Great. Everyone at this table was staring at her, too. It was a freaking Stare-a-thon.

“So, um...did you try the meat special today? I heard it was very...meaty.” Willow tried to smile at Buffy. Tried and failed, since Buffy looked miserable and everyone else at the table looked stunned.

Well, everyone except Spike. He just looked mad.

She put her head down, staring at her hands. It was a new pose for her, but at least when she was looking at her lap she didn’t have to deal with all the people staring at her. If she’d thought it would help, she’d run up to the table in the sunshine and beg Cordy and the others to take her back...but she knew that they’d just laugh at her.

The cafeteria’s noise level was almost back up to normal, but the reject table was still silent. Buffy winced. The reject table, which as of today included her. Things were really shaping up nicely, weren’t they?

Someone at the table cleared their throat. Buffy looked up in time to see Anya nod at Buffy’s pink purse.

“Nice purse. Prada?”

Buffy smiled gratefully and was about to answer—Prada was one thing she could definitely talk about—but someone interrupted her.

“Oh, come on. Blondie couldn’t tell Prada from Playboy.” Spike smirked at her, seemingly ignoring the squeak that came from a now red-faced Willow.

Buffy’s self-pitying misery was replaced by utter outrage. She was about to splutter something about stupid blonde idiots—when she got a much, much better idea. One that involved fighting back.

She smiled slowly. “At least I’m a girl,” she said archly. “I’m not supposed to be interesting in Playboy. You, on the other hand, aren’t interested because you—what do they call it? Oh, yeah—play for the other team.” She smiled sweetly at him, practically jumping up and down internally as she watched him turn bright red with rage.

“You—I—where the hell do you get off—“

“Nowhere. But then, neither do you...unless it’s watching Mr. America competitions.”

That was it. Everyone at the table let their grins turn into titters as they watched.

Now Spike’s face was just a little darker than just plain red. Actually, it was this cool maroon color. It didn’t do much for his hair, Buffy decided.

Oh, well.

“What’s the matter, Spikey?” she asked, grinning from ear-to-ear. This was actually kinda fun. “I know girls don’t turn you on, but can’t you fight one?”

“You—sodding—arrrrg!” Spike stood up, threw his tray on the ground, and stalked off.

Buffy watched him go with wide eyes. Oops. She hadn’t actually meant to make him that mad. Piss him off a little, sure, but his blue eyes had actually looked a little hurt. In fact, she would have been really worried except that everyone at the table was still laughing. Even Willow was grinning at seeing the aloof Brit storm off in a huff like a little two-year-old.

“Way to go, B,” Faith said, clapping her on the shoulder. “You’re sure as hell in now.”

“I—I am?” Buffy asked nervously, glancing around. To her surprise, she saw approval on everyone’s faces.

“It’s an unwritten rule that you have to either orgasm with Spike or insult him to get into the group,” Anya said bluntly. “Or both—isn’t that right, sweetie?” she asked the boy sitting next to her, nuzzling his ear.

“Ew!” Buffy squealed in spite of herself. As soon as the noise came out of her mouth she covered it up and said, “Oops! Sorry, I just—“

“Hey, I’m right there with you,” Willow said. “Big, big ew.”

“I don’t see why,” Anya said. “I mean, it’s not like everyone at this table didn’t hear me trying to talk Spike and Xander into that threesome a little while ago. There’s nothing wrong with wanting orgasms with two guys instead of one.”

Buffy couldn’t do anything but stare. Anya was blunter than Cordy and talked racier than Parker. “Is she, um, always like this?” she asked, not taking her eyes off Anya.

“Yeah,” a new guy spoke up. He nodded at her. “Oz. Willow’s boyfriend.”

“And a man of many words, obviously.” A nice-looking girl with brown hair smiled at her. “I’m Fred, resident science nerd.”

“Hey, I thought that was me,” Willow said.

“Nah, Wills, you’re the bookworm,” Xander supplied. He grinned at Buffy. “So, Buff, I hear you’re a cheerleader. Will we get to see you practice?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Um. No.”

“And Little Miss Tightly Wound is back. Why the hell are you over here, anyway?” Faith asked, taking a swig from her—oh my god, was that beer?

“Huh? Oh. Just, um, you know.” She didn’t really want to say my friends just totally kicked me out of their group and I have nowhere else to go so I had to take a bookworm up on her suggestion. Instead she said, “The project—yeah, that’s right. With the—getting to know Spike’s friends, and stuff.”

She caught Willow’s eyes. The redhead looked confused, and Buffy opened her eyes a little wider, silently begging Willow not to tell everyone the truth. She didn’t think she could handle them knowing just then.

“Uh, yeah, that’s right,” Willow lied quickly. “Just for, um, school, and stuff.”

“But I thought she was sitting with us because she refused to be servile to the head cheerleader and her cronies,” Anya said, looking confused. Buffy stared at her incredulously. Was it possible for someone to be so tactless without even realizing it?

Apparently so, since the next words out of Anya’s mouth were, “What are you all looking at?”

“So, you’ve broken up with Cordy, huh?” Xander said in a clumsy attempt to alleviate the tense silence that followed Anya’s pronouncement.

“Geez, you make it sound like they were goin’ out or something,” Faith said. She took a huge bite of a candy bar. “Pretty sure there wasn’t any lesbo action with the pom-pom sisters,” she added around the chocolate.

“A world of no,” Buffy was quick to say. “But...um...yeah, we kinda went separate ways.”

“Wow, that must be awful.” Fred smiled at her sympathetically. “Haven’t you guys been friends for awhile?”

Buffy nodded. “Since before I lived here, actually.” She caught a glimpse of Cordy out of the corner of her eye. The girl was laughing and patting Angel’s arm, looking perfectly content even with her best friend relegated to the reject table. “Our parents were friends...she used to come to the apartment in LA and we’d talk. When I moved here we were both so thrilled.” She sighed. Suddenly, it seemed to all be a very long time ago.

“And now she’s pulled the bitch switch?” Faith shook her head. “Damn. Sucks ass to be you.”

Uh-huh, Buffy thought as the conversation turned to more mundane things. Sucks major ass to be me.

It was ten minutes later and about five minutes before the lunch bell when a shadow fell across their table.

“Oh. My. God. Is is Buffy Summers.”

“Lorne!” Fred exclaimed, jumping to her feet. “I didn’t know you were back!” She ran around the table and hugged him. “How was Venice?”

“Simply di-vine,” he told her, beaming. “But I had to get back to see everyone here. And then I walk into the lunchroom and lo and behold, we’ve got a newcomer. How did such a delightful bit of school royalty come to our humble abode?”

Buffy just blinked.

Well, it wasn’t like she could help it. This Lorne guy had green hair. And not just home-bleach-job-gone-wrong green. No, she was pretty sure that this green had been deliberate. It was so fluorescent they could have used him as a warning sign on the highway. Plus also she was thinking he was just a little bit gay.

“B’s gonna hang with us for awhile,” Faith said cheerfully.

“Oh, dear.” Lorne clucked sympathetically. “Fallout with Queen C?”

Why did everyone immediately jump to that conclusion? “Um, yeah,” she said, looking away.

“Terrible. Simply terrible.” Lorne sighed, looked around, and added, “And where is our wonderful representative from the mother country?”

“You mean Spike? He stormed off because Buffy actually won a fight with him. Also, I think she made him a little horny,” Anya said cheerfully.

“Oh, don’t talk like that, dear, I really can’t handle such scrumptious imagery so early in the morning,” Lorne told Anya with a grin.

“Yeah, me neither,” Willow said. When everyone looked at her askance she added quickly, “The, uh, imagery, not the scrumptious—not that he’s ugly, but—oh, look, french fries.” She dug into the plate that had been sitting in front of her for the past twenty minutes.

Buffy joined everyone in their mischievous grins. Lorne sat down next to her and started questioning her about her shoes, pronouncing them to be “utterly stunning.” When Buffy left the lunchroom with Anya on one side and Lorne on the other, she was laughing.

~*~

Needless to say, Spike wasn’t exactly looking forward to the interview. He was rather embarrassed about his half-assed attempt at a good argument at lunchtime. He’d expected that teasing her would help her get back to normal. If the chit was anything like him, arguing would help her feel normal.

Sodding hell. Since when did he care about helping her?

Spike stabbed his fag out on the metal plating of the vent in the roof of his bathroom. He was crouching on top of the toilet and had been smoking into an air vent. Since his Da had cracked down on what he termed “rebellious actions”, Spike’d had to practically bend over backward just to sneak a smoke.

He hopped off the top of the toilet seat and arched his back, wincing as his vertebrae cracked. Or bend over forward.

“Spike!”

He cringed as he heard his father’s voice. “Yeah?” he hollered back, trying to keep the animosity out of his reply.

“There’s a girl downstairs who wants to speak with you!”

“Uh—yeah, just let her in,” Spike called back. “Be down in a few.”

Christ, now his clothes’d smell like smoke. Trust Summers to show up early for something neither of them wanted to do...

He shoved his pack of Camels in a pocket of his duster and slipped out of the bathroom. When he heard his father and mother interrogating Buffy, he winced. The other reason he hadn’t wanted her to come anywhere near his house was because of his insipid, idiotic parents.

“So, Buffy, what is your career path once you exit high school?” he heard his mum ask as he came down the stairs.

“Well, I haven’t really—that is, I—“

“Hm, interesting,” the older woman murmured. “Refusal to answer implies an inherent fear concerning life after the school environment is displaced,” she said offhand to her husband.

“Uh-huh,” was his Da’s response.

“No! I’m not being avoid-ey, I just haven’t though about it is all,” Buffy babbled. “I mean, I have a very—very simple philosophy. I’m big on the living in the moment, and day-seizing, and stuff.”

Spike sighed impatiently. Poor girl sounded like she was ready to melt into the floor. Better go help her, he thought, striding into the foyer—and stopping right before he walked into the light.

His parents had finally succeeded in driving him bug-shagging crazy. He’d come within an inch of actually helping Buffy Summers. He’d felt sorry for her and then gone off to play the white knight.

Bloody hell.

He would have slunk back up to his room and waited for his mum to finish interrogating Buffy before sending the blonde’s remains up, but unfortunately for him, his dad heard him. “Come on in, son.”

He grimaced and walked into the foyer, keeping his shoulders hunched. “Yeah, Da?”

“Who’s the lovely young lady you’ve brought home?” his father inquired.

Spike rolled his eyes. Despite the fact that his father was ten years younger than his mother and hadn’t even been man enough to take her name when they’d gotten married, he still treated Spike in this idiotic proprietary manner that drove him mad. “Name’s Buffy, Da.”

“That we know, William.” His mother sounded dryly amused, which was actually worse than his father’s idiotic condescending.

“She’s a cheerleader at school. We’re doin’ a project together for English. Which is why she’s here, so we’ll just—go now.”

“Is that the only reason she’s here, William?” his mother inquired, studying him with sharp eyes.

“Uh, yeah.” Suddenly the room felt a bit too hot. Buffy was wearing a very short skirt, he noticed suddenly, and the way she was biting on her lip was really very adorable.

He couldn’t take it any more. There was no was in hell he was gonna get a hard-on standing in his parents’ foyer. Hard-on...Buffy....Buffy on his hard-on...

Bleeding hell, he was gonna go insane. Hurriedly he grabbed Buffy’s hand, trying hard to ignore the way just touching her hand (which was admittedly rather a lot more than he’d ever done before) was making his skin feel like it was on fire.

“Hey! What are you—“

“My room’s this way,” he interrupted, tugging her towards the staircase. “We’ll go up there, yeah?”

“I don’t see what your problem is,” Buffy whined, following Spike upstairs. “I was just talking to your parents, which by the way is part of the stupid project, and—“

“Mum was psychoanalyzing you,” Spike informed her. “And I didn’t drag you out of there ‘cuz I felt sorry for you, I dragged you out ‘cuz I don’t fancy hearin’ about your shortcomings for the next sodding week. So lay off it, a’right?”

“Whatever,” she snapped, following him into his room—or to the doorway, anyway. Spike was halfway to his desk when he realized she wasn’t following.

He turned around. “You comin’, or what?”

“Your room’s...” she looked around, wrinkling her nose. “Weird,” she finished.

His eyebrows went up. “Weird?” He repeated almost incredulously. He looked around his room. Black walls covered with posters of the Sex Pistols, the Ramones, and AC/DC; black carpet, littered with black clothing; black sheets, rumpled from sleep; desk covered in—oh, bugger—books...with the exception of the desk, which he knew damn good and well was out of place with his rep, it was a pretty ordinary room.

And Buffy wasn’t coming in. For some reason, that was really gettin’ on his nerves.

“Yeah, weird. It’s all black and stuff.”

“Black’s m’ color, luv, in case you hadn’t noticed,” he informed her with a smirk on his face.

“It’s not a color,” she shot back, still teetering at his doorway, rocking on her toes and clutching her hot pink clipboard but refusing to enter.

“Bloody hell, Summers, would you just come in here already?” he burst out impatiently.

“Uh-uh.” She shook her head in an astonishingly childish manner, still rocking back and forth.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Spike snapped impatiently. Fine, then. If she wasn’t gonna come in on her own, he’d help her out. Lunging forward and grabbing her wrist, he yanked her inside.

*

Okay. One of the reasons Buffy had been way scared to go into Spike’s room was because of the clothing that was like all over the floor.

The other reason was because, well, it was Spike, who despite his bajillion shortcomings was still really hot. And this was his bedroom, for crying out lout. His very soft-looking bed was only a few feet away! And Spike just expected her to walk in, cheerful as you please.

There is no way.

Unfortunately there was a way, in the form of Spike’s hand getting a-hold of her wrist and pulling it forward.

Almost in spite of herself she shrieked and flew forward. She would have been able to gracefully stumble into his room—well, okay, there was no such thing. But she would have probably been able to get away with just stumbling if it wasn’t for a pair of black jeans that caught on her heeled sandals and sent her flying forward—

Humiliatingly enough, right into Spike’s arms.

She generally didn’t believe in the fireworks-and-freeze-frame routine, but she could have sworn that for a fraction of a second the only things in the world that existed were her, Spike’s incredible blue eyes, and his steely arms, holding her tight.

Oh. And her heart, which was thumping so wildly she swore it was about to break out of her chest.

“Eeek!” She shrieked again and hurriedly jumped back. But it was too late. For an eye blink, she hadn’t thought about Spike as her arch-nemesis. He’d just been a really, really hot guy whose bedroom she was in.

Wonderful. Now the interview’s gonna be a Buffy Blush-a-Palooza.

He settled himself down on his bed, pointing to his desk chair. “Sit.”

Why did it sound more like an order than an invitation? But Buffy, being flustered and horny and therefore in no mood to argue, sat anyway.

“So...um...” she looked down at the clipboard. As Spike had told her, Mr. Giles had given them a list of questions, but a note at the bottom said they could also ask whatever questions they liked as long as they were related to the project—so she had a little wiggle room.

Wiggle. Her wiggling in Spike’s arms. Yum...

“No,” she whispered to herself, shaking her head.

Spike cocked an eyebrow at her. “Though I was supposed to be the one answerin’ questions, luv.”

“I—you are. I was just thinking,” she snapped. “Okay. Um. Question number one: how is your relationship with your parents?” Yeah, that was it. Stick to the teacher’s questions and she’d be okay.

“You saw the buggers, think you can answer that.”

She gave an impatient sigh. God, he was annoying...” Yeah, but I have to have an answer from you for the project.”

“Right, then. M’ mum’s a control freak. M’ da’s such a cowardly ponce that he let m’ mum give me her last name instead of his. They fight all the time, and when they’re not at each other’s throats they’re givin’ me hell. That tell you what you need to know?”

She was scribbling as quickly as possible, trying to get it all down. “Um...what’s a pounce?”

“Ponce,” he corrected. “’s an idiot, a nancy-boy.”

“Oooh, I get it,” Buffy said. She wrinkled her nose. “That’s kinda mean.”

“’s the truth,” Spike said peacefully. “Next question.”

“What is your home life like?” she read in her best serious-reporter voice.

Apparently it wasn’t as serious as she’d thought it was, because he burst into laughter.

“What now?” she snapped, more than irritated.

“You sound like Pamela Anderson when she was hawking that book of hers,” Spike explained, smirking. “Dumb blondes tryin’ to be serious...’s a laugh riot.”

She glared at him. “Hello—interview?” she reminded him, holding up the clipboard.

“Right. Home life. Eat, sleep, repeat,” he snapped. “Sodding hell, Summers, can’t you come up with anything more interesting?”

“They’re the same questions you were gonna ask me if I hadn’t kicked you out,” Buffy told him, pouting, “So shut up and answer.”

“How the bleeding hell ‘m I s’posed to do both at once?” Spike inquired, grabbing a black baseball from his nightstand and tossing it up in the air.

“Just answer the question, then,” Buffy ground out. God. How could she ever have thought he was even the tiniest bit hot? He was an annoying pig!

“Already did,” he drawled.

She blinked. He was right. Dammit. “Okay, fine.” She looked down at the clipboard. The next question was, what is your relationship with the interviewer?

“Wonderful,” she muttered, before saying out loud, “Mr. Giles wants you to tell me what your relationship with me is.”

“What?” Was it just her, or was his voice higher than usual? “That doesn’t make any sodding sense.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Buffy agreed, frowning down at the paper. “Wait, hold on—it also says, ‘Please specify as to when you met the interviewer and what your feelings were towards him/her at that point in time, as well as detailing your present relationship.’”

“So Brit-Boy wants our whole history, then?” Spike threw the baseball up so hard it hit the ceiling. Buffy blinked and bit her pen. Wow. He could get violent really fast.

“Let’s see,” Spike began. “Met you—um, five years ago.”

“You so did not. I didn’t even move here till I was a sophomore, dumbass,” Buffy insulted him.

“And I met you in eighth grade. Cordelia’s pool party, remember?”

Buffy frowned. Eighth grade...pool party...oh yeah, she remembered that. Tyler had been there, it’d been the first time she’d seen him. He had looked sooo cute in his black trunks—but...”I didn’t see you.”

“Well, okay, saw you, then. Didn’t talk to you. I was only there to put the purple dye in the bint’s pool.”

“That was you?” Buffy scowled at him in renewed outrage. “It took her like three months to get the stain off!”

“Stupid chit’d insulted me a few days ago, what the hell was I s’posed to do?”

“Whatever.” Buffy dismissed it with a wave of her hand. She so didn’t feel like taking a walk down memory lane right now. “Anyway, specify your feelings towards me, please.”

He gave her a funny look. It was clear he thought she sounded silly, saying what Giles had written in her normal voice. Which, she’d admit, it kinda did. “Dunno. All I remember is seeing you...thinkin’ you were...” he trailed off, staring into space.

“Thinking?” Buffy prompted, doodling on the paper in front of her.

He sighed. He sounded irritated, even impatient. “Thinking you were the most stuck-up chit ‘d ever seen in m’ life.”

The pen slipped on the paper, causing her to draw a huge, ugly black line through the cute little rainbow she’d been drawing. Buffy made a face and quickly scribbled down what he’d said. For some reason, his answer has surprised her—maybe even hurt her a little. Well, come on, Buffy. What were you expecting him to say, that he was madly in love with you and wanted to spend the rest of eternity in your arms? Get a grip, her inner Cordy snapped at her.

“Fine, then.” Her voice was brisk, but not as brisk as she wished it was. She still sounded all...girly. Hurt, even. Which I’m not. Nope. Not one little bit. “Present relationship?”

“You’re a bitch an’ I know it,” Spike said casually.

Buffy sighed. “Do you always have to be like this? Before you got all mean, we were almost having a conversation!”

“All the more reason to start fightin’ again, don’t you think?” Spike inquired. “God knows, the day we become friends is the day the soddin’ world ends.”

“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “Okay...describe your friends.”

“Right, then. ‘ll start off with Red...”

The interview went on for almost an hour. At the end of it, Buffy’s hand was cramped, her eyes were tired, and she was fairly certain that the ceiling was gonna crack and fall down on their heads if Spike hit it with that baseball one more time. “That’s the end.”

He glanced over at her. “What d’ya know. Time flies when you’re bored to tears.”

“Ha-ha,” Buffy said sarcastically, but even she noticed that her reply wasn’t exactly as mean as it could have been.

In fact, it sounded almost friendly.

At that thought, Buffy leapt up. “It’s late, I should go.”

Spike sat up and looked at her, smirking, clearly amused. “’s only six o’clock,” he pointed out.

“And I have dinner, and homework, and—stuff,” Buffy said defensively. “So I’ll just—go now.” She edged toward the door, once again super-aware of the fact that Spike’s bed—with Spike on it!—was only a few feet away.

He stood up and sauntered towards her. “I’ll just walk you out, then,” he said, still wearing that infuriating smirk.

“I think I can walk downstairs all by myself, thanks,” Buffy said sarcastically.

“Wanna end up talkin’ to my mum for the next hour?”

Buffy almost shuddered at the image. A few minutes with that uber-bitch had been more than enough. “Okay, point taken. Let’s just get this over with!”

“Right.” Spike’s face, which up until then had been playful, suddenly became closed off, almost hostile. He pushed past her and led the way downstairs.

Buffy followed, wrinkling her nose at his back. She didn’t think she’d ever met anyone who got so mad at eensy-weensy things before. It was kind of cute...in a super-annoying way, of course.

He opened the door and stepped aside, clearly wanting her to leave. Just before she stepped out into the evening light she paused and said, “Spike...” she trailed off, unsure.

“Yeah, pet?”

She took a step forward so that she was only about six inches away from him. Tilting her head up, she smiled a little and said, “Thanks for not kicking me out.”

“Any time,” he said, his face completely devoid of any sardonic expression.

His eyes were really very blue...almost unaware of what she was doing, Buffy began to sway forwards. She was less than an inch away from touching Spike when—

“Spike Walsh, get in here!” His mother’s voice pierced the stillness.

Buffy jumped away like she’d been burned. She blinked, there was a flurry of movement—and then she was facing a closed door where Spike’s body had been.

She should have been mad. All things considered, she really ought to have been utterly furious.

But instead, only one thought was in her mind as she walked home: What the hell just happened?

~*~

A/N: Hope you liked =) Just thought I’d get the relationship moving a bit quicker. Reviews are always great. Thanks SO SO MUCH to everyone who reviewed last time, I swear I’m not kidding when I say reviews make me smile almost as much as chocolate!!! *grin* So keep ‘em coming =) I love you guys!

~*~

Two days passed, way too slowly for Buffy’s taste. She continued to hang out with Spike’s friends, although after that interview, she hardly saw Spike himself. Generally he skipped lunch and either hung out in the library or the computer lab—which, Buffy kept telling herself, was just fine with her. Oz, Willow, Fred, Anya, Xander, and Faith were plenty of company for her. Uh-huh. Plenty.

Now it was Friday night, and she was getting ready to go to the Bronze, a local underage club. But her preparations weren’t of the usual sort, and it was bothering her.

Usually, Friday and Saturday were both really busy days for her—shopping and Bronzing till she and her friends were just about ready to die. But ever since that fateful—and silly, but Buffy was too depressed to laugh at it much—fallout, not a single one of her old friends had talked to her. With the exception of calls from Willow and Faith, her phone had been silent. It was really kinda lonely.

Willow had managed to talk her into going to the Bronze with Spike’s crowd, but she was still really unsure about the whole thing. She knew Cordy, Harmony and company would be there; they always were on Friday nights, and up until a few days ago Buffy would have joined them. In fact, she’d gone to the Bronze for almost as long as she could remember—but she’d never seen Spike or anyone there before.

She finished clipping her hair back and glanced at her silent phone, sighing. “God. Why did I let Wills talk me into this again?” She stepped back and studied her reflection in the mirror. She was wearing a simple black skirt that fell just to her knees. The hem was cut at sharp angles, making it fun instead of boring. Her red top was sparkly and accented her blonde hair well. She wasn’t wearing much makeup, but it was enough to make her eyes look bigger than usual and her lips cute and pouty.

She didn’t think she looked half as good as she usually did, but she just sighed. Oh, well. Not like there’s anyone I want to impress. Spike probably wouldn’t even be there...

Her stilettos fell from numb fingers when she realized what she’d just though. No. There is no impressing! Or—or wanting to impress! None whatsoever!

It was kinda hard to lie to herself in her head.

“Damn it,” she muttered, quickly strapping on her shoes. “Stupid Spike with his stupid hair, and his accent, and—uh-uh.” She shook her head firmly. “Not gonna go there. I hate him. Really, really hate him. Yep. There is lots of hateyness where Spike Walsh is concerned.”

She was still repeating that, like it was her frickin’ mantra or something, when she walked out the door.

*

Why the hell had he let Red talk him into this?

‘Course, Red could talk just about anyone into just about anything. She was skilled that way. But this was Buffy Summers she was talking about.

Red’d begged him to come, saying that Buffy would need as much company as she could get. It was, she’d argued, bound to be stressful for the blonde, since Queen C and her minions held court there every Friday and Saturday night.

He really should have said that if it was so damn stressful for the bint, she could just stay home.

It was bad enough, really, that he’d almost slipped up the day of the interview. He’d been a hair away from telling her he’d though she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen in his life that time at Cordelia’s pool party.

That would have been the biggest bloody mistake he’d ever made in his life.

And now he was getting ready to hop into the DeSoto and drive off to the Bronze like he just couldn’t wait to spend his Friday night with one of the biggest bitches on the planet. Wonderful.

Except he knew that she wasn’t. One of the biggest bitches on the planet, that is. She’d had two days to tell everyone about his fucked-up family, and she hadn’t. Buffy Summers, the one thorn in his side who just wouldn’t go away, had kept her mouth closed about his parents.

That alone was enough for him to rethink the ‘Buffy-is-a-bitch’ theory.

But still, he didn’t want to talk to her, or even look at her, at the Bronze. Stupid chit and her sodding resolve face, he thought with a scowl as he drove towards the Bronze.

He parked in an alley a few blocks away and got out of the car, tossing on his duster—California nights could get damned cold.

His footsteps echoed in the near-empty streets as he strode towards the club, mind on who he might find to help him get his mind off a certain blonde cheerleader. There was a girl he’d seen there the other night—what was her name? Sheila, that was it...bit dumb, but God knew he seemed to like the dumb ones. Irritation coursed through him—there he went again, going right on back to Buffy. He walked a bit faster. Bugger, he’d parked farther out than he’d thought...

He rounded the corner nearest the club and crashed right into someone.

They let out an “Ooomph!” and went careening backwards. Out of reflex, Spike grabbed the person...only to find that it was a she, and that she, whoever she was, had a damn nice body. He wrapped his arms around her under the pretense of helping her right herself. Mm...warm curves, nice breasts...

“God! Could you get any more clumsy?”

He jumped back like he’d been burnt. “Bloody hell,” he groaned. “I just can’t get away from you, can I?”

Harmony glared at him. “That is so you, like almost mowing me over and then accusing me! Why can’t you be more sensitive, Spikey? You’re like the worst boyfriend ever!”

“Don’t see how you could know,” he shot back, “Seeing as how ‘ve never gone out with you.”

“Spikey...” Harmony sighed. “This is another one of your issues that we totally need to talk about. You never want to talk about your real feelings.”

“Harm, how many times’re we gonna have to go over this? ‘m not your—“

“See, there you go again!” Harmony pointed an accusing finger at him. “You’re like completely denying the truth—“

“That’s because it’s not the truth!”

“Oh, come on, Spikey,” a new voice said. “You know you’re like totally in love with her.”

Buffy materialized out of the darkness. She wore a smug grin and clothes that clung to her curves, leaving very little to the imagination. Bugger—Spike didn’t know whether to throttle the chit or press her up against the wall and ravish her.

Buffy nodded to Harmony. “Hey, Harm.”

The other blonde eyed Buffy coldly. “Oh look, it’s Gutter Girl,” she said snidely.

“Huh?”

“Oh, please,” Harmony said, rolling her eyes. “Only like a total ho would wear that outfit!”

Buffy stared at her former friend with wide eyes that, though Spike saw mostly anger, were also hurt. “Harmony, I—“

“Save it,” Harmony advised. “Everybody knows that you’re like so totally out. And when you start hanging around Willow Rosenberg...” Harmony raked her eyes up and down Buffy’s form. “Well, let’s just say—Cordy would probably talk to a whore first.” And with that, Harmony smirked, ran a finger across Spike’s chest too quickly for him to push her away, and went inside.

Spike watched her enter, a sneer on his face. Stupid sodding bint barely even held a candle to that Cordelia bitch, much less...he turned to Buffy.

She was staring into space, clutching her purse. Her nostrils were flaring and the dim lighting made the tears in her eyes glimmer. Despite the fact that three-quarters of the time he wanted to wring her neck, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. Losing her mates like that had to be rough.

So when she wiped the tears away angrily and looked at him like she expected him to attack her, he didn’t. Instead he just said, “’s gonna be okay, you know.”

“How?” Barely a whisper.

His brow furrowed. “Well,” he began, frantically trying to think of things, “You’ll make more friends. Red likes you—God knows why—an’—“

“No,” she interrupted. “I mean—how can she just go all catty on me? I thought...I mean...”

Spike didn’t know what to do. Not once in his life had he ever had to deal with whatever she was dealin’ with now. “Dunno, pet,” he said, shrugging. “Hell, I barely understand half of what comes out ‘f that bint’s mouth. What’d she mean, you’re out?”

Her mouth twisted in a sardonic half-smile; Spike decided to consider that progress. “Out of the group. You know—Cordy, Parker, Harmony, Veruca...Angel...” Her face twisted again.

“Oh, for God’s sake, don’t go crying over that ponce,” Spike said, irritated—over what he wasn’t sure. “He’s a complete nancy, not even worth your tears.”

She froze and raised her head to stare at him, so quickly that Spike didn’t have a chance to look away. Instead, he just stared steadily at her. Let her read what she would in his eyes. God knew he sure as hell didn’t know what he was feeling.

After a moment Buffy smiled at him. “Tha—“

“Summer, ‘f you thank me, I’ll knock your soddin’ block off,” Spike interrupted. What was wrong with him? Comforting the biggest thorn in his side—he was going insane.

She nodded. “Right. Gotcha. No thanking.” Another awkward silence.

If someone didn’t talk, Spike was going to lose it completely. “S’pose we should go in, then?”

Buffy latched onto that suggestion immediately. “Yeah! I—I mean, uh-huh, that would be—good,” she stuttered, and practically ran for the door.

Only problem was, so did Spike. Her little body collided with his—and she made it worse by wiggling to get into the doorway. Spike’s eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head by the time she was through. “You know, you could warn a fellow before you—“ He paused. She was walking through the club as quickly as possible, little ass swaying, skirt riding up with each step.

And then it happened. Just like in the lunchroom, only instead of a twitch, it was more like a jump. A high jump.

“Oh, God,” he muttered, following her into the club. “Here we bloody go again.”

~*~

Buffy was looking around hesitantly, trying to find Willow and the others, when Spike caught up to her.

She rolled her eyes reflexively. “God,” she snapped, all traces of their former talk gone from her voice, “Puppy-dog much?” Actually, he’d make a really good puppy dog, following her around like a slave...oh, God. Where had that thought come from? Buffy forced herself to stop thinking about slave-Spike.

“Just figured you’d wanna know where all the cool kids hang,” Spike said in a snide voice.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Oh, please,” she began, but someone cut her off.

“B! Wassup?”

Buffy rolled her eyes but greeted Faith nicely enough. “Hey, Faith. Who’s your date?” She eyed the guy standing beside the brunette.

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” Faith laughed tipsily. “This is Devon. He’s the lead singer in—“

“Oz’s band,” Spike finished for her. “How you doin’, mate?” he added, eyeing the man up and down with a faintly protective air.

Devon raised his eyebrows. “Man, I’m still recovering from dating Cordelia.”

“Right.” Spike nodded and tilted his head up. “Good. Red’s up there.”

Buffy followed his gaze and let out an incredulous snort. “You guys hang out on the balcony?”

Devon frowned at her. “There something wrong with that?”

She abruptly remembered the fact that she was supposed to be friends with these people, not make it her life’s goal to insult them. “N—nothing,” she stuttered, smiling ingratiatingly. “I just don’t think I’ve ever been up there, is all.”

Devon gave her this look. She couldn’t really describe it—it was an “I-know-what-you’re-up-to” look mixed with a “you-stupid-bitch” kinda thing. He glanced at Spike. “Dude, I need to talk to you.”

Spike narrowed his eyes. “Either say what you wanna say in front of Summers or keep you mouth shut, Devon.”

“Fine. Buffy Summers is a bitch, no one likes her, so why the hell are you talking to her?”

Buffy’s mouth fell open in outrage. How dare he stand there and insult her! She was not a bitch! Well, okay, she had been, but as of three days ago she was so totally reformed! “Okay, you know what?” she snapped. “I have no idea how Faith puts up with you. I mean, yeah, the stoner-boy thing is kinda hot, but I’d rather put up with Harmony.”

To her surprise, Faith laughed. “Damn, B, way to kick my boyfriend’s ass,” she said, grabbing Devon’s arm.

Buffy just looked at her. Was that a compliment or an insult?

“Faith, why don’t you take Buffy on up?” Spike suggested, keeping his eyes on Devon. All of a sudden, Buffy found herself very, very glad he wasn’t looking at her. They’d fought for like forever, but he’d never looked at her like he wanted to kill her. And, okay, she doubted he’d kill Devon in the middle of the Bronze—but she was still glad he wasn’t looking at her.

Faith looked at him like he was insane. “I’ve had three frickin’ margaritas already. I am not doing those.” She pointed at the stairs before turning back to Devon with a sly smile. “I could do you, though...”

Surprisingly enough, Devon allowed Faith to pull him away from what Buffy was starting to think was a major testosterone thing, what with the staring and the growling and all. It was seriously weird and frankly, a little bit creepy.

So really, she was glad when Willow waved at her from the balcony and called down, “Buffy! You’re here!” She had to shout to be heard over the music.

“Uh, yeah. Just got here.” She tried for a smile, succeeding only a little.

“Well, come on up! What are you waiting for, an engraved invitation signed in blood?” Willow yelled back, grinning at her own joke. Buffy smiled, too, and went up the stairs.

“I’m sooo glad you could make it.” The redhead began gushing as soon as Buffy’s foot hit the top step. “I had to talk Spike into not kicking you out of here the second you walked in—what’s up with Spike, anyway? He looked like he wanted to rip Devon to shreds—nobody really liked Devon, but it’s OK, since he’s Faith’s and we all just put up with Faith on account of how no one can control her, and—“

“Willow? Breathe.” Oz came up behind her and wrapped an arm around his girlfriend’s shoulder. He nodded casually to Buffy. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Buffy replied, trying to smile. It was still so weird, having these people as her friends.

“So, you wanna sit down?” Willow, having recovered her breath, was doing her best to make Buffy feel normal.

“Um, yeah, sure.” Buffy followed, looking around curiously. It was a nice enough place, she guessed, if you were into dark and mysterious. The balcony was out of the neon lights that swung around the dance floor, and though the music drifted up, it was much quieter than on the floor below. Low couches in dark blue and black made it even more creature-of-the-night-ey. Buffy couldn’t decide if she liked it or if it majorly weirded her out.

“So,” she said, sitting down on a couch next to Xander and Anya, “This is nice. Kinda dark, but—“

“Hey.” Oz sat down and pulled Willow into his lap. “Dark has advantages.”

“Yes, you can get many orgasms up here and no one would even notice,” Anya said, darting a quick glare at Xander. He was sitting next to her, but to Buffy’s great amusement, every time Anya tried to scoot closer, he’d scoot away. “That is, if you have a boyfriend. Which I don’t,” she told Buffy.

“That’s horrible,” Buffy said, fighting to keep a straight face. “Must be really awful, with no one to take your coat, or open doors for you—“

“Or give me sex, which you and I both know is the most important thing in a relationship. Isn’t that right, Xander?” Anya resumed glaring at Xander.

“Think you’re gonna kill the whelp ‘f you keep bugging him like that, Ayn,” Spike said, grinning. He leaned against the balcony railing.

Buffy frowned at him. “Why are you up here?” Oh, great, now she sounded all jealous and stuff.

“Well, these are my friends. ‘m up here every Friday night, you know.”

“He is,” Anya said cheerfully. “And usually he passes his time by staring down at—“

“Oh my God!” Willow exclaimed, jumping to her feet. “I absolutely love this song! Don’t you love this song, Oz? Xander? Anya? I love this song!”

Anya stared at Willow in confusion. “Willow, what in the world are you doing? I was trying to tell Buffy that Spike—“

“We should go dance!” Willow again cut Anya off. She began tugging on Oz’s hand. “Come on, Oz, we never dance! And Anya, you know, dance floors are very seductive, with the sweat and the music and everything, you should come too!”

She pushed Oz towards the stairs and moved in on Anya. Before anyone had time to blink, she was ushering her boyfriend and the hapless would-be couple down the stairs and onto the dance floor, babbling about dancing the whole time.

Buffy blinked at the empty space that a second ago had held four people. “Okay. What just happened?”

Spike shrugged, looking casual. Buffy narrowed her eyes at him, glad that he wasn’t looking at her. His eyes looked...funny, she decided. All tight around the corners, like he was worried about something—or maybe nervous? No—Spike never got nervous! Mad, yeah, but...nervous?

It couldn’t be.

“Sometimes Red just goes completely carrot-top. Best to just obey her when she does,” Spike said casually. “Anya was right ‘bout one thing, though. The view from up here is nice.”

Buffy stood up and walked over to the railing hesitantly. She mimicked Spike’s leaning position, except she was about ten feet away from him. Because being stuck in a small dark space all alone with Spike was bad enough, thank you. She did not need to get all close to him, too.

She could see Willow going absolutely nuts on the dance floor. Buffy smiled fondly—Wills could be crazy sometimes, but she was a really good person. And there was Cordy, rubbing up against some frat boy, who was a piece of salty goodness really but hello, Cordy was acting like such a slut with the shimmying and stuff—and there was Harmony, practically wrapped around—

Buffy clamped her hands over her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut. Not gonna cry, not gonna cry, don’t want to look like a dumb blonde—come on, Buffy, don’t go all Hilary Duff now, Spike is right there, do you want him to see you cry? Not so much!

But it didn’t work. She stumbled back to the couch and plopped down in it, struggling to keep tears in. Well, she couldn’t help it, could she? Harmony was dancing with—“Tyler.” The name came out as a strangled kind of half-sob. She sounded like a dying duck. It was pathetic!

“Who?” Spike asked absentmindedly, still scanning the crowd. He glanced over at Buffy and did a double take. “Bloody hell, Summers, what’re you cryin’ for?”

“I’m not crying!” Buffy sniffled. She wiped away the tears, being careful not to smear her mascara. “I’m just—I’m just a little mad, is all.”

“Mad at who?” Spike was inching towards her with a wary look on his face. It was actually beyond annoying. He reminded her of the people at the zoo who had to feed the lions.

“Harmony.”

Spike let out an aggrieved sigh. “Not this again!”

“Huh? Oh, not the whole kicking me out thing. That slut is rubbing herself all over my Tyler!” Buffy winced as soon as that came out. Could she get any more lame? She sounded like one of those pathetic losers on Desperate Housewives.

So really, it didn’t surprise her when every hint of pity left Spike’s face and was replaced with amusement. Piss her off, yeah, but she wasn’t exactly surprised. This was Spike, after all. Stupid Spike who couldn’t go a day without insulting her—

And who, she decided, looked really, really good in red and black.

Wait. Off topic. Spike was saying something. Words were coming out of those wonderfully shaped lips...Concentrate, Buffy.

Right. Concentrate. On words.

Okay.

“What, did you brand the guy, or something?” Spike inquired, arching a questioning eyebrow at her.

“Huh? No!” Buffy mentally smacked herself. “He’s just...everybody knows he’s mine!”

Spike inched forward. Now he looked something other than amused...he actually looked kinda...Buffy frowned. Weird was the word. Not angry, not shocked, not annoyed, and not—thank God—pitying....just weird. “Just like everyone knows I hate you, right?” Inch. Inch.

“Just like everyone knows you hate me.” He came still closer, until he was standing in front of her. Then he sat down, and through the dimness, Buffy could see straight into his eyes.

“So answer me this, Summers...if what everyone knows is true, how come you don’t slap the shit out of me when I do...this?”

Then, to her complete shock, he lifted a single finger and trailed it down her face, brushing her bottom lip ever so slightly. She wasn’t the only one who shivered.

They sat in silence for a second, breath shallow, just staring at each other. Then Spike did the absolute worst thing he could have done.

He smirked.

“Well?” he said expectantly.

Buffy just lifted her hand and showed him the nails. “Manicure,” she said, tilting her nose in the air, trying hard to make it look like she wasn’t in the least little bit affected by that little touchy-thingy he’d just done.

Because she wasn’t. Her heart was racing and she was flushed and she couldn’t think straight because the music was all fast and loud and stuff, not because of anything Spike was doing...or had done...or could do...

Oh, crap.

Buffy pouted and slumped against the couch, shooting a disgruntled look at stupid Spike and, more specifically, his stupid fingers.

It was gonna be a long night.

~*~

A/N: Just so you know, this fic is gonna go somewhere. The night at the Bronze might take up a few chapters ‘cuz I want stuff to happen *grin* but after that, things will speed up. Promise =)

She’d been right. Twenty loong minutes had passed since Willow dragged everyone out on the dance floor, and Buffy was still stuck up on the balcony with Spike. Needless to say, she was starting to get bored.

Spike hadn’t moved an inch since he touched her on the face, so they were sitting in silence, only a few feet apart, both of them staring everywhere but at the other person. It was beyond boring and Buffy had drifted off into daydream-land a way long time ago.

She was thinking about Cordy and Harmony, and she was starting to come to a way horrible conclusion. One that she really wanted to talk about, because it was starting to bug her.

She glanced over at Spike. Part of her was convinced that he was the absolute last person she would want to talk to about anything, much less this. But the other half of her wasn’t so sure. Spike didn’t like her in the least little bit, so maybe he wouldn’t be all nice to her about what she was gonna say. That would be good.

When she spoke, her voice was barely loud enough to be heard over the pounding music. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever had a real friend.”

“’course you have.” Spike snorted. “You were Little Miss Popularity for three bloody years. You had friends comin’ out your arse.”

Okay, he was definitely not being nice. “That’s not what I mean,” Buffy said impatiently. “I wasn’t talking about mixy-people!”

She was staring straight ahead, determined not to look at him, so she couldn’t see his expression, but if his sarcastic tone was any judge, he was arching a cool eyebrow at her. “Mixy-people? What the bleeding hell is that?”

“You know...people you sit next to in elementary school, and talk to when you have the same lunch period, and stuff,” Buffy explained. “Mixy-people. They’re not your friends, but you’ll talk to them when you see them.”

“So...you’ve got lots ‘f mixy-people—“ Buffy grinned at hearing the Brit say her phrase, it sounded like he was saying “Neanderthal” or “football-player” or something equally weird and freaky—“But no friends?”

“Um, yeah. That’s pretty much it.” Buffy wrinkled her nose in an effort to hide her hurt and added, “Don’t you think so?”

“I reckon you’ve got a few friends.” Spike’s voice was like hers, carefully indifferent, masking any real emotion it might contain.

“Yeah? Like who?” Wow, this had to be a record for them. They’d gone like five minutes now without screaming at each other.

“Well, Red, for one. Chit wouldn’t invite you to the Bronze if she didn’t like you. Faith, too. She doesn’t go all slutty for everybody, y’know.”

Buffy couldn’t help herself—she laughed bitterly. “Oh, right, sorry. I have two friends—a nerd and a total slut.”

Ow! God, what was Spike’s deal? One minute he was all Mr. Neutrality, and now he was grabbing her chin and glaring into her eyes, his own a hard, uncompromising blue, his jaw set. “Maybe ‘f you were a little nicer, you’d have more friends,” he ground out. “Red’s worth more than five sodding Harmony’s, and ‘f you’re too stupid to notice it—“

She pushed him away and leapt to her feet. He wasn’t the only one who could act all tough and fight-ey. “Oh, so now I’m stupid? Way to make me feel better!”

“Wasn’t tryin’ to,” Spike shot back. “All ‘m doing is giving you the truth, as I see it.” His voice softened. “You can still fix it, you know.”

She stared at him incredulously. One minute he was calling her stupid, and now he was acting sensitive and stuff. Is he schizophrenic, or something? “I don’t wanna fix it. I want you people to leave me alone!” She stomped over to the railing and stared out at the crowd of dancing teens.

He came up behind her. When he spoke, it was in her ear, and almost in spite of herself, she shivered. “Leave you alone—is that what you really want, pet?”

“I never asked to be adopted by the nerd squad,” she snapped, but even she could hear the lie in her voice. She was grateful for Willow’s help, not to mention Anya and Xander and the others. She didn’t know where she’d be without them.

“Yeah, but you were. And a fellow had to wonder—‘f you hate us all, what’re you doing up here in the dark?” She could feel him behind her, almost touching her back.

Okay, that was it.

She whirled around to face him, stubbornly refusing to show that having her own face be just inches away from his was doing serious things to her body. Instead she stared into his eyes and smiled slowly. “You know what, Spike?”

“Yeah?” There was still another strange expression on his face, one she’d never seen before. It was—intense was the only word she could think of to use. Like he knew what was going on in her head, what was really going on, and he wanted to help.

“I think I’ve had my fill of the yicky side of the tracks.”

The weird look left his face, to be replaced by an expression she was very familiar with: anger. “Oh, so ‘m yicky now, is that it?” He inquired, moving closer. Now he was pressing her up against the balcony railing. Buffy felt a moment of panic—her and heights? Not so wonderful. But Spike couldn’t push her hard enough to make her actually fall, right? Right????

“N—not yicky,” she stuttered, willing to say anything if he’d just back off. “I meant, um, sticky! Like, you know, hair gel and stuff. Because you use a lot of hair gel, and—“

“I use a lot of hair gel? The soddin’ poof uses a bucket a day!” Now he looked insulted. It was actually kinda a funny look, because his eyebrows got all scrunchy, and his lips pursed...ooh, lips.

Wait. He’d asked her a question, and she’d zoned out. Again. This was getting embarrassing.

What came out of her mouth was even more so. “What’s a poof?”

“A nancy-boy.” When her face stayed impassive, he exhaled loudly. “Someone walkin’ on the wrong side of the street? Lorne?”

When he said Lorne’s name, Buffy’s face lit up immediately. “Oooh, you mean a gay guy!”

“Well, yeah,” Spike said.

“Who’s gay?” Buffy asked eagerly.

“Peaches,” Spike spat, taking a step away from her. Buffy was glad—the conversation was getting so ridiculous that looking all mad and impassioned really wasn’t working anymore.

“Peaches are gay?” Buffy was confused. How could peaches be gay? Fruity, yeah—peaches were fruit, right?—but gay? Was that even—

Spike exhaled angrily, rolling his eyes. “Angel, pet. He’s a rainbow-flag-waving, gay-pride-parade-marching faggot.”

“Angel?” Buffy glanced down at the dancers. Angel was rubbing his crotch against Cordelia’s ass like his life depended on it. “Sorry, Spike, but I’m pretty sure Angel’s straight.”

“Well, yeah, but it pisses him off when I call him Peaches,” Spike said with a smirk.

Buffy stared at him for a second. It was funny how she could be all furious with him, and then get completely confused, and then in an eye-blink be mad again. It was the smirk that set her off. He’s smirked right after he’d done the finger thing, too.

So instead of answering, she just turned on her heel and stormed down the stairs.

She wasn’t actually expecting him to follow her, or anything. He hated her, right? He should just let her have her dramatic exit and sat up there and been all growly for the rest of the night.

In retrospect, she really should have known that Spike never did anything the easy way.

No, he had to come rushing down the stairs and grab her arm. “Oh, no, you don’t. You’re not gonna run away, Summers.”

She wrenched her arm from his grip. God, could this get any more clichéd? “I’m not running away! I’m just—bored, and I’m going home.” She turned her nose in the air and practically ran down the stairs.

After that, several things happened at once. Buffy ran straight into Harmony, who screeched and dropped her root beer right on Buffy’s feet. Spike ran straight into Buffy, who fell right on top of the root-beer-soaked, screeching Harmony. The music stopped and people gathered around them in typical high school, ooh-there’s-gonna-be-a-fight fashion.

Harmony was the first to act. Buffy was kinda pinned down by Spike’s weight, but Harmony’s arms and torso were free, so she had some wiggle room. And wiggle she did, until she was standing upright and staring down at the two blondes with a look of pure rage on her face.

“You stupid slut!”

Buffy pushed Spike off and stood up, trying to ignore the fact that she really would’ve enjoyed letting him stay there for awhile. When she stood up, her shoes squelched. “Eeew, I have sugar shoes!”

“’ll drive you home,” Spike said, but his eyes were on Harmony, who looked extremely angry. In fact, now that Buffy had elected to ignore her, she looked something very close to murderous.

“Hello! You spilled root beer all over my brand new dress! You should be, like, groveling, or something!”

Buffy just stared at the girl. It was funny how, two days ago, if another girl had spilled soda on Harmony, Buffy would have been backing Harmony up. She would have said something along the lines of, “You totally should, geek,” or something equally as dumb and banal. Now, though, all she wanted to do was laugh.

It was unbelievable that people like the girl standing in front of her thought that they had a right to homage from every single person in and out of the school. What was even more unbelievable was that they actually got it.

And finally, to round out the unbelievable-a-thon: she was completely unafraid of Harmony. She was already about as low on the popularity scale as you could get. She had someone standing beside her who, though he hated her, hated Harmony just as much as she did.

So instead of cowering or begging Harmony for forgiveness, Buffy just rolled her eyes. “Whatever, Harm.”

Harmony went stock-still and stared at the other blonde incredulously. “Did you just whatever? You so did not just whatever me!”

“I so just did,” Buffy shot back, mimicking Harmony’s dumb-blonde accent. “And you so need to get out of my way!”

“Oh, no you don’t,” Harmony shrieked. “I am not going to let a social leper like you insult me! It is so totally never gonna happen!”

Oh, ew. Buffy’s feet were starting to get sticky. “Harmony, just move already.”

“I am completely not moving until you—“

“God, would you just move your arse, already?” That comment came from Spike, who sounded as bored as Buffy was.

Harmony stuck out her lip. “Blondie Bear, you should do something. She just, like, ruined my dress!”

Buffy glanced at Spike. He was eyeing the dress with a sarcastic expression—it was a tube dress and fit her way too tightly, in Buffy’s opinion. I mean, does she have to show the whole world how huge her boobs are?

Spike’s answer told her he’d been thinking the same way. “Harm, why the bloody hell should I care?”

“Spikey, I can’t believe you sometimes. You’re so insensitive! If you were a good boyfriend you’d—“

“Bloody hell—Harm, I am not your soddin’ boyfriend!”

Buffy started to grin. She’d never seen Spike get this mad at her—and he’d gotten really, really mad before. But now he was all embarrassed and mad, which was way entertaining, cuz his face was pink and his fists were all clenched and he looked really cute like that...

Cut it out, Buffy!

She tapped him on the arm. “Sorry to interrupt the lover’s quarrel again,” she chirped, “But you said you’d drive me home?”

He looked down at her. His lowered brows made his eyes navy, almost black. Buffy had to force herself to hold his gaze, his eyes were that intense. “Yeah. You ready?”

“Uh-huh. Let’s go.” Buffy began to walk away.

“Hold it!” Harmony screeched. When neither of them obeyed, she ran over to them and grabbed Spike’s arm, digging her nails into his flesh. “Blondie Bear, wait up!”

“Hey! Get off of him!” Buffy began prying at the other blonde’s fingers, trying to ignore the way the crowd around them was tittering.

Spike solved the problem by jerking his arm so hard Harmony’s hands were wrenched away. “Shove off, bitch,” he snapped, and before Harmony had time to recover, he strode towards the exit. Buffy followed, practically running to keep up. She thought she heard Harmony scream something, but the music was loud enough so that (luckily, in her opinion) she didn’t hear what it was.

Spike was silent as he led them to his car, so Buffy was quiet, too. She was actually a little worried that if she started talking she’d remind him she was there and he wouldn’t take her home. Not that she really had a problem with walking home normally, but her shoes were seriously gross—the sooner she could get out of them, the better.

Apparently he knew she was there, though, because when they got to his car he opened the passenger door and said, “Careful, I think there’s some Jack on the seat.”

The streetlights made his hair seem to glow in the darkness, but she couldn’t see his eyes. Suddenly, something occurred to her: Holy shit, I’m in a dark alley with Spike. Did I, like, get a lobotomy and not notice, or something?

“You gettin’ in, or what?” Spike asked impatiently.

“Um, yeah...” She slid in, pushing two clinking bottles out of the way. “What’s Jack?” she asked right before he slammed the door.

“’s whiskey, pet. Jack Daniels.” He slammed the door.

“Ew,” Buffy muttered, dropping the bottles on the floor of the vehicle.

When Spike got into the driver’s seat she said, “Anyone ever tell you not to drink and drive?”

“I don’t,” he replied, so shortly that after that Buffy decided to keep quiet. It would be so like him to kick her out of the car because she was bugging him.

He drove quickly, his headlights cutting through the night. He drove up to her house without hesitation—Buffy couldn’t decide if it was a good thing or a bad thing that he’d remembered her address. As soon as he stopped she grabbed the door handle, ready to leave. She had in fact pulled it and started to open the door when he turned the car off.

She turned to look at him, surprised. “Yeah?”

“Just ‘cuz I gave you a ride home doesn’t mean I even remotely like you, y’know.” The words came tumbling out of his mouth at a remarkable speed. “I just wanted to piss Harmony off.”

“Um, I know?” She said it like a question because she had absolutely no idea why he’d told her that. Talk about stating the obvious.

“Good.” He nodded and opened his door.

She stared at him. “This is my house. You remember that, right?”

“Well, yeah. ‘m walkin’ you to the door.” He half-rolled his eyes at her and got out, closing his door before she had a chance to protest.

She exited the car hastily when he started walking over to her side—he was acting like this was a date, or something.

Unfortunately, he was standing right in front of her by the time she got out. She couldn’t just walk past him and into the relative safety of her own house like she wanted to. No, she had to stand in front of him and wait for him to move—something he didn’t seem inclined to do.

She tilted her head up, intending to ask him to move...but she stopped suddenly, transfixed by his face.

They were right outside of her family’s garage, so the floodlights lit his face roughly, throwing harsh shadows across his face, emphasizing the hollow his cheekbones made. Yet, somehow, the dim light added poetry to his face. It made his lips seem fuller, his eyes bluer.

Buffy was entranced.

So entranced, in fact, that contrary to everything she actually wanted to do—smack him, insult him—she found herself slowly swaying towards him, her eyes intent on his. In them she read anger, confusion—and the same interest that was drawing her in.

“You know I really hate you...” Spike whispered, bringing a hand up to cup her face. She leaned into it, closing her eyes.

“Yep,” she said breathily. “Me, too—I hate you too, I mean...”

“Good. Glad that’s clear.” He moved closer.

“As glass,” Buffy whispered, and her lips met his.

She’d kissed people before, of course. She wasn’t a kissing slut like Harmony, or anything, but she had kissed guys—Tyler, Angel, and to her shame, Parker. So, kissing Spike should have been pretty—well not ordinary, but not exactly world-shaking, either.

Except that it wasn’t. The second he’d touched her face, tingles had shot up her spine. She’d never had spine-tingles before. It was kinda freaky.

Then, when he actually kissed her, she got lip and face and all-over-the-rest-of-her-body tingles, plus an amazing feeling of heat that started slowly burning in the pit of her stomach. She moved a bit closer, feeling his grip on her tighten, sliding her arms up to lock around his neck.

Their lips stayed locked for an indefinable moment, suspended in time, neither of them wanting to move and break the strange spell that had come over them.

Oddly enough, it was Spike who became forgetful and whispered, “Buffy,” breaking their liplock and reminded Buffy that she was standing in her driveway, kissing Spike Walsh.

She pushed him away and stared at him for a moment, wide-eyed, before stuttering something completely inane: “I have to—I’ll just go now,” and running up to her front door. Behind her, she heard Spike mutter, “Bugger.” She ignored him—God only knew what would happen if she went back there.

Later, she thought it was a miracle that she didn’t trip over the steps, fall flat on her face, and break her nose. Someone up there must really, really love me, she thought, redoubling her pace until she was inside.

She slammed the door behind herself, breathing as heavily as if she’d just run away from a swarm of evil killer bees—although actually, compared to what she’d just done, the killer bees might be preferable. She slumped against the doorway, heart thunking in her chest, one thought running through her mind:

What the hell did I just do?

~*~

A/N: Sorry it took me so long to update, but I’ve got good news: school’s out for me, which means updates’ll probably be faster and more regular. *apathetic silence from readers* Well, okay then. I see how it is! No, kidding, sorry, I’m in a weird mood. Thanks a million for the reviews, I did the happy dance again =) Also, if any of you are even remotely interested--I set up a LiveJournal account thingy, address is in the author profile thing on this site.

~*~

What the bleeding hell had he just done?

If there was a prize for the absolute stupidest action a person could make, he’d just won it, hands down. He coulda done a million things—stepped away, run away, hopped into his car and driven away—anything involving away would’ve been an excellent choice.

But no, he’d had to come closer. Spike let out an angry growl and kicked the side of his car. “Ladies and gentleman, come to see the show,” he muttered as he got into his car. “Biggest soddin’ idiot in the world, on display for all to see.” He jammed the key in and started the car.

“Why the buggering hell did I do it, anyway?” Spike wondered out loud as he drove to his house. “Not like I actually wanted to.” He stopped the car and got out, walking up to his front door. “Maybe ‘m just insane. That could be it.”

He opened the door, slipped inside, and headed up the stairs before his parents could notice he was home. “Yep, that’s it. Didn’t wanna kiss her at all. The little man in my head forced me too. That whole angels and devils bit, with the shoulders, and all.” He flopped down on his bed. “Sure as hell isn’t myfault.”

“William?” his mother’s voice came through the intercom. “Why are you talking to yourself?”

“’m not,” he called back, irritated. “’s the, uh, TV.”

“You don’t have a TV in your room, son,” his father called up the stairs. “Now give us a truthful answer.”

He lay in silence for a moment, glowering. God, he hated his parents. Why the sodding hell couldn’t they just leave him alone? He didn’t like them, and he knew they didn’t like him, so why did they insist on bothering him?

“William!” His mother, her voice like a gunshot. “Answer your father now!”

“Okay, yeah, I was talkin’ to myself!” He hated himself for it, but he finally caved and told them what they wanted to hear. “I’m deranged, a’right? Now can you leave me alone?”

Silence. Spike relaxed, sinking into his bedcovers and thinking about anything except the small blonde he’d been with just a few minutes before. God, but she was pretty. Even with the heavy makeup and the silly, bleach-fried hair, she was so damn pretty.

“William?”

Spike started and nearly fell of the bed. “What?” he roared.

“Come downstairs. Your father and I need to talk to you.”

Spike scowled, clenching his fists, trying to ignore the impulse to find something to kill. His mum really couldn’t leave well enough alone, could she? “Fine. Coming.”

He found them both in the living room, arranged on the couch like they thought the Sunnydale Times might be snapping pictures of them any time. His mum had her hand on his da’s knee, something she probably thought made them look affectionate. It actually just made her look like the cradle-robbing bitch Spike had long ago characterized her as.

“Sit down, William,” his mother instructed. He eyed her suspiciously. When he didn’t move, she gave him a hard, uncompromising glare. “William. Sit. Down.”

He glared at her, but obeyed.

“Your father and I are concerned about you.”

“Yeah, got that bit.”

“This attitude you’ve adopted is unreasonable. You are impulsive, vulgar, crude, and unforgivably rude.”

“Sorry ‘bout that.” Spike glanced at the (military time) clock on the wall. Just how much longer was this going to last?

“You’re unreliable, son.” Oh, wonderful, now Da was going to go all soldier-boy on him. Spike sneered at his father as the soldier continued to talk. “That British accent you insist on keeping is ridiculous. It’s an affront to our country.”

“You guys are the ones who sent me off the that buggering school.” Spike raised an eyebrow at them. “Gonna ship me off again?”

“No, William, we are not going to ship you off again. We simply think that becoming involved in a structured activity would facilitate your psychological development,” his mother told him.

Spike furrowed his brow, sorting through the huge words his mum was so damn fond of using. “You want me to join a club?” Wonderful. Now he and his parents were gonna have a row. There was no way he was joining anything school-related.

“Not necessarily a club,” his father hastily assured him. “We’d just like to see you involved in some sort of extra-curricular.”

“One that doesn’t involve sitting around in your room,” his mother added, her lips pursed.

Now he was gonna piss them off. “Right, then. I’ll just be a cheerleader.”

“What?!” Just like he’d predicted, his father leapt to his feet. Spike watched with amusement as an expression of abject horror settled on the man’s face. Startin’ to think all those faggot-boy accusations were real, Da?

“You are not going to be a cheerleader!” Riley fumed. His mum put a calming hand on his arm, but he shook it off. “No, Maggie! I will not have a gay for a son!”

“Why can’t I do cheerleading?” Spike protested. “’s a perfectly legitimate activity. Our sodding president’s a cheerleader!”

“And look how well that turned out,” Maggie muttered.

Spike smirked. He was out of the woods now—he always was when his parents started in on politics.

“George Bush is a wonderful leader!” Riley yelled. “He’s spreading democracy everywhere!”

“At the expense of human life!” His mother was giving as good as he got. “Look at the statistics that the White House doesn’t give, Riley, and you’ll soon come to the conclusion that...”

Spike wisely took that time to exit.

Great. So ‘ve got to get myself a hobby. He knew that just because his parents got distracted didn’t mean they’d forgotten their orders. Bloody fantastic.

*

If this was the movies, Buffy would’ve been able to stay slumped against the door for however long it took for her heart rate and all that to return to normal. But this wasn’t the movies, and her little freakout was interrupted almost immediately.

Dawn flounced down the stairs. When she saw Buffy she raised her eyebrows haughtily. “Mom wants to talk to you. Bet you’re in big trouble.”

“Oh shut up,” Buffy muttered, running her hands through her hair. She really didn’t want her mom to know what had just gone on in her driveway.

“Well, it’s not my fault she doesn’t like you. If you’d concentrate a little more on school work and a little less on boys, and get rid of the stupid fake hair, maybe Mom wouldn’t have to be so hard on you.” Dawn smirks. “It works for me.”

Buffy narrowed her eyes. That stupid, rat-faced, condescending little brat! But if she so much as yelled at Dawn, her mother would treat her worse than a convicted murderer. So instead of slapping the crap out of her sister, Buffy pushed past the younger girl. “I’m going to bed.”

“Mom’s gonna be ma-ad,” Dawn taunted, a huge smile on her face. “She’ll totally ground you tomorrow morning.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Whatever, brat.” She slammed the door to her room shut, just in time to hear Dawn screech. “Moooom!”

Wonderful. As of tomorrow, she’d have to deal with another don’t-be-mean-to-our-precious-baby-genius lecture. Buffy scowled at her reflection in her mirror.

Why, why, why couldn’t people just leave her alone? She’d just gotten done kissing Spike. As in, Spike Walsh’s lips had been on hers! For a long period of time! If the world was a fair place, she would have been able to lie on her bed and call her best friend and giggle about it.

Except that she wouldn’t giggle, because she hadn’t liked it. Nope. Not a bit.

Well, okay, maybe a little...

But still. Buffy frowned pensively. The whole kissing Spike thing could make hating him a little hard. That and the project-doing. How were you supposed to do a project with someone when you kissed them and you said you hated them?

Well, she could just stop saying she hated him. That would help, right? Except that everyone in Sunnydale knew about their rivalry. It was, like, the Eleventh Commandment, or something. Thou Shalt Not Steal, Thou Shalt Not Wear Cheap Drugstore Perfume On Thy First Date, Buffy Summers Shall Hate Spike Walsh For As Long As Their Lives Shall Endureth, and so on.

Okay. Thinking about Spike was gonna make her go insane. Buffy decided to settle on a safer topic: hating Dawn.

Why Mom thought Dawn was like the perfect child or whatever was completely beyond her. And why Dawn thought she had the right to criticize her sister was also of the non-understandable. Although...she squinched her nose at her reflection. Dammit. Dawn was kinda right about her hair. It was all fried and dry-looking from the number of times she’d had it bleached.

Oh no. Spike made fun of her hair, too. What if he didn’t like it? What if he thought it was stupid, or dated, or something?

Not that she cared, of course. But staring at herself in the mirror, Buffy decided that it was time for a change. And since there was no time like the present, she decided that this weekend was going to be Makeover Buffy Weekend.

Luckily for her, her mother still hadn’t caught on to the fact that the phone in her room was one of the things that made her a social butterfly. She even had her own phone line. God bless loaded dads. She grabbed her phone and plopped down on her bed, belly-first. She punched in a few numbers and waited for someone to pick up.

“Buffy! How have you been?”

“Hey, Lorne.” She let an easy smile come to her face. “Listen, I need a favor.”

~*~

“A-are you sure this is a good idea?” Buffy asked nervously, staring at the outside of the salon.

“Trust me, by the time you get out of here, you will look fab!” Lorne patted her cheeks. “They do my hair all the time. You’ll go in there, and vóila! No more California Fried Blonde ‘do!”

She raised her eyebrows at him. “California Fried Blonde?”

“Face what it is, honey,” Lorne advised, before giving her a little push toward the small salon. “Now go get ‘em!”

“Oh, boy,” Buffy muttered. She hadn’t changed her hair since, like, the seventh grade. She walked up to the door and tried to push it, but her muscles got all floppy. She glanced back at Lorne. He was gazing at her like all his hopes and dreams rested on her getting her hair fixed. “Stupid gay guys,” she huffed. Taking a deep breath, she walked into the shop.

She was immediately accosted by a familiar presence. “Buffy! What are you doing here? Did your horrendous sister put bubblegum in your hair, or are you attempting to make Spike even more sexually attracted towards you than he is now?”

“Anya!” Buffy hissed. By now, it was a familiar action. “Could you please stop it? People talk! And anyway, I have absolutely no attraction to—“

“Save it for the tourists,” Anya advised, rolling her eyes. “Anyway, why are you here?”

“I, um—I wanna change my hair.” She frowned. “Wait—what the heck are you doing here?”

“Learning,” Anya said brightly. “I’ve been told that in the cosmetology industry, people don’t care if you tell them they look awful, because it’s your job to fix it. Retail is of course fascinating as well, but cosmetologists make lots of money, and you never have to tell people you don’t like to have a nice day. Also, no one so far has told me that the customer is always right.”

Buffy blinked. “Uh.”

Anya didn’t seem to notice that her chatter was stunning the other girl—she continued blithely: “Anyway, Sweet’s the guy who owns the place, but he’s letting me take care of the simple things like dye jobs and cuts. Are you finally going to get rid of that hideous fake blonde hair?”

“Hey!” Buffy, suddenly verbal, protested. “My hair is not—“

“I can see your roots.”

Now Buffy was scowling. “Whatever,” she snapped, unconsciously pulling a Cordelia imitation. “Can we just get on with this.”

“Of course. Sit down.” Anya practically pushed Buffy into one of the chairs. “Now, what kind of look are you going for?”

~*~

Buffy was used to normal salons. You know, the ones with mirrors where you got to actually see what the hairdresser was doing to you. Anya, though, had a flair for the dramatic, so Buffy was mirror-less for three hours while Anya washed, dried, cut, and dyed Buffy’s hair. Buffy had told her that she wanted something a little more natural and a little less, in Lorne’s words, “California fried”. Anya had been so enthusiastic that Buffy couldn’t help but wonder if Lorne had called her beforehand.

After the three hours had passed, Buffy was way bored and dying to know what she looked like. So when Anya stopped she asked in a voice that was way whinier than it probably should have been, “Are you done yet?”

“Finished!” Anya said in a voice of supreme satisfaction. “And now, Miss Buffy Summers, may I present you with...well, you. But a better version, I promise.” She led Buffy over to a covered mirror and dramatically uncovered it.

Almost in spite of herself, Buffy gasped.

Her hair was still blonde, but now it was golden more than white, and it shone even in the salon’s fluorescent lighting. It had been cut so that it fell just below her shoulders, and Anya had styled it in loose curls. Instead of looking dry and unnatural, her hair shone like that chick from the Pantene Pro-V commercial.

“So, did I turn you into a sex magnet or what?”

Buffy wrinkled her nose. “Is that even a legitimate phrase?”

“Of course it is,” Anya said impatiently. “Now, you like it, don’t you?”

She stared at herself. She looked different. Less shallow, less insecure.

Strong.

When she smiled, she could almost feel a difference. It was only a change in appearance, but it felt like more. Now what she looked like showed who she was.

“Yeah.” Buffy’s smile turned into a confident grin. “I like it a lot.”

And when he sees me, Spike is so gonna eat his heart out.

~*~

A/N: OK, I said this up top, but humor me: GO TO SEE MY LIVEJOURNAL!!!! Ciley (Suzee’s her penname) made me a preeeetty banner so I’m way psyched about it now =D So go there...please?

~*~

That weekend was the longest of her life.

As it turned out, most of her shiny new friends were renegade geeks, which meant that when she called Willow Saturday to see if they could go shopping, the redhead told her that she was studying for a huge test Monday.

Geeks so never had any fun...

And it wasn’t like she could really go out of her room—Dawn had this conference thingy in Indianapolis and her parents were arguing about who should go, which meant that if she put a toe downstairs except when she had to eat and stuff then her parents would start in on her hair, her grades, her hobbies, blah, blah, blah.

So she stayed in her room.

She was almost ready to rip her fancy new dyed hair out by the time Monday finally rolled around.

She dressed in a red dress, small and cute but not overly slutty, and strappy red sandals. The red made her hair look pale gold, a big improvement on bleached blonde...although bleached blonde looked very good on some people...and once she added red lip gloss, she was done.

She surveyed her reflection in the mirror a few minutes before she headed for school. Spike was gonna drop dead when he saw her, and she really couldn’t wait.

Not that she was planning on that being the highlight of her day, or anything. Just a perk.

“Buffy! Get down here, those friends of yours are honking the horn!”

Her hands froze. Friends? She had them—in theory, at least—but since when did they come to her house and honk the horn?

“Uh, Mom? What color car is it?”

“How should I know?” Joyce snapped. “Get your lazy tail down here and look yourself!”

Buffy rolled her eyes at herself in the mirror. That was her family—wonderful people, all of them. She grabbed her backpack and ran down the stairs, barely pausing in the living room before dashing out the door.

And immediately halting in horror. Spike’s big, black, dented DeSoto was sitting in her driveway.

What the hell was wrong with him? Did he not get that she hated him?

Oh, wait. The last time they’d seen each other, they’d been kissing. Crap.

At least he wasn’t alone. She could make out Willow, Oz, Faith, Anya, and Xander, who looked terrified at being squished into the front seat next to Anya.

“Hey, B, get in the damn car, I gotta fit in a quickie before homeroom!”

“Faith! Not everyone wants to hear about your sexcapades, especially not your lesbian adventures!” Anya was snapping as Buffy slid into the car.

“Threesomes aren’t lesbian, they’re just mad fun.”

Willow wrinkled her nose at Buffy. “Are you as disgusted as I am?”

“Way past that,” Buffy said, staring at Faith.

“Right, then. We ready?” Spike sounded irritated, as usual.

“Hey, Spike,” Buffy called out. “Like my hair?” She coked her head and grinned at him.

He glanced at her in the mirror disinterestedly. “Looks nice,” he said. “Bit yellow, don’t y’think?”

Anya turned around. “He’s lying,” she informed him cheerfully. “He did a double take when he saw you. I watched him. And it wouldn’t surprise me to discover that he has an erection, too.” At her words, the DeSoto began accelerating dangerously.

“Ah, Anya? Remember the whole private/not private talk we had?” Xander said hastily.

Anya gave him a cold look. “Xander, when you become my boyfriend, then you will have the right to give me orders influenced by many orgasms. In the meantime, however, you’re not my boss.”

“Uh, guys? Let’s talk about something else,” Willow suggested eagerly. “Buffy, I really like your hair. I didn’t have a chance to tell you before because of the, um, lesbian action and—well, stuff. But I really, really like it. I think it fits you.”

“I thought so.” Buffy glanced at herself in the rearview mirror, satisfied—and caught Spike looking at her, an impenetrable expression on his face. “What?” Oops. Ladies and gentlemen, Uber-Bitch Buffy was in the house.

“’s nothing,” he said, mildly enough. “Think the do’s nice...get a lobotomy, pet, and it’ll be a real improvement.”

Her mouth fell open. “You—look who’s talking!” she exclaimed. “I’m surprised the bleach hasn’t made your brain trickle out of your ears—not,” she added snidely, “That anyone would notice, since your brain’s the only thing smaller than your dick!”

Silence. Complete, utter silence. Buffy felt herself go red. She’d been a little...well...

“Harsh.”

Trust Oz to be able to sum it up with one little word. Her face turned ever redder and she slumped down in the seat a little. Wonderful. Sucky Monday, mad Spike, bitchy Buffy, lesbian Faith. This week should be a merry-go-round of fun.

The rest of the (thankfully short) ride to school was made in silence. Willow was sending everybody worried looks. When they got out of the car, Buffy realized someone was missing. “Willow, where’s Tara?”

Willow looked at her in surprise. “You didn’t hear?”

“Um, no.” Buffy raised her eyebrows impatiently. “Wills—wait, did something happen?” She didn’t think she’d ever seen Willow look so serious—although, to be fair, she’d known her for like a week.

“It’s her grandmother—they took her over to Sunnydale Hospital Sunday,” Willow told her quietly.

OK. She shouldn’t have felt hurt. She really, really shouldn’t have been hurt.

Funny how she was anyway. Her throat closed up and she blinked rapidly. Not gonna cry, not gonna cry... “Why didn’t anyone tell me?” she forced herself to ask.

Willow’s expression immediately became sympathetic. “Oh, we didn’t know...I mean, you’re kind of new and Tara, well, she’s sensitive, we didn’t know if you’d want to be involved, or, or if it would be mean to tell you, or...sorry?” Her hopeful expression sounded like a question.

Buffy sighed. They were standing in the middle of the school parking lot—she couldn’t act all offended. “Yeah. It’s cool. I mean, it’s not like I really matter to anyone, or something like that.”

Willow’s look turned horrified. “Oh, Buffy, I didn’t want you to think—I mean, it’s just, Tara’s really shy, and—“

“Will, relax,” Buffy advised. “I was making with the funny.”

“Oh.” But she still looked nervous...good. Buffy was still hurt. “Right. Okay, then. See you later?”

Buffy nodded. “Yeah. Later.” After I finish being super annoyed.

“Well, okay. Bye, then.” Willow gave her another supremely awkward smile and walked off.

Spike’s car wasn’t exactly something she wanted to hang around, since that would probably mean hanging around Spike and hello, major, major badness, but Buffy didn’t really want to walk into school just then. So instead, she leaned against the car and stared after Willow.

“What the fuck is your problem?”

“Huh?” Buffy frowned and focused on the very tall person who suddenly stood in front of her. Her frown turned into a scowl when she saw it was Spike.

“Since when did you think you ‘ad the right to go an’ attack me like that in my sodding car?” he snapped, his accent thickening in his rage.

Wait. No. She frowned. Not rage. Well, actually, she couldn’t really tell, since he was so close to her that she was staring at his chest instead of his face...she tilted her head up and looked him in the eye. His nostrils were flaring, his jaw was set, and his blue eyes were hard, but he didn’t look angry. Actually, he looked...

Hurt.

Great. Perfect. He could just join the club, in that case. “Hey, don’t look at me that way,” Buffy snapped defensively. “I wasn’t the one who was all, ‘Oh, you’d be perfect if you got a lobotomy.’”

“No instead you go off and get a completely new look, insult me, and ignore what happened Friday.”

“Because I don’t give a damn!”

That turned out to be a mistake. His eyes widened before narrowing dangerously as he grabbed her arms and slammed her forcibly against the car. “What the bloody hell d’you mean, you don’t give a damn!”

“I mean that it was a mistake, you bastard! Now get the hell off of me!” She tried to push his arms away, but he wouldn’t budge.

“No. I got the sodding hell offa you before, an’ then you go out an’ pull this.” He grabbed a handful of her hair.

“Oh, don’t even try it, Spike,” she scoffed. “You so totally liked it and you know it.”

He closed his eyes; she tested trying to move, even a little bit, but it didn’t work. He was gripping her tighter than Angel gripped his beer bottles on Friday nights with one hand, and his body pressed her against the car.

When he opened his eyes she almost shivered. Whoops—no, she really did shiver. His eyes seemed to burn into her, stripping away all her defenses, making her see that the words she was forcing out of her mouth were...well...lies.

“Yes, I like the hair, a’right?” he said finally. “The hair, an’ the clothes, and God help me Summers, ‘s the whole sodding package. An’ I try, an’ try, but the whole bleeding time, all I can think about is you. D’you get it?” His grip softened, along with his gaze—but though his anger was less, he was still staring at her more intensely than anyone ever had before.

All she could do was shake her head, because no, she really didn’t get it. All she knew was that he was staring at her and she really didn’t want him to stop, plus also she really, really wanted him to kiss her again which made absolutely no sense because she hated him, right? Except that after seeing his parents and hearing him talk and seeing him, for crying out loud, she really couldn’t keep up the whole Buffy-Hates-Spike thing. She just...couldn’t.

“You don’t—“ he plowed his hands through his hair before staring at her again. “Eighth grade, Cordelia’s pool party.” Now his voice was soft, flat. He seemed just as confused as she was. “Saw you...you were wearin’ red then, too. Your hair was different...shorter...made you look adorable, like a pixy. Saw you and I thought you were the most beautiful thing ‘d ever seen.”

Her mouth fell open. She maybe expected him to admit that she made him horny because, well, it was kinda obvious. She figured he’d tell her that she drove him insane, and that she ought to just go back to her stupid cheerleader friends. She hadn’t expected him to say...

“And God help me, Buffy, I haven’t been able to stop since then. I’m not—I was never anyone you’d wanna look at, much less be with, but dammit...” He pulled away abruptly, releasing her. She should have run away. She really, really should have. But all she could do was stare.

“D-dammit, what?” she asked, her voice quieter than it had ever been. She didn’t know why, but whatever was about to come out of his mouth—she knew it was important.

“When you moved here...sophomore year,” he said softly. “Dunno ‘f you remember...there was a big row between me an’ you...I stepped on your shoes, you spilled Coke on m’ coat....”

Oh, she remembered, all right. It was pretty hard to forget seeing a guy and thinking he was the hottest thing you’d ever seen in your life, and then two seconds later deciding—and announcing to the whole school—that you hated him for eternity.

And now this. She cocked her head at him. “I remember,” she whispered.

“Yeah, well, didn’t stop there, did it?” he said, his voice half-trembling. “Damn near three soddin’ years, Summers, of me swearin’ to all an’ sundry that I hated you, an’ then every Friday, every Friday just like clockwork, down at the Bronze...every Friday I watched you dance.”

His expression changed abruptly; it went from quiet and sincere to sarcastic and defensive. “Get it now, Summers?”

She didn’t say anything. She just stared at him, keeping her face expressionless. Something had just occurred to her...some niggling little thing that hadn’t wanted to reveal itself to her before was all of a sudden choosing to make itself known.

Two years ago, the spring dance. She’d known him for a little more than six months. He’d spilled punch on her cute red dress, and she’d been spitting mad. She’d been dating Angel at the time, and he’d tried to get her to calm down, but she’d screamed her head off at Spike.

”You stupid worthless punk, why don’t you just curl up in a corner somewhere and die! You ruined my dress!” she screamed, clenching her fists. The bastard has spilled so much punch that the entire front of her dress was sopping wet.

“Actually, I rather think it looks better now,” he said sneering. “Least you’ll end up changing...I dunno how Captain Forehead puts up with it, you’re dressed like a complete tramp.”

“You fucking bastard! I am so gonna—“ She took a few steps forward till they were almost nose-to-nose.

“Gonna what, Summers?” he sneered down at her. His jaw was clenched, his eyes were hard.

And in his eyes had been the same expression that lay there now: eagerness. Not for a fight, well, not exactly; eagerness to...to what?

“Look, are you going to answer me, or not?”

His voice snapped her out of her reverie. She stared at him, perplexed. “Do you like fighting with me?”

His turn to stare. “What?”

“Do you like fighting with me?” she repeated.

He shook his head. “I like anything involving you, Buffy,” he said. Her name sounded odd coming from his lips. She wished he’d say it more often.

“So...what is this?” she motioned between them. “I mean, I barely know you. I barely know me. But I don’t know anything about you. I don’t know your favorite color, or, or...your favorite, um, color...”

“Pet, after that interview you know damn near everything there is to know ‘bout me.”

“But not your favorite color,” she hastened to argue. Why she was pressing this point so eagerly was completely beyond her.

He arched an eyebrow at her. “Think it’s a bit obvious, personally.”

“Black’s not a color,” she shot back.

He let out an exasperated sigh and stepped back, running his eyes over her. His hand, though, stayed in her hair.

“Hey! Stop staring at me...oh. Red,” she said, finally catching his hint. “Right.” She looked down. “Color of blood and death and gore and all.” She lowered her head. He was staring at her again, and it was wigging her out in the worst way.

“Also,” he whispered, stepping forward again, “The color of your lips, luv...something ‘ve spent considerable time starin’ at...” He moved still closer, until her bottom pressed hard against the black car. Her stomach was pressed against something even more hard, and she fought the urge to either squeal or jump him—she wasn’t sure which she really wanted to do.

Or, rather, she was sure, and it scared the hell out of her.

Which was why she stopped him right before he touched his lips to hers. She stopped him not because she didn’t want it, but because she did.

“Look...I can’t do this,” she said, trying hard to explain.

“Why the bloody hell not?” Oh, great, she’d made him mad. Mad Spike was just what she wanted to deal with...not.

“Because—well, for one thing, it’s like two minutes to homeroom. And plus this is majorly weird, what with the whole stalkerish thing, plus I’m just...I’m just really confused.” She widened her eyes hoping to God he’d understand. “I like you a lot. It’s a very like-ey situation, but...can we just...be friends?”

“Friends.” He seemed to be testing the words. “Been enemies for three years and ‘ve wanted you the whole time.”

“Um...yeah.” She licked her lips and looked away. “Same here.”

“That so?”

“Well, you know. With the leather coat, and the hair, and the body...okay, you can stop looking all conceited now,” she snapped, because he had this sexy little smirk on his face that even though it was way sexy was also really, really annoying.

“Right,” he said, moving away from her. He ran his fingers through her hair, brushing her scalp lightly, before finally releasing the newly golden locks. “By the way, I lied b’fore,” he told her. “I like the hair. Makes you glow.”

She smiled at him, slowly, sweetly, surprised by the pure niceness behind that statement. “Thanks, Spike.”

He cocked that oh-so-familiar eyebrow at her. “You’re welcome, Buffy.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Does being nice feel weird to you?”

He grimaced. “Yeah.”

She nodded. “Just checking.”

They probably would have continued their odd little exchange if the bell for homeroom hadn’t rung. “Ah, shit. We’re gonna be late.”

Buffy cocked her head, looking at the school. It wasn’t all that far away, since they were in the parking lot and all. “We could run,” she suggested, earning herself an extremely sarcastic look from Spike. “Okay,” she corrected herself, “You could run, and I could...um...hop.” She looked down at her feet. “Or take the sandals off and run.”

“Right.” Wow. They were trying out the whole friends thing and he was still sarcastic. “What say we just get to class, pet?”

“Sounds good,” she agreed, and they walked to the school, Buffy darting glances and trying to ignore how thrilled she was that he’d called her “pet” the whole time.

~*~

A/N: I can’t figure out if this chap totally sucks or not =) So tell me what you think, please!

~*~

He really had quite the talent for gettin’ himself into serious messes.

He knew damn good and well that the whole friend thing was a complete crock. He was dense, but he sure as hell wasn’t stupid.

Spike gritted his teeth as Buffy’s ass came into contact with his lap. Wait, no—he was stupid, too.

“Hi!” she chirped, stealing a fry from his plate. “How ya doin’?”

He frowned at her. “’ey! My food, my seat...” My dick, too, dammit!

“Mine now,” she said, those cherry-red lips spread in a grin.

He very nearly groaned. God, do I wish.

“Hey, everybody,” Anya said, sitting down. “Spike, for God’s sake, would you stop looking like you’re about to orgasm in the school cafeteria?”

Wonderful. Trust Anya to give everyone an intimate update on how he was doin’ down in the dangly bits department. “’m not,” he snapped, acutely aware of the amused girl on his lap.

“Right.” Anya bit into her pizza, rolling her eyes. “Somebody’s kidding themselves.”

“Hey! We are not!” Buffy protested.

“I didn’t say anything about you.”

Willow and Oz sat down to a silent table a few minutes later. “Buffy?” Willow said innocently. “Why is your face so red? And...um...aren’t there enough chairs?” She looked around. The cafeteria was full of empty chairs.

Spike winced when Buffy practically leapt off his lap. “You’ve got a bony ass, pet,” he informed her, pretending to grimace because of it—though actually, he was grimacing because her wriggling had an effect that was rather hard to hide.

“Really?” Xander poked his head around the table, frowning at Buffy’s rear end. “Because I thought it was kind of—“

“Hey. Eyes off, whelp,” Spike growled. Why the bastards in this school thought they had any right to look at his girl was completely beyond him.

“Right, gotcha. No looking.” Xander went back to eating his lunch, occasionally stealing glances at Buffy. “Although, ya know—“

“Xander! So don’t want speculations on the state of my ass right now!”

“Damn, is getting burned your specialty or what?” Faith said, laughing. Xander’s face turned magenta.

“What? I didn’t know Buffy was Spike’s property, or whatever,” Xander whined.

Anya patted his hand. “Shut up, sweetie,” she advised, glaring at him.

“Right.” Xander busied himself with his lunch again.

They continued to chatter about trivial things. Generally Spike was right in the thick of it, trading barbs and laughin’ with the others, but today he didn’t feel inclined to say anything. Instead he concentrated on eating, stealing glances at the girl sitting next to him whenever he thought she wasn’t looking—which, much to his chagrin, was pretty much all the time.

She was his friend, right? That meant they ought to pay at least some attention to each other. Only problem was, he knew damn good and well that friends weren’t supposed to cuddle, or talk to each other nonstop while cuddling, or engage in flagrant make-out displays that would make Snyder have a sodding coronary in the middle of the lunchroom. And he wanted to do all those things, though preferably not all at once.

Bugger.

“So,” he said abruptly, taking advantage of a lull in conversation to get his mind off the girl next to him who wasn’t his, so matter what he might wish, “’m mum’s on a new vendetta. Says she wants me to join a club, or some rubbish like that.”

“You could join the cosmetology club,” Anya said absently. She was engrossed in the back of Xander’s hand, a rather uninteresting place, to Spike’s way of thinking—but then, he could spend hours staring at Buffy’s ankle, so he really wasn’t one to judge.

Buffy giggled. “Yeah, you and Lorne would have a blast.”

He was effectively brought back to the real world. “Hey,” he protested. “’m not gay!”

“So? You can still enjoy making ugly people less of an impediment to society.”

“Hate to break it to you, Ayn, but unless Spike’s planning on joining the Gay Guys Society, he’s not gonna join the cosmetology club,” Xander said cheerfully.

“I kinda agree with Xander,” Willow said. “Although you know, you probably know lots about cosmetology, what with the hair and the nails and—oh, look, ketchup!” She clumsily tried to change the subject after Spike started giving her a death glare.

“’m not gonna be a sodding cosmetologist!” Spike said, loudly enough that several people from the next table over turned around and stared at him.

“I never said you were,” Anya said mildly. “I just said you should join the club.”

He could hear Buffy gigging, but since he was banging his head against the table, it was rather muffled. “Sodding bints,” he muttered, thoroughly disgruntled.

*

Okay. The day was going well. In a no-kisses, God when the hell was Spike gonna look at her???!!!! kind of way.

Damn it.

She had no idea where her brain had been that morning. Maybe Spike was right and the bleach really had fried her brain, because agreeing to the whole friends thing? Yeah, not the smartest thing she’d ever done.

Now it was almost the end of the day. She was listening to her Calculus teacher talk and wondering just exactly how more bored she could get, while also half-dozing off and thinking of how bad she had wanted to tousle Spike’s hair today at lunch. Which meant that she was obsessed, and the bad part was that she really didn’t regret it. No, the only thing she did regret was the fact that she couldn’t, because she was his friend, and friends didn’t do stuff like that.

Damn.

“And so, when you take the blah-diddy-blah of the blahblahblahblahblah...”

Okay. So Mr. Kennedy wasn’t really saying that many blahs. Actually, he wasn’t saying any. It just sounded like that since all she could think about was a tiny little word that she was starting to think was absolutely no fun...especially since the person that the tiny word was attached to was currently sitting four seats away, diagonally to the right. And she could see his hair. The same hair she really wanted to tousle.

Beeeeeeeoooooooop. Buffy leapt from her seat. She’d never been gladder to hear the annoying electronic beep of her school’s “bell” than she was at that moment. Now, if she could just get out of the classroom before Spike managed to—

“Hey, luv, need a ride home?”

Not for the first time that day, Buffy grimaced inwardly and thought, damn. “Um, well, I think I can walk...”

He arched a brow at her shoes.

She sighed impatiently. “Okay, I can’t walk. Are you taking everybody else home?”

“No. Just you.” He tilted his head in that way she’d always found sexy, even back in the tenth grade, keeping his eyes on hers.

Gulp.

She hadn’t even known she could make that noise. “O—okay, then. Guess I’ll get home fast.”

She didn’t know what was wrong with her comment, honestly she didn’t, but his face closed up and his jaw got all stiff, the way it had when she accidentally on purpose posted that poem he’d written about the foreign exchange student, Ciley, all over the Internet. He looked the way he had outside his car this morning.

Wonderful—she’d managed to hurt him again. And this time, she hadn’t the slightest idea what she’d done! “Okay. What did I do?”

Well, it couldn’t hurt to ask, right?

“What the bloody hell d’you mean, what’d you do?”

“I mean,” Buffy said, “That you’re cussing and you have mad-face, which means you’re mad at me. So what did I do?”

He sighed. “Nothin’, pet. Just in a bad mood.”

They even sounded like they were dating. This was so beyond stupid. “Um, okay. I hope it gets better.”

His expression turned sarcastic. “Right. ‘m sure it will.” He turned and began to walk out of the classroom. “Hurry up, we gotta go,” he tossed over his shoulder.

She let out an exasperated sigh. OK, even if she were to go out with him—which she wasn’t planning on doing!—she would have the world’s toughest job, because he was soo moody. “Spike, would it kill you to just tell me what’s wrong?”

“Possibly.”

She rolled her eyes. Even she knew that was a rhetorical question—as in, you weren’t supposed to answer it. “Well, tell me anyway.”

He left the classroom, Buffy hot on his heels, mostly because she wanted a ride, of course. “No.”

She let out and annoyed sound. “Would you stop being so stubborn? I just wanna know what’s wrong!”

“No, you don’t,” he argued, getting out his keys as they neared the school exit. “You just wanna get home fast, remember?”

Spike was all hurt because she wanted to get home fast? But...”I’ll probably end up meeting with everybody at the Bronze, so I have to get home so I can do my homework,” she pointed out. She was making an honest effort to improve her grades. Funny how if you actually read the homework, class got so much easier.

“Right. Because spending time with me is the last thing you’d wanna do.”

“No, because spending time with you...alone...isn’t a friend-thing,” she forced herself to say.

He sent her a look that could only be described as disgusted, but didn’t say anything.

They went to his car and got in, both doing their best to uphold the strange silence. Buffy had to stop herself from saying something every few minutes—she was just so used to saying whatever she was thinking about to him. To not be able to say anything was just weird.

They drove to her house in silence, just as they had Friday night, except this time she was just a little more nervous on account of how they’d already kissed once and she really wanted it to happen again, except it couldn’t because she’d told him she just wanted to be friends. And somehow, she didn’t think he’d go for friends with benefits, or whatever.

When he stopped the car, neither of them moved. She didn’t know why he stayed still; she just didn’t want to leave and be alone in her house, even if he was mad at her.

After a few minutes she decided she’d say something. One of them had to, or she’d go insane. The only problem was, she wasn’t sure what she’d say.

So when she did talk, it wasn’t what she’d planned on saying. “This really isn’t gonna work.”

“What—what the soddin’ hell are you talking about?” Spike snapped.

Okay. Apparently he was really, really mad. She could deal with that. “The whole friends thing? Not working.”

“What’re you talkin’ ‘bout? Of course it’s working!”

She just looked at him. Apparently he got the message because he caved and said, “Well, a’right, maybe it’s not working, but that’s no reason to give up, is it?”

Was it just her, or did he sound a little desperate? Well, desperate was good. She could deal with that.

Although it would be nice to know how she planned on dealing with it before the words popped out of her mouth.

“No,” she responded cheerfully, “But it’s reason to do this .” She leaned forward, ignoring the seatbelt that dug into her waist, and kissed him.

~*~

She was kissing Spike. In her driveway. Again.

And yes, part of her was screaming at the other part, What the hell are you doing??!!! It tended to do that a lot lately.

But the thing was that she’d been right. The friends thing really, really wasn’t working. And she had to do something, and the something definitely couldn’t be to just stop talking to him, because now that they’d started talking she sort of liked it. So the obvious solution was to try being…more than friends.

At least he wasn’t protesting; he was very definitely going along with the kissing thing. As soon as her lips had touched his, he’d pulled her forward, luckily having the foresight to unbuckle her seatbelt, and into his lap. One of his hands came around to cup the back of her head; the other went to her waist, pulling her more firmly against him. She smiled against the kiss and curled her fingers around the back of his neck, burying her fingers in the soft curls she found there. She could feel him poking her bottom; when she wriggled on top of him, he gasped.

“Buffy, what the hell—“

She silenced him for a few minutes, kissing him hard, opening her mouth and letting him explore it. When she was pretty sure he’d been distracted she whispered, “It’s all the driveway’s fault.”

He broke the kiss and raised his eyebrows inquisitively—but his expression lacked its normal sarcasm. He looked pretty flustered, actually. “The driveway, luv.”

Oooh, he was calling her luv. She melted a little bit more and tried hard to form a sentence. Her lips wouldn’t cooperate. Apparently, she was kind of flustered, too. “The driveway—every time we kiss, it’s in the driveway.”

“We’ve only kissed twice,” he pointed out.

“But both times, it’s been in the driveway.” She grinned at him. The ridiculousness of the conversation was helping shut up her inner Cordy, which seemed to be having heart palpitations.

He glanced up at her house. “Your parents home, kitten?”

Was it just her, or was he calling her pet names a lot? “Um, no. They’re both at work.”

He leaned forward and kissed her, a quick, clinging kiss. “Wanna test that whole driveway theory?” He opened the door and got out, cradling her in his arms.

“Huh?” It was a horribly blonde answer, but she was being carried to her door by a really, really hot guy whose hard-on was against her side. Talking was not a priority.

“You said it’s the driveway’s fault. Think we can accomplish the same thing on the couch?”

Spike. Couch. She and Spike on the couch. Buffy squirmed in anticipation. “Yuh-huh,” she said, nodding eagerly. She fumbled for her key and, when they reached the door, handed it to Spike. He jammed it into the lock, entered the house, and slammed the door, not even bothering to remove the key. He made a beeline for the couch and tossed her down before covering her body with his own.

It was insane, and she knew it was insane. But somehow, she just couldn’t stop.

“Wait…Spike…” she managed to get out right before he kissed her. She felt rather heroic for even managing that much, since he was on top of her and all.

He froze. “Yeah, Goldilocks?” His voice trembled a little; he seemed almost as nervous as she was.

“I just thought I’d tell you…” Her hand came up to cup his cheek gently, looking him in the eye. He’d given her a huge confession earlier that day, one that had pretty much wrecked the just-friends idea. He deserved to hear one, too.

“I want this,” she said quietly. “I mean, I have wanted this. I’m not…I can’t say it the way you would, but…when I saw you for the first time, when you stepped on my shoes…I thought you were the hottest guy I’d ever seen. The whole time we were fighting, I just wanted to jump you, right there in front of the whole school. And it really hasn’t stopped at all—the jump-wanting, I mean.” She smiled at him timidly. “Okay?”

Her face was burning up and she was way embarrassed, but the look on his face made up for everything. Awe mixed with gratitude and pure happiness—sort of the way she’d felt when he’d told her he watched her every night. It made her want him that much more.

And when he lowered his head and kissed her, fully and completely, plunging his tongue in and clutching her to him so tight it felt like she belonged to him, she really didn’t mind. In fact, it felt wonderfully, incredibly, indescribably right.

So she arched her back and met his embrace with one of her own. Both their kisses grew harder, more demanding; hands began to skim, hips began to move, and pure sensation took over. Buffy gasped, feeling like she was in heaven—

And the front door slammed open.

Before they could separate, Dawn walked in, saying, “Buffy, you idiot, don’t you know enough not to leave your key in the d---OH MY GOD!” She stood stock still, staring at her disheveled sister.

Buffy and Spike leapt up. Buffy tugged down her dress and said quickly, “Dawnie, wait, I can explain—“

“Dawn? Honey, what’s wrong?” they heard Hank yell. Dawn just stood there, staring at them, as he came nearer.

Buffy’s eyes met Spike’s. To her great satisfaction, he seemed just as annoyed their interruption as she was; of course, he also looked kind of scared. “You wanna go?” she said quickly as Hank neared the front door. Once he got inside, all hell would break loose.

“I don’t wanna leave you with them,” Spike said. “’s my fault, too.”

“If they meet you I’ll never be able to see you. Ever. Dad’ll make with the uber-parenting.”

“So what, it’s better if I leave?” Spike said disbelievingly.

Buffy forced herself to shrug. “If Dad doesn’t see you, he’ll try to pretend you don’t exist.”

“Right. Back door?”

Hank stomped up the steps. “In the kitchen,” Buffy told Spike hurriedly.

“’m gone.” Spike made as if to leave before halting and grabbing Buffy by the shoulders. He kissed her, quick and hard, before promising, “We’ll talk later, yeah?” and dashing for the kitchen. Unfortunately, he wasn’t quite fast enough. Seconds before he was out of sight, Hank caught a very good glimpse of the young man with the messed up hair—and put two and two together.

“Buffy Anne Summers!”

“Dad, it’s not what it sounds like, we were just—“

“Do I even know this guy?”

“It’s Spike Walsh. You know, the one she hates?” Dawn looked really weird, but Buffy couldn’t figure out why.

“Wait…the one you fight with all the time?”

“Um…” Buffy nibbled on her lower lip. Was her sister smiling? “Yeah, but we were just kissing, I swear, and only a little of that, it’s just the driveway is cursed so we figured we’d see if we could kiss in the house, too, or if it was just some weird supernatural concrete vibes or—“

“You little slut.” Hank stared at his daughter almost disbelievingly. “I put up with the clothes, I put up with the bad grades, I put up with the idiocy, but I will not have you fornicating in my house!”

“Wait, Dad,” Dawn protested, “They weren’t screwing, they were just kissing. I saw them. And—“

“You saw them?” Hank repeated, dangerous anger growing in his voice. “Dawn, go to your room.”

Dawn sent Buffy one last—regretful? No way. Definitely smug—look before running up the stairs.

As soon as Dawn’s door closed, Hank turned back to his older daughter. His face was perfectly calm, but his eyes were pure fury. “You little whore,” he said—in a perfectly nice voice, but the words cut like a knife. “So what, do you just part your legs for any dick that comes wandering by?”

“What?” Buffy stared at her father. He’d yelled at her before, but he’d never sounded so incredibly mean. “I’m not a—“

“Oh, please,” Hank snorted in disgust. “Spare me. I know your type. You even dress like a little streetwalker.”

Buffy gripped the strap of her dress. Spike had liked it…she’d thought it was pretty. “But, Daddy…” she began in a voice that sounded way more hurt than she really wanted it to, “I…”

“Shut the hell up and get in your room. You’re grounded.” His eyes narrowed. “For life, as far as I’m concerned. You’re not gonna go around screwing every guy you meet. I’m not payin’ for when you get knocked up, you hear me?”

No. No, she really didn’t. Because all she heard were the horrible accusations, the horrible words, that he was saying. Slut. Whore. Her parents had never been all that nice to her, but those words—what he was saying—it was so horrible. She felt something rise in her ears, until she could barely hear, and eyes that had been almost tearing in happiness awhile ago began to cry in utter desolation. “But—“

He pointed up at the stairs. “Get your ass up there, now,” he snapped. “We’ll talk about your punishments later.”

She still stared at him.

“What, are you stupid? Get the hell up to your room!” This time, he shouted loudly enough that Buffy was broken out of the strange trance she was in.

She forced her feet to move, to carry her up the stairs and into her room. She didn’t even make it to the upstairs hallway before the tears began coming in earnest—by the time she was in her room, she was sobbing. She threw herself down on the bed, curled up, her body shaking with the force of her cries.

Do you just part your legs for any dick that comes wandering by? How could he say that? To her? She knew she wasn’t his favorite daughter, she knew that her whole family hated her, but what he’d said—it went beyond cruelty. Those words coming from her father’s mouth, the pure hatred she’d seen in his eyes, the derision with which he’d regarded her clothing—it broke a heart that had already been hurt so many times by her family.

She should have been happy. She’d begun something with Spike back there. She wasn’t sure what, but something was definitely happening. Now, though—it was just a few minutes later, but it felt like the whole world was falling down around her. She couldn’t think about how happy she was that Spike and she had had a major makeout session. All she could think about was the devastation her father’s words had made her feel.

She was sobbing so loudly that she didn’t hear the knocking at her door for quite some time. By the time she did hear it, whoever was on the other end was pounding rather loudly.

“What the fuck do you want?” she yelled. The hostile words felt funny coming out of her mouth—had she ever said that word in front of her family before?

“Let me in!”

Dawn. Buffy considered just telling her to fuck off—God knows she deserved it. But then she remembered that Dawn had tried to defend her. Not much, and the younger girl had been a complete bitch often enough, but Dawn had tried. Buffy scowled. “This had better be good,” she yelled, and the doorknob turned. When Dawn entered Buffy snapped, “If you don’t have anything to say, I am so gonna pull out your ribcage and wear it as a hat.”

Dawn rolled her eyes. “What-ever,” she snapped. “Listen, I need to talk to you.”

“About what? I thought you were the frickin’ President of the We Hate Buffy Club,” Buffy snapped, putting at much hatefulness into her voice as possible. She couldn’t afford to hope that someone in her family liked her even in the least little bit. It would hurt her.

“Yeah, right.” Dawn crossed her arms and stared at Buffy. “That was Spike Walsh you were kissing, right?”

“Your point?”

“Spike’s, like, a legend at the junior high,” Dawn informed her haughtily.

“O-kay…” Buffy said slowly, waiting for Dawn to get to the point so Buffy could just kick her out already.

“So, he’s pretty smart,” Dawn said. “And I figure, if he likes you, you must be pretty smart, too.”

“Pretty smart of you,” Buffy said sarcastically.

“Yeah.” A pause. “So, um, congratulations. I hope it goes well.”

You could have heard a pin drop. After about a minute passed, Buffy decided she really should talk. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Dawn hesitated. For a moment it looked like she was going to say something else—but instead she just slipped out of the door quietly, leaving Buffy alone again.

Except this time, she didn’t cry. Because a part of her—just a tiny part, but a part all the same—was daring to hope that maybe, just maybe, she had an ally. A friend.

Maybe her whole family didn’t hate her after all.

She stared at the wall for a long time. It was white, with a few little scuff marks in it from when she was younger and thought doing headstands against the wall in Mary Janes was a fun thing to do.

She was contemplating switching her rapt attention from the wall to the ceiling when she heard the door slam: her mother was home.

The shouting started almost immediately. She knew it would continue for some time. If Dawn grew some courage and told their mother what her father had said, the yelling might keep going for days with almost no rest.

Buffy’s eyes strayed to the window. There had been a huge branch that went almost right up to the sill, but after her mom had discovered Buffy was using the branch to get to late night parties, she’d had it cut off.

But the tree was still there, and Buffy was starting to get desperate enough to think about using it. She really couldn’t stand being in here much longer, not with the words her father had said replaying in her ears constantly and the shouting going on downstairs.

She opened the window and leaned out, looking around. If she wanted to get to the tree, she’d have to jump a good six feet. She wasn’t sure she could do it without falling and breaking her neck.

Then again, if she stayed in her house much longer, she might all of a sudden get an urge to hang herself from a ceiling beam. Keeping that in mind, she quickly changed into jeans, a baby tee, and sneakers. She put one foot on the window sill and, grabbing the top of the window, eased herself half out of the frame.

That was when she made the mistake of looking down. The ground was kind of far away, and from two stories up, it looked very, very hard. If she fell on it, she’d never be able to kiss Spike again.

It was kind of disgusting how much that thought motivated her to just jump and get it over with.

So she braced her other foot on the windowsill. Now she was standing precariously on the edge of her window. It felt like just a strong breeze might blow her off. She bent her knees, bit her lip, aimed for a wide branch about six feet away, hoped she didn’t fall—and jumped.

She flew forward and a little down, wailing inside, thinking, I am so gonna die!

Fortunately for her, her feet hit bark, and her arms came up to wrap around the tree trunk, almost of their own accord. For a few seconds Buffy just clutched the trunk and kept her eyes shut tight. She was breathing rapidly, almost panting.

Then it began to slowly dawn upon her that she wasn’t dead—far from it, actually. She was alive and grabbing a tree and kind of afraid.

But also curious, so she cracked her eyes open—first her right, then her left. She peeked around, gazing curiously at the tree. She’d never been in the tree during the daytime. The sunlight was filtered by the leaves, making it pale green. It tinted everything, from the bark to the backs of her hands.

For a second she managed to forget that she was two stories up in a tree, and that the only reason she was there was that her father was the biggest asshole ever born. All she thought about was the sheer beauty, the sheer freedom, in knowing that she’d survived her clandestine little jump, and in simply being in the tree.

Her serenity was shattered when Dawn poked her head out the window. “Are you gonna get out of here, or what?” Her face was peevish, yet her expression lacked the pure malice it normally had.

“How’d you know I was up here?” Buffy demanded, surprised.

Dawn rolled her eyes, very much the younger sister. “You squealed.”

A blush crept up into her cheeks. “Oh.” Then suddenly it occurred to her just exactly who she was talking to. She scowled. “If you tell Mom or D-Dad, I swear to God I’ll chop you up into tiny pieces!”

Dawn just raised her eyebrows. “What-ever,” she said. “I’m not going to tell, okay?”

Was that a peace offering? She really wasn’t in the mood for peace offerings. “Yeah. Good.”

Dawn nodded and closed the window. Buffy watched her lock it—there was a rule in their house that windows had to be locked, and Buffy knew her parents would find out she’d gone much more quickly if Dawn hadn’t locked the window—and leave the room.

Okay. Now the question was, where should she go? She would’ve liked to go to Spike’s house, but after all that had happened, and all she didn’t know, she wasn’t sure if she was ready to face him just yet.

Not that she wasn’t sure how she felt. Well, okay, she wasn’t sure, but she knew what she wanted as far as he was concerned. She wanted to keep going. She wanted to be able to introduce him to people as her boyfriend. But after the fight she’d had with her dad—or, to be more exact, after the way her dad had screamed at her—she wasn’t sure how he felt. For one thing, she didn’t know how much he’d heard. And if he had heard the whole thing, she wasn’t sure he’d want to get involved. She’d had lots of friends whose love interests hadn’t wanted to ‘go out’ officially because of parent issues.

It was all dauntingly complicated.

So, who could she talk to? Buffy hugged the tree trunk as she considered her options. Anya would just tell her that she was insane and instruct her to go over to Spike’s house to receive many orgasms. Oz wouldn’t say anything at all—and anyway, she barely knew Oz. Xander would go off on a tangent about how horrible her dad was, and Faith—Faith wasn’t too talented when it came to sensitive stuff. Buffy felt a twinge of guilt when she even thought of Tara. She couldn’t burden Tara when the poor girl’s grandmother was in the hospital.

That left Willow. Buffy frowned as she thought of the redhead. She wasn’t really feeling too warm and snuggly towards Wills at the moment because of the whole Tara thing...but then, she had seemed sorry, and she and Buffy were friends, right? Friends forgave each other.

Buffy slithered down from the tree, trying frantically to remember where Willow lived. She’d never actually been over to the girl’s house, but she’d passed it a few times...maybe...

She started off, intent on getting to her friend’s house. What she failed to notice was that the black DeSoto had never left her driveway.

*

Dawn watched her sister go, wondering if Buffy even knew that Spike had never left the house. Probably not. You could have heard her crying in China—not that Dawn was blaming her, or anything. If Dad had called her a slut she’d have set him on fire.

After watched her sister walk off at a surprising speed for an emotionally damaged dumb blonde, Dawn turned away from the window and crept downstairs. When she was a few stairs down she stopped, listening to her parents bicker.

“I walked in and she was on the couch with some boy on top of her, acting like the biggest slut I’ve ever seen—“

“Hank! Don’t talk about your daughter that way!”

“Don’t you talk to me like you think I’m a child! She’s your daughter too, Joyce, and if you think for one second that I’m going to let her grow up into a stupid, ill-educated little whore, then you’re—“

“Hank! I swear to God if you say one more awful thing about Buffy I will—“

“Oh, please.” Now their father sounded scornful. “It’s not like I said it to her face—and you’ve said it yourself enough times.”

Dawn’s mouth fell open at that. Her father was lying to her mother—and about calling Buffy names that he should never have said to his kid, too!

She should interfere. Common sense, plus also the stuff they always taught you in kindergarten about sharing and niceness and everything, said that she should go downstairs and tell her mother what had really happened. But the thing was that if she did, she was pretty sure she’d get yelled at. Yeah, her parents liked her, but they didn’t like her that much.

But then she remembered the sobbing she’d heard, and the look on her sister’s face when Dawn had gone into her room. What their father had said had been unforgivable. The fact that he was lying to their mother made it more so.

She’d made her decision. Setting her jaw stubbornly, she clomped down the stairs and practically ran into the living room. “He’s lying!” she announced as soon as they saw her. “He called Buffy a slut and a whore and said that she would spread her legs for any dick that came wandering by and a bunch of other stuff that I don’t remember and maybe I should go now,” she blurted out, seeing the horrified look on Joyce’s face and the infuriated glare Hank was giving her.

Before she even left the room, Joyce was screaming again. “You said that? To Buffy? Hank, you inconsiderate, nasty, lying, low-down asshole!”

“Hey! Bitch had it coming to her, fucking some guy on our couch...”

Dawn darted out the front door, but not before she heard her mother’s hand connect with her father’s face. This should be fun, she thought bitterly.

It didn’t surprise her to see Spike leaning against the side of their house, smoking. What did surprise her was when he didn’t glance at her like he wanted to kill her, or something. Hadn’t Buffy complained about how awful she was?

“So, think your mum’ll mind ‘f I kill your da?” Spike asked conversationally.

“Mom’s almost as mean as he is,” Dawn answered sullenly. “She’s never called Buffy names like that, but...”

Spike sighed. “No need to explain, Bit,” he told her. “I get it. ‘s far as I know, you were just as bad as the ‘rents.”

Dawn stared into space, remembering. “Yeah,” she finally admitted quietly, “I was.”

“And what, you’re all better now?”

Dawn glared at him. His face was completely expressionless, so there was no way for her to tell what he was thinking. “No. I just don’t know anything anymore. Buffy’s nice,” she began, brow furrowed, trying hard to understand what she was thinking even as she put it into words, “Really nice. I didn’t realize that before. And the only reason our parents like me is because I let them tell me what to do and I never fight them on it. I’m, like, their pet cow, or something.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Pet cow?”

“Cows follow people around and never think for themselves,” Dawn explained.

“You’re a bit skinny to be a cow,” Spike argued.

Dawn threw up her hands in exasperation. “Whatever! The point is that our parents suck and now that I finally know it I want to be friends with Buffy, except she doesn’t even really like me so I don’t think we can be, and it really sucks because she’s cool and she’s dating you and you’re like a legend as far as academics go, and—“

Spike was studying her, head cocked. “Breathin’ really isn’t an issue for you, is it?”

“Um. Yeah. But not when I’m upset.”

“Right, then. First off, we’re not dating.”

Now it was Dawn’s turned to give him the I Wasn’t Born Yesterday look. “Puh-leeze. Being thirteen doesn’t make me automatically stupid, you know.”

“You sure about that?”

“Can we just get to the point? This is ridiculous!” And nonsensical. Dawn didn’t like nonsensical.

“Well, ‘f I knew what the point is, maybe I would.”

“You idiot! The point is—“ Dawn stopped dead when she realized that she, too, didn’t know the point. “Um...” He was smirking. She really hated it when people smirked. Well, unless it was her doing the smirking. Then it was okay.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, face turning bright red.

“A’right, then,” Spike said. Why he was so satisfied with her answer was beyond her.

“Oh! I was gonna say one thing. You can’t kill my dad! I don’t think my mom would like it,” Dawn explained triumphantly, having finally remembered what she was going to say before going off on a tangent.

“Yeah, cuz I never woulda been able to figure that out myself,” Spike said, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

“Well, that’s one thing I was gonna say. The other thing is...Buffy needs you,” Dawn explained quietly. “What our dad said hurt her. She was crying in her room.”

He dropped the cigarette and crushed it under his boot. “Any idea where she’s headed?”

Dawn shook her head. “Probably a friends’ house. That’s what she always used to do when Dad or Mom would yell at her.”

“You mean this has happened before?”

Wow. If looks could kill, he’d blow the whole world up. All of a sudden, Dawn was extremely glad that he wasn’t mad at her, because she kind of wanted to live to see 14. “Um, not so much with the name-calling, but the yelling and stuff...yeah.”

“Do you yell at her?” He was quiet now, but she wasn’t dumb enough to think that meant he was calm.

“Um...no. I just told on her and was mean and nasty and stuff.”

“Was?”

“As of today, I’ve stopped. Our parents suck ass,” Dawn said bluntly.

He gave her another one of those looks that she couldn’t interpret before saying, “Was?”

“My parents can go stuff themselves,” Dawn said firmly. “I’m tired of them.”

“Well, good.” He stood up abruptly, pushing himself off of the wall he’d been leaning on. “Look, Bit, it’s been a great talk and all, but I gotta go find m’ girl, okay?”

Dawn just nodded. She watched him pull out of the driveway with a smile.

The whole world was sorta sucky right now—but Dawn was still a little happy, because as unbelievable as it was, she wanted Buffy to be happy. And with Spike walking around acting all protective and calling Buffy “his girl”...well...who wouldn’t be happy?

She sat on the step for a long time after the DeSoto drove off, staring into space. Buffy was luckier than she knew. She had a boyfriend, and friends. She had somewhere she belonged.

Dawn was starting to realize that she really didn’t.

~*~

A/N: Hm...not much happens in this chapter. I decided to post it anyway, though, just cuz I know you guys love this story soooo much =D Seriously, though, I’m trying to build a little sympathy for Dawn, cuz I don’t want everybody to hate her, and it is sort of important to the plot...now I’m rambling =D There’ll be more Buffy in the next chapter and she won’t be such a wuss, promise! And thanks again for all the wonderful reviews!!! I’ve decided that they’re way better than chocolate, lol.

~*~

“Oh my God, Buffy...that’s awful!” Willow exclaimed, concern on her face. “Was Spike there?”

“I don’t know,” Buffy admitted. “I mean, I told him to go, but knowing Spike, he probably stuck around.”

“Wow...I’m surprised he didn’t help, or at least try to talk to you,” Willow said. “He’s not generally one for—you know—sitting back and not doing anything.”

Buffy shrugged. “I ran up to my room. He might not’ve known where I was,” she said nonchalantly, trying to hide the hurt she felt at the truth in Willow’s words. Why hadn’t Spike comforted her? Wasn’t that what boyfriends were supposed to do?

Except that they weren’t really dating, were they? They’d just had an awesome makeout session on her couch, was all. So he didn’t really owe her any comforting, and she shouldn’t be expecting any.

But dammit, she wanted it!

Willow was watching her friend closely—she was good at that. It didn’t surprise Buffy in the least that her next words were, “You want him to come and comfort you, don’t you?”

“Um...just a little,” Buffy admitted, covering her face in her hands. “This is so dumb...”

“No, no it’s not,” Willow hastened to assure her. “You never know, he might have been looking for something pointy to stab your dad with...not that that’s a good thing, because violence is not the answer, but—“

Buffy was sort of looking forward to a comforting Willow rant about how of course Spike was on his way to comfort her—but no such luck, because the phone rang. Willow snatched it up immediately, her look growing even more anxious, a feat Buffy hadn’t thought was possible. “Tara? Is your grandmother—oh, boy. Yeah—uh-huh. Buffy’s over...no, it’s her dad. Yeah, I can, I’ll get them over...see you.”

Willow hung up the phone, worry in her eyes. “It’s Tara’s grandmother. I told you she was in the hospital, right?” At Buffy’s nod, Willow continued, “Well, it’s getting worse. She’s barely holding on. The stroke she had, it damaged her, her brain, and the doctors are saying she’s only got a little while left—as in, days, maybe hours.” Willow took a deep breath. “Tara’s really upset.”

“Oh my God...” To Buffy’s shame, though she was incredibly concerned about Tara, the first thought was, “Is Spike going to come to the hospital with us?”

Willow looked at her in surprise as she blushed bright red, but the words that came out of her mouth were not what Buffy expected. “You’re coming to the hospital with us?”

“Well, yeah,” she said, unconsciously imitating Spike, from the words to the tone to the look on her face, “Tara’s my friend too, you know.”

“But I didn’t even tell you her grandmother was sick,” Willow said, a perplexed look on her face.

She sighed impatiently. “Look, Wills, I know that up until like a week ago I was this total bitch, but Tara’s my friend, and I’m going to come with the rest of you to the hospital to see Tara and her grandma. Okay?”

“But—after the thing with your dad, and the, the couch—“

“Willow.” Buffy deliberately made her voice firm. “I’m going and that’s the end of it. Okay?”

Willow gave her a small smile. “Right. I’ll just call everybody.”

Twenty minutes and a round of phone calls later, Buffy and Willow were ready to leave. The plan was for the gang to meet in the hospital waiting room, where Tara would be waiting for them. When Willow and Buffy arrived, Xander, Anya and Spike were already waiting for them. Oz and Faith arrived soon after.

When Willow and Buffy walked in, Tara was releasing Spike. When the girl rushed over to talk to Willow, Buffy walked closer to Spike, stopping a few feet away from him.

“Um,” she said, “Hi.”

“Yeah. Hi.”

Silence.

“Listen,” Spike blurted out, “I wasn’t tryin’ to eavesdrop, but I heard what your da said, an’ I would’ve just run in an’ killed the ponce, but blood’s damn hard to get out of the carpet, so—“

If she was a nice person, she would have stopped him before he got so nervous he started rambling about blood and carpets and Oxy-Clean. Fortunately she had a mean streak to rival his—she let him keep talking for about three minutes before she stopped him by laying her hand on his arm.

“Spike.”

He froze and met her eyes. “Yeah, pet?”

“Shut up,” she advised affectionately.

He swallowed hard before nodding.

“So...you heard him call me a slut, and all that?” She said nervously. The fact that he’d heard her made her feel—dirty, somehow. Unwanted.

He moved closer, gripping her shoulders tightly. She was staring at the hospital floor—he placed his fingers under her chin and forced her to look at him. “Hey. It’s not your fault.”

Tears sprang to her eyes. “But all I did was stand there. And then I ran away,” she whispered, trying to explain the emotions roiling inside her. “And it made me feel—I felt—“ she bit her lip, trying hard not to look away or to start crying. Both would be equally awful.

“Degraded?” he finished for her, moving closer.

Okay. That was it. Tearsville for Buffy Summers. For about the third time that day tears came streaming out of her eyes. Her hands came up to hug herself out of reflex, but when they reached her shoulders she realized that someone was already there.

She was nestled in Spike’s arms, being held gently but firmly as she cried. She let the tears flow for a few minutes before looking up at him. “Thanks,” she whispered gratefully.

He leaned down again, pressing his lips to hers in a brief, comforting kiss, before turning back to the group of friends that was staring at them, open-mouthed.

“Um...we’re kinda together now,” Buffy told everybody.

“As in, officially?” Xander asked.

“Uh-huh.” Buffy beamed at them, silently praying that they’d accept it.

Faith grinned. “Good on you, B,” she said. “We were gonna start a betting pool on when you and Bleach-Boy got it on.”

“Faith!” Willow scolded. “She wasn’t supposed to know about it!”

That made even Tara crack a smile, but everyone sobered quickly. Buffy gulped and walked over to her friend. “How’s your grandma?” she asked quietly.

“C-critical condition,” Tara managed to get out. “Th-they said there’s n-nothing we can do.” Tears swam in the back of her eyes.

“Oh, God.” Buffy leaned in and hugged her friend, offering her the only comfort she could. “I’m so sorry.”

Tara smiled at her. “I’m just glad you guys are here,” she said quietly. “I—I’m having trouble with...she was close to me.”

Buffy nodded. “I understand—well, I don’t,” she corrected herself. “But we’re here for you.”

Spike walked up to her and slipped his hand into hers, squeezing gently. She smiled at him—though they still needed to talk, he was willing to offer her comfort. “We’re all here for you,” he told Tara sincerely.

Tara nodded. “Thank you,” she said quietly. She glanced at the clock, her eyes widening when she took in the time. “I should—I should get back,” she explained. “I’ve left her alone for awhile, and—“

“We get it,” Oz told her. “Go.”

Tara gave him a grateful look before leaving.

They all wandered back to the uncomfortable hospital chairs. After a moment Anya said, “So we’re all sitting here in a waiting room, doing absolutely nothing, because Tara needs moral support but we’re not allowed in her grandmother’s room?”

“Anya,” Willow began in a reproving voice, “That was—“

“Hey! It was not mean,” Anya defended herself. “All I did was say what everyone else was thinking.”

“Well, yeah, but we’re trying to be nice to Tara, Ayn,” Xander tried to explain. “Pointing out the obvious isn’t good when it’s not nice.”

Anya flung herself down into a chair, scowling. “Well, it’s not like I said anything horrible,” she said. “I was merely pointing out the futility of the situation.”

“Which didn’t need to be pointed out,” Buffy said quietly.

Anya stared at her. “Nobody asked you, Little Miss Cheerleader!”

“Hey!” Spike snapped. His grip on her hand tightened. “Watch it, Anya.”

Anya looked at him contemptuously. “Bite me, Spike.”

Buffy cocked an eyebrow at him. “If you do I’ll break up with you,” she said frankly.

“Even if I do it in a nice place?” he asked, smirking.

She crinkled her nose when the innuendo sank in. “Okay, ew?” she offered, before turning back to Anya. “And for your information, I quit cheerleading,” she said in a snooty voice.

“You did?” Spike asked, grinning.

Buffy nodded. “I called Cordy Saturday and told her I was quitting the squad. She wasn’t exactly disappointed.”

“Okay, that still doesn’t mean you have any right to criticize me!” Anya said, still clearly annoyed.

“I don’t need your permission to voice my opinion!” Buffy snapped back.

“Guys! Can we just stop?” Willow walked between them. “Because Tara’s important to all of us, and if you keep being big meanies to each other I’ll smack you both.”

“Oh, please. Like you could.” Anya rolled her eyes. “Uber-geeks can’t fight.”

“Ayn, honey, I need to talk to you.” Xander gently placed his hands on her shoulders. “First off, you’re being a bitch. Also, see the look on Willow’s face? That’s her resolve face, meaning that she’ll kick your ass into the next century if you even try to fight with Buffy anymore.”

To everyone’s surprise, Anya sniffled. “I’m sorry, I know I’m being mean, I just—Tara’s grandma is the first one, but what about everyone else’s grandmas? And grandpas? I don’t want anyone to die.”

“That’s the way it is, Anya,” Willow told her quietly.

“I don’t have to like it,” Anya shot back.

“But you do have to deal with it, so stop the whining already,” Faith ordered, rolling her eyes. “Damn. You guys’re like a bunch of two-year-olds!”

“Sorry,” Buffy apologized. Anya soon followed, and everyone settled back into their not-so-comfy chairs.

They couldn’t go home; Tara needed them. All they could do was wait.

Ten o’clock at night came and went, and still the group sat in the vinyl chairs. They hadn’t talked much, because there was really nothing to say. Tara came out often, staying with them for as long as an hour at a time. After talking for what felt to almost everybody like forever, Faith managed to convince one of the (male) doctors to let them go into Tara’s grandmother’s room. Willow and Xander knew the woman, so they went in and talked to her for awhile.

Buffy sighed and laid her head on Spike’s shoulder. She could understand why they were there, even though they were completely useless, but she still hated the situation.

“G-guys?” Tara’s quiet voice interrupted everyone’s thoughts. “Look, it’s late, and the doctors say that her condition isn’t likely to change. You should head home.”

“Tara, we’ve been through this. We’re here to support her, so that’s what we’re going to do.”

“Xander.” Tara’s voice was quiet but firm. “You need to leave. You guys have school tomorrow.”

“And you don’t?” Xander said challengingly.

“I’m excused. Family emergency.”

Buffy wrinkled her nose at Spike. “Think we should go?” she asked in a whisper as the others continued to argue.

Spike nodded. “Like she said, it’s late. We’re damn near useless and ‘f we don’t get come rest we’ll be completely knackered come tomorrow.”

Buffy sighed. She knew he was right, but still...”I don’t wanna go home,” she admitted, resting her head on his shoulder.

His fingers came up to touch her hair. She almost sighed at the emotions that simple touch could elicit. “We can’t live at the hospital, pet.”

“Why not?” Buffy pouted.

He tapped her bottom lip playfully. “Now, don’t you be gettin’ all pouty on me,” he said teasingly. “And we can’t live here ‘cuz hospitals are for sick people, you silly bird.”

“But...” she trailed off, recognizing the futility of the situation. “Oh, fine,” she said, sighing and getting up. “Although you’re pretty sick, you know.”

He smirked. “Wrong kind, kitten.”

After they said goodbye to Tara, Willow approached Buffy. “My mom’s gonna come and pick me up,” she told the blonde. “Do you want a ride home?”

Buffy looked at Spike, who took her hand again and said, “I’ll get her back, Red.”

Willow smiled, which made Buffy frown. She didn’t like that smile. It was too...smile-ey. “What?” she said grumpily.

“Nothing,” Willow said quickly. “You guys just make a cute couple, is all.”

“Bloody hell, pet. Did you just growl?”

~*~

They argued about it almost the whole way back. Buffy claimed that she hadn’t growled, and that even if she had it had nothing to do with the fact that Willow had called them a couple. There was really nothing unusual in it. She was perfectly fine with them being called a “cute couple”.

He just laughed at her.

Both their laughter died when the DeSoto reached Buffy’s house, though, because all of a sudden they both realized that their ridiculous half-argument had been stalling and nothing more. The fact was that in a few minutes they’d be parted, she’d be back in her home—and they still hadn’t talked about what had happened after the couch incident.

Spike glanced at the girl beside him and sighed. She was staring at the house, eyes wide, clearly reluctant to go in. He still couldn’t believe what he’d heard her father say. If her mum didn’t divorce the bastard, he might just kill him, messy or not. No one get to treat her like that, he thought savagely, gripping the steering wheel.

“I guess I should go in,” Buffy said quietly, interrupting his mind-rant.

“Uh, right.” He tried to focus on her. Her head was down, much the way it had been when he’d seen her that evening at the hospital. All of a sudden his anger drained away, to be replaced with an overwhelming urge to hold her, protect her, from everything that made her beautiful face bear that expression.

Suddenly he had an idea. Granted, it was an idea that was rather stupid, but—“You wanna come home with me?”

Her little mouth fell open. “Huh?”

God, she was adorable when she was all confused like that. “I said, you wanna come home with me? I mean, I doubt the ‘rents’ll notice ‘f you don’t slip in tonight.”

She grimaced. “Probably not. But I can’t anyway.”

“Why?”

“I don’t have any clothes,” she explained.

“So I’ll get you some. You just stay here, an’ I’ll shimmy up the tree and grab ‘em.” he started to unbuckle his seat belt. Part of him was feeling like a complete ponce for being so pushy about this, but the other part was insisting that now that he’d voiced the daft idea, he’d be damned if he let it go.

“Spike! Would you think about this, just for one second? How in the world are you planning on sneaking me past your parents? They’ll, like, kill me! Especially your uber-bitch of a mother!”

Okay, she had a point. But still...”Fine, then. ‘ll come into your room.”

Now she was staring at him, which in his book wasn’t such a bad thing, because he got to look at her eyes to his heart’s content. “Spike, you’re really insane, aren’t you?”

“What? No!” Silly bird, why’d she think he was insane?

“Okay, first of all, if you didn’t come home your parents would, like, start a search party. And also, you don’t have any more clothes, so unless you want to go to school tomorrow stinky or naked...” she trailed off, giving him that smug little I-told-you-do look that he’d so loved back when they fought all the time.

Two could play that game. He smirked and sidled closer. “Bet you’d like ‘f I came naked, wouldn’t you, luv?”

Her eyes widened. “N-no,” she stuttered. “Not a bit.”

Though she was truly adorable when she got all flustered like that, he left off—he was tryin’ to charm his way into her house. “Look, you go on into your house, an’ I’ll drive back in a few minutes and come up through your window. Just keep it open, yeah?”

She frowned at him. “You’re gonna stay in my bedroom?”

“Yeah, pet.” He smiled gently, trying as hard as he could to seem unthreatening. He really couldn’t understand why, but the thought of not being near her tonight was damn near torturous.

She blinked, and for a second he was sure she’d refuse. Then, to his amazement, she smiled her beautiful smile and said, “Okay!”

His mouth was open. He probably looked like a soddin’ fish, but he couldn’t seem to concentrate enough to close it. How could he be so spellbound just by her smile?

Wonderful. Now he’d drifted off again like a complete poof. “Uh, right then. Guess I’ll go get m’ clothing and...stuff.” Bloody hell. Welcome back, William.

She smiled again, a slow smile that he’d seen only a few times on her face. It was the smile that said she knew exactly what she was doing to him. Oh, balls. “See you, then.” She opened the passenger-side door and slid off the seat, an action that made him gulp, before walking bouncily to the door—another action that made him shift uncomfortably. Dammit. He knew he was in trouble when just watching a pretty bird walk gave him a stiffy.

With a resigned sigh, he headed back to his house. Sneakin’ in might take awhile, and he wanted to be back at the Summers house as soon as possible.

*

Her bouncy step and happy face disappeared as she crept up the stairs. She was still waiting for the eventual talk with Spike about what, exactly, was going on between them. Because the whole him staying the night thing? Totally, insanely freaky.

Not that she didn’t want him to stay, or anything. Because she did. A lot. But at the same time, she wasn’t so sure, because she didn’t know how far he wanted to go. She was a girl, so she was thinking they’d just cuddle. But she hadn’t exactly missed Spike Jr. in the car, and she didn’t know if he’d want to...act on his urges.

The idea that he did, and that he’d be mad if she didn’t want to, was uber-freaky.

Once she was safely in her room, she opened the window before going into her closet and changing into gym shorts and a loose t-shirt. She kept her underwear on.

Ears perked for even the slightest sound outside, she crawled into bed, hesitantly pulling the covers over herself. This is not a date, this is not a sexy late-night rendezvous thingy, this is just...comfort. And some really uncomfortable talking about what a butthead Dad is. That’s all.

And that sarcastic inner Cordy said, Right, Buffy. Just how long are you going to keep telling yourself that?

She sighed and lay back on the pillows. Whether or not she was nervous, she had invited him in, and he was coming. She just had to wait for him.

Twenty minutes later, she was still waiting, and starting to fall asleep. Geez. He wore the same thing every day—what was taking him so long?

Thud. “Bloody hell!”

Buffy smiled as the body fell into her room. “Hi, Spike,” she whispered. “Keep it down, okay?”

He righted himself. She couldn’t really see very well in the dark, but somehow she knew he was glaring at her. “That window’s damn hard to get into, you know that?”

She giggled. “Because my parents don’t approve of boys who sneak into my room as eleven at night,” she told him as he came closer.

“That so?” His voice was quiet, thoughtful. It made her shiver. “Do your parents approve ‘f boys who come into your room to ravage their daughter?” He crawled onto the bed until he was hovering over her.

She laid her hands on his shoulders. “You’re still dressed,” she said in surprise. Why wasn’t he in pajamas? Unless...

Oh, crap. She could feel her face getting redder. “Oh.”

He smirked and lowered himself till he lay half beside her, half on her. “Didn’t wanna scare you, luv.”

“What if I wanna be scared?” she asked playfully, wriggling under him.

“Oh, God. Pet, ‘f you wanna actually get some sleep, don’ do that.”

“What’re you going to do, spill it in your pants?” Buffy challenged playfully.

He gritted his teeth before doing something completely unexpected: he swept down and blanketed her lips with his, scraping her lower lip, plunging his tongue into her mouth. It made Buffy’s world spin, so she clung to him—and then blinked in confusion when all the heat and spinney-ness left.

He rolled over so that he was lying next to her. “That answer your question, luv?”

“Um...yeah, I think so.” Buffy almost scowled when she heard her voice. Could she be any more frightened schoolgirl?

That thought in mind, she rolled over and ran a hand down his chest, taking time to fully appreciate his muscles, before skimming down and just barely flicking the zipper fly of his jeans. “Think you should give yourself a little more freedom? I’d hate to see you ruin a pair of jeans.”

“Right, ‘cuz you’re so irresistible that ‘ll spill it just by lyin’ next to you,” Spike shot back, his voice heavy with playful sarcasm.

She let her knuckles graze across his hard-on just the slightest bit. When he jumped, hips thrusting in the air, she smiled smugly and said, “You know? I really do.”

Not that she wasn’t just as turned on herself. The whole underwear thing was turning out to be a really good idea, because the bottom of her panties were completely soaked.

“Bloody hell,” he moaned. “You’re gonna kill me, pet.”

“But what a way to go, right?” She grinned.

“Actually, if ‘m gonna kick the bucket right now, I’d rather be—“ he broke off, lunging for her. Before she even had time to squeal he’d pinned her to the bed, his lower body weighing her down, emphasizing just how much her little brushes had aroused him. “—here,” he finished, smirking down at her. “Hello, kitten.”

She couldn’t make herself say anything—she was too shocked.

He pushed his hips into hers slightly, making her catch her breath. God, was he making with the sexiness or what? “You are such a pig,” she managed to get out, wrinkling her nose at him. “Jeez, you’re even so pale you’re practically pink.”

His smirk didn’t diminish in the slightest. “Oink oink,” he whispered, letting a hand stray to her breast and just graze the nipple, imitating what she’d done to his cock a few minutes ago.

“Oh God.” The exclamation flew out of her mouth before she could stop it. “You really are a pig, you know that? Being all sexy and everything.”

“What can I say?” he shrugged, a purely evil grin on his face. “Just can’t help myself.”

“Spike.” Her tone stopped the half-playful banner.

His face became immediately serious. “Yeah?”

“I just want you to know—“ she broke off, taking a deep breath. It would be nice if she knew what was going to come out of her mouth before it actually happened. “I’m not—this isn’t gonna be easy, with the fact that both our sets of parents suck beyond the telling of it and everything.”

“I know,” he said quietly. Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to her lips before again rolling off of her. This time, though, he pulled her into his arms. “You’re right ‘bout one thing, luv—‘m a right pig when I wanna be. I get what I want, an’ now, I want this to work. So it’s going to, simple as that.”

She smiled at his assured tone. “Yes, sir,” she said, snuggling into his arms. She could still feel his—erm—thingy—but neither of them really wanted to act on it.

Yet.

“Look, baby. Your dad’s a bastard, your mum’s not that much better. ‘f I could knock some sense into ‘em, I would.”

“You didn’t mention Dawn,” Buffy felt the need to point out.

She felt him smile. Funny how she was so close she could feel his expressions. She snuggled a little closer. How could muscles that were so hard and strong-looking be so soft and comforting?

“Bit’s okay,” he told her.

“Humph.”

Now he chuckled. “Anyway—point is—‘m here for you. Always,” he said seriously.

Now she smiled, squeezing him in a horizontal hug. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem,” he assured her, before adjusting them so they lay more comfortably against the pillows. “Now, get some sleep, yeah?”

Sleep. That sounded good, especially since given the muscles and the warmth and the fact that this was Spike, and right now she really didn’t want it to be anyone else, she was drifting off already. “Night, Spike,” she whispered.

“’night, kitten.”

And then, just like that, she fell into the best sleep she’d had since she was a toddler.

~*~

A/N: Schmoe—I lied. Well, actually, I changed my mind and decided to give it some Spuffy. I knew everyone here would be so disappointed =D Thanks so much to everybody for the reviews!!!!!

Spike didn’t. Fall asleep, that is.

He really should’ve. Stayin’ awake like a nancy-boy, stroking his girl’s hair—that had never been his style. He didn’t have the patience for it.

But tonight, all he really wanted to do was lie there and bask in the knowledge that the girl who’d hated him for three years—the one he’d loved for longer than that—was lying in his arms.

Wait. Hold that thought. Spike suddenly stiffened, scowling.

Loved?

Bloody, sodding, buggering, rat-ass-shagging hell.

He was a dense one, wasn’t he? That whole sodding time at the hospital where he’d just sat with her, the fact that every time she smiled, or laughed, or—bloody hell—even just looked at him he went straight back to bein’ William...it all pointed to one thing. He was head over heels, point-of-no-return, bloody-awful-poetry-inspiring in love with her.

Damned if he wasn’t love’s bitch.

What was pathetic was that he hadn’t known earlier. He’d always loved fighting her; hell, for a little while, he’d practically lived for it. Every day he used to look forward to clashing with her, to fighting and eventually coming out on top—or not, depending on the day.

He was startin’ to think this was better than fighting.

She was so small, so soft, lying there in his arms. He’d never really realized how tiny she was before. She was a shirty little thing, usually—when he was fighting with her, he didn’t even really think about height.

He stroked her newly golden hair and sighed into the darkness. She was lying in his arms—that was progress. But he didn’t have any way of knowing whether or not his feelings were reciprocated.

Reciprocated. Sodding hell. Poetic thoughts and big words. He really was far gone, wasn’t he?

She shifted in his arms; automatically, he shifted with her. Christ, they fit so well together. He’d slept with enough girls to know that this was different from anything he’d ever experienced before, different even from what most kids his age experienced. This was special.

Goddamn it.

Not that he wasn’t glad it was special, or anything. Because he was. But how the bleeding hell was he supposed to make sure she felt the same way? He could exactly just shake her and say, “Hey, pet, are you as head over heels in love with me as I am with you?”

Oh, God. Now he’d said the word in his head. Talk about the point of no buggerin’ return...

He was contemplating just jumping out the window when the girl lying in his arms gave out a little sigh and shifted, gripping his arm like it was a comfort blanket. Her face was perfectly peaceful.

How the bloody hell was he supposed to hate this whole falling in love business when she pulled delightful little stunts like that?

And he could see down her shirt, which wasn’t exactly wonderful because it was making him get a hard-on, which she was lying on. It was a vicious circle. And yeah, he could have fixed it by just not looking—but her tits were right there. Anyone would’ve looked at them. Hell, their stuffy, never-been-shagged English teacher woulda looked at ‘em. And Spike had shagged and been shagged enough times to know that her breasts were rather nice ones.

The images they were causing to form in his mind were nice, too, the same way that fire was nice—get too close, an’ you get burned.

Although with his luck, by the time this night was over, he’d be so damn horny all he’d be able to think or say would be caveman-like.

Her leg twined with his, pressing her stomach more firmly into his burgeoning erection. He barely bit back a groan. Come sunrise, he’d be lucky if he could manage saying “Fire pretty.”

And the worst part? He felt like the biggest prick ever born. Moments like this were supposed to be all “Gone With the Wind”, not “Penthouse XXX.” He was supposed to cuddle her, maybe kiss her forehead, not spend all sodding night wishing he could sink himself into her and pound her into the mattress.

He groaned as the visualization made him twitch. ’m a soddin’ idiot, he thought angrily. God knows she deserves better.

She sighed again in her sleep; he echoed her. Thank God she doesn’t seem to want it.

Though he was sure that with Spike Jr. making himself known he’d be up all night, after awhile he began to drift off. After awhile, he was able to relax enough to drift into full-fledged sleep, Buffy still in his arms.

*

Shouting woke him up.

He damn near sat bolt upright before he realized that Buffy was sprawled practically on top of him. Even with worry roiling round in his stomach, he couldn’t help but smile fondly.

He’d been awakened by shouting coming from the downstairs. He listened closely for a moment before recognizing Buffy’s parents’ voices. He couldn’t hear clearly enough to know what they were saying, but he’d bet a pretty penny they were arguing about what that bastard had said to Buffy.

Their voices got closer. Spike must have tensed up, because suddenly Buffy stirred and opened her eyes.

“Spike?” she said quietly, her voice slurred from sleep. “What’s going on?”

“Shh, love.” He pointed to the clock: 1:27 AM. “Looks like your mum and da ‘re having a row.”

Buffy groaned, slumping back down on his chest. “That sentence was too damn British for the middle of the night.”

He smirked. “You think that’s British, luv, you’re gonna lose your knickers ‘f I ever decide to talk like a real Brit.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’d hate that,” she mumbled. “Now shut up. Sleep good.”

He grinned at her sweetly grumpy attitude—and at the images that floated through his mind with her comment. “Dunno, pet, they seem pretty mad. Might come up here to check on you.”

She stiffened again. “Oh, shit! The door’s not locked!”

She bounded off the bed and practically ran over to the door, pushing the simplistic lock down. Spike arched an eyebrow at her. “Not gonna be much protection, luv,” he informed her. “Pop a screwdriver in there and we’re caught.”

She wrinkled that little button nose of hers at him. “You think my parents are that smart?”

He grinned. “Point taken.” Then he got an idea. He smirked, crooking his finger at her. “C’mere.”

Her eyes instantly turned wary—he gloried in the idea that lying in her bed, he could put her on her guard. “What’re you gonna do?”

He smirked. “Guess.”

“I don’t wanna.” Childishly, she stayed near the door.

He gave a derisive snort. “Knew you wouldn’t have the stones. Just like you, Summers, you let a man get into your bed, and then you get skittish later on.”

“Hey!” she snapped indignantly. Her eyes lit up with that fire that he loved so much. “I got stone! I got a whole lot of—stones!”

He smirked again. He couldn’t help it. Bein’ in her bed, surrounded by her scent, was turning him into both a ponce and a wanker at the same time. “D’you even know what stones are, Goldilocks?”

Her angry expression faltered. “Um…not exactly…”

“Balls, luv.”

He watched in delight as a bright red blush, visible even in the pale light cast by her bedside lamp, spread across her face. Funny how after snogging and nearly shagging him on the couch, she chose now the blush.

“Um. I knew that.”

“Right, then. Come back to bed, pet.”

She neared the bed, but he could see that she was scowling. “God. Do you have to make it sound like that?”

“Like what?” Spike said in a deliberately innocent voice, even though he was pretty sure he knew what she was talking about.

“Like we’re—like we just—you know,” she hissed.

She was blushing again. God, he loved that. ‘course, he loved everything about her, but he particularly loved the blushing. She was so damn tempting…

And just a few feet away from the bed. He rolled over, the sheet slipping off of him, and grabbed her wrist, yanking her to him. She let out a little “eep!” as her knees hit the edge of the bed and she tumbled into his lap.

She scowled at him. “Cheater.”

“You know you love it,” he shot back, leaning up and covering her lips with his.

What ensued afterwards was, to Spike at least, the purest form of heaven there was. She was so soft, so warm, and so incredibly enthusiastic—she seemed happy beyond measure to be writhing about in his lap, panting so loudly it was really a wonder her parents didn’t hear them.

He slid his hand up and cupped her breast—both of them moaned. They were small, nowhere near as big as some girls’, but to Spike they were the most perfect bleeding tits he’d even come across. God, just touching them was making him want to spill his pants like some poncy virgin.

Luckily, his girl had common sense and the hottest pair of breasts he’d ever come across, because after a few breathless minutes, she pulled back.

“We can’t—do this—now,” she gasped, straightening the t-shirt where he’d mussed it. “Way—too—slutty.”

“I like slutty,” he growled, trying to sit up and nip at her nipple.

She shook her head. “Uh-uh. School tomorr-oooh….” She trailed off in ecstasy as Spike pushed her hand aside and soaked the cotton covering her breast with hot, open-mouthed kisses.

Dammit—she had to be wearing a bra, didn’t she? He growled and reached around to unfasten it, thanking God that his kisses were preventing her from stopping him.

Knock knock.

“Buffy?”

*

Her eyes flew open as her mother’s voice came through the door. Wide green eyes met blue for a split second—their lips crashed together for a last kiss—and then Spike was up and half out of the window.

Buffy slipped down in her bed and pulled the covers up. Oooh, she could still feel his warmth…

“Buffy?” Again came the call, and this time a rattle of the doorknob accompanied it. “Buffy, why is the door locked? And what are you doing up so late?”

Shit, she thought as she heard Spike hit the ground two stories below. Shit shit shit shit shit. Run fast, Spike. “S—sorry, Mom!” she called, hopping up again. “I got cold, so I was—um—changing.” She opened the door and smiled at her very worried looking mother. “See? No biggy.”

Joyce peered past her daughter. “Buffy, if it’s cold, why are you wearing shorts? And why is the window open?” She strode into the room and fixed her daughter with a hard look. “Elizabeth Anne Summers, what is going on?”

“Um—well, it’s—“ Dang it! She’d lied before, why couldn’t she do it now? “I—it got stuffy, the room I mean, with the—stuffiness of rooms, and all, so I opened the window, but then I got cold so I closed it again, but then the stuffiness came back, so I opened the window, and I was going to change but for some weird reason sleeping in pants wigs me out in a big way, so I just—um—changed my mind about changing!” She beamed at her now very perplexed mother.

“Buffy, honey, why don’t you just get some sleep, okay? I know—you’re probably not telling the truth, but it’s far too late for me to bother with trying to figure you out. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow. Tomorrow ‘s good!” Buffy was still beaming falsely as she led her mother out of the room.

As soon as Joyce left, Buffy practically ran back to the bed and dove in, panting from sheer fear. God…her mom had been thisclose to finding out what really happened. They would have been finding my body for weeks if they knew I was having this major heavy makeout session…with a really, really hot guy…in my room…

She gave out a tiny whimper and buried her head in her pillow, which smelled comfortingly like him—tobacco mixed with leather, soap, and just a little bit of smoke. She inhaled heavily, thinking about the hours she’d been in his arms.

Too bad she wasn’t still there…

After awhile she drifted off again. This sleep, though, was fractured, completely unlike what she’d had when she was lying with him. She didn’t really want to be there—she would’ve much preferred chasing after him and jumping him in his room. But tomorrow was a school day, and she was going to have to do some serious Mom-dodging—however bad it was, she needed her sleep.

~*~

A/N: In case you couldn’t tell, *singsongey voice*, I’m ba-ack! Thanks billions for all the wonderful reviews, I’m glad you guys are enjoying the angstier section of the story. Comedy is coming again—if you want to know what it’ll be centered around, look at the first page *hint hint* =D Cookies to anyone who guesses!

Buffy dodged her mom and ran out of the house about a half hour earlier than she usually did. She’d probably be at school way before anyone else, but school—even early on a Tuesday after getting like three hours of sleep—was better than home with a mother who wanted to know exactly what she’d been doing the night before.

When she got there, she dropped her bag by the entrance and sat on the steps, waiting dejectedly for someone to show. She’d prefer it wasn’t Spike, just because—well—so much had happened that night, she would’ve liked to talk to someone else about it. Especially now that she had lots of time alone to mull over the events of the day, with the hospital, and the Dad thing, and the growling—which had been her regressing into Denial-Girl mode, and had been seriously weird.

You know, if it wasn’t for the truly spectacular kissage, yesterday would have sucked so bad…

“Buffy!”

“Huh?” Buffy’s head jerked up. Willow was running towards her, beaming. “Hey, Wills!” She tried to smile welcomingly, but the bags under her eyes felt like they were pressing down on her mouth. It wasn’t half as comfortable as a certain other pressing…

Oh, boy. Panties a la completely friggin’ soaked.

On the heels of that thought came another: Yeah, cuz that made lots of sense…

“So, Xander told me something interesting,” Willow said with a smile that on anybody else would have been called sly. “He saw Spike leaving your house.”

“What?” That made Buffy snap to attention. “What the hell was Xander doing outside my house?”

Willow’s smile turned to a giggle. “He, he wasn’t! I just told you that so that you’d admit it—he was in your room last night! Oooh—was there kissing?”

Buffy smiled tolerantly. It was kinda hard to stay depressed and horny when Willow was smiling at her so eagerly. “Yeah, there was a little kissing,” she admitted, smiling happily. “And some—you know. Second base stuff.”

“Now, let’s see, why am I not surprised?” Willow tapped her lip in mock-thoughtfulness. “Oh, yeah. You used to fight him all the time.”

“So?” Buffy knew her face was blank; what did fighting Spike have anything to do with it?”

“Buffy. You of all people know that with, with Spike? He loves fighting so much, it’s third base for him!”

Buffy laughed. Well, she couldn’t help it; Willow’s nose was wrinkled primly, but it was obvious that she knew what she was talking about. ‘That’s so sick, Wills.”

“Sick, but very true,” Willow said cheerfully. “Anyway, details NOW, Buffy Summers! As your new best friend, I demand the full scoop!”

“Okay. Not much happened last night, we just kissed, and—and kissed…” Buffy trailed off into fantasy land as she remembered that night on the bed.

“Buffy? Oh my God, it’s so great to see you!”

Buffy whirled around. There, in all her teen Queen glory, was—“Cordelia,” she greeted the other girl dryly. “You’re talking to me—why?” God, if her teeth got much brighter they’d be blinding.

“Well, I was thinking last night, and I decided that I was so totally unfair to you last Wednesday,” she explained, still with a smile on her face. “I mean, you were my best friend since, like, forever, so the whole falling out thing? Not cool at all!” Cordelia’s eyes suddenly shifted to Willow—her smile became, if anything, even brighter. “Hi, Willow! I like your outfit!”

“Cordelia.” Buffy’s voice was mean in a way she hadn’t known it could be. “Why the hell are you talking to me?”

“Okay, you caught me. I need a favor,” she admitted. “See, Angel’s been this like complete idiot for about two weeks now, and even though he’s a total honey, I’m thinking of dumping him.”

“And?” Buffy said skeptically, trying to ignore the fact that if Cordy took a step forward, her huge breasts would knock Buffy flat on the floor.

“And I was wondering if you, you know, knew of anybody you could…hook me up with!” Cordelia finished brightly.

“Am I the only one who thinks she’s making with the lying?” Buffy asked Willow.

Willow shook her head. “No, I think we’re on the same page.”

Cordelia sighed impatiently. “Okay, fine. The whole me and Xander thing got out, and now I can’t find a date for the Halloween dance, and I really, really need one or Harmony will totally make my life suck!”

“Wait—thing with Xander?” Buffy wrinkled her nose, trying to picture the two having a fling. Ugh. Major ick alert...

“They got cozy for awhile,” Willow told her. “It was really low key, though, and Cordelia told Xander that she’d—“

“Cut off his dick and shove it down his throat if he told anyone,” Cordelia interrupted. “Which I am so going to do, since he blabbed to like everyone!”

“Well, it could’ve been someone else,” Buffy said hurriedly, trying to save Xander from dick-cuttage.

“Oh, please, I wasn’t serious,” Cordelia said scornfully, rolling her eyes.

“Okay, guess we don’t need to find you a date then,” Buffy said with a bright smile. She had to fight not to laugh when Cordelia’s eyes widened comically.

“No, no, I really, really, really wasn’t kidding about that! I totally need a date!”

Buffy clapped a hand over her mouth, trying frantically not to burst out laughing—out of the corner of her eye, she saw Willow do the same. “Um, sorry, Cordy,” she forced out, “I think all the guys I know have dates.”

“Wait—what about that weird one—the one who, like, sings at the talent show every year? What’s his name?”

Poor Willow...her hair’s starting to match her face. “Are you t-talking about Lorne?” The redhead asked, practically choking with mirth.

“Wow, Cordy,” Buffy said, smiling mischievously. “You must really want a date.”

“Duh,” Cordelia said, rolling her eyes.

“You do realize that if you go with Lorne you’ll kinda be—you know—“ Willow began to stutter when Cordelia stared at her coldly.

“Um...a laughingstock?” Willow finished tentatively.

Cordelia stuck her nose in the air. “Not after I’m through with him, he won’t be,” she informed them. “If I can make Angel chew with his mouth closed, I can de-gayify Bourne by the time the dance comes.”

“Lorne,” Willow corrected.

Cordy rolled her eyes. “What-ever.”

The teen queen stalked off. Buffy watched her go with a wrinkled nose, thinking, I can’t believe I was actually like that. It had only been two weeks, but she felt so far removed from the Cordys of the world that it was like they were from separate worlds.

“I hope Lorne watched his back,” Willow told Buffy, eyes on Cordelia.

Buffy laughed, thinking of how Lorne would react when Cordelia accosted him. “Poor guy. The trials and tribulations of playing for the other team...”

“B! Wassup?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Buffy said dryly. “How are you?”

“Five by five,” Faith replied with a grin. “Scored some serious dick last night—Devon’s got this buddy, see, and—“

“Uh, Faith?” Willow cut in hurriedly. “Not so big on the details, please?”

Faith laughed. “Right. I got laid.”

“So I gathered,” Willow muttered, looking down.

Buffy knew that Willow and Faith weren’t exactly best friends, so she blurted out the first thing that came to mind to lighten things up: “Oh, look, it’s Tara! Tara!” she yelled, hopping up and down, “Over here!”

Tara gave her a bemused look but obeyed, coming up the steps to sit next to Willow. “Hey, guys,” she said quietly. “Did I miss anything?”

“Actually, you and Faith both did,” Buffy said. “Cordy’s dateless for the Halloween dance, and she went into total meltdown.”

“She wanted us to hook her up with Lorne,” Willow added.

Faith started cackling. There was really no other way to describe it—she was bent over double, one hand at her stomach and the other gripping the stair rail, and the sound that was coming out her mouth was definitely more cackle-ey than laugh-ey.

Tara just looked stunned. “Does Cordy—does Cordy know that L-Lorne’s—“

“Kinda gay?” Willow supplied. Tara nodded.

“Cordy’s convinced she can de-gayify him,” Buffy told the others.

Faith snorted. “Fat chance of that. The day Lorne starts liking pussy is the day I go lesbo.”

“I thought you had a thing with Cecily in England last summer,” Willow said.

“That just makes me bi, not butch,” Faith said slyly.

Buffy groaned. “Okay, big yuck!”

The banter continued until the bell rang for first period. Buffy cast a concerned look around as everyone walked inside; Xander and Anya had joined them, but Spike was nowhere to be seen.

She sat down in English, still looking around for him. Oh, God, what if he’d gotten mugged or something when he was running home? He could be lying in a ditch, or dead, or—

“Miss Summers, may I have a word?”

Buffy blinked. Giles was looking down at her expectantly. “Uh, sure,” she said, automatically pasting a smile on her face. “Fire away.”

“I was wondering how well the project was going,” the Englishman said with a nervous smile on his face.

Her smile faltered as the memory of Spike’s body pressing hers into the bed came flooding back to her. Color rushed to her cheeks. “We’re—starting to get along better,” she stuttered. Don’t think about sex in front of the teacher, don’t think about sex in front of the teacher...gah!

Giles was beaming at her. “Excellent!” he praised. “I look forward to seeing your presentation!”

Buffy smiled wanly. “We’re looking forward to giving it,” she mumbled uncomfortably.

To her immense relief, the bell to begin class rang before he had a chance to say anything else. Giles smiled at her one more time before going to the front of the class. “Right then, class, take your seats,” he ordered, clapping his hands. “Today we’re going to be working on—“

“Sorry ‘m late!” Spike came skidding into class. “Giles, look, I know you said you’d give me detention ‘f I was late again, but ‘ve got a damn good excuse, so if you’d just hear me out—“ Buffy didn’t hear anything after that; like much of the class, she was too busy laughing.

Poor, poor Spike. His jacket was rumpled, like he’d slept in it; his boots were half-unlaced; and his hair was all messed up. Personally Buffy thought it looked pretty hot, but knowing Spike, he’d hate it being curly like that.

“It’s quite all right, William, now take your seat.” Giles interrupted Spike’s complicated explanation and pointed to the seat Buffy had been saving.

His eyes fell on her, and at once he seemed to relax. The half-panicked look he’d been wearing was replaced with his usual smirk. He sauntered over to the desk and plopped himself down.

As Giles turned back to the board and starting lecturing them on some author, Buffy wrote a quick note: Where were you?

Starting to worry about me? He wrote back.

Buffy glared at him and handed the piece of paper back to him. He rolled his eyes and wrote: Where the hell do you think I was? Up all night dreaming about you, kitten.

Another blush tinged her cheeks upon reading that. Really?

Well, yeah. Anything happen that I missed?

Cordy wants us to hook her up with Lorne for the Halloween dance. Apparently she can’t get a date because the Xander incident is out.

Spike collapsed in laughter. Giles stopped class immediately. “Mister Walsh,” he said, his accent crisp, “Is there a problem?”

“Uh—no. No problem at all, sir.” He schooled his expression till he looked serious.

“Then kindly keep quiet during my class,” Giles requested. His voice was cool, bearing just a hint of the anger that Buffy had heard rumors about. Apparently he’d nearly killed a fellow teacher, Ethan something-or-other, when the man had molested a young female student. Other, less sensational stories were whispered about in hallways.

All in all, if that look had been directed at her, Buffy would’ve backed down. Fast. Spike, though, just grinned at the older man. “Sorry, mate,” he said flippantly. “Didn’t know laughin’ in your class wasn’t allowed.”

“William. Am I going to have to call your mother?”

Spike was eerily silent for the rest of the class.

~*~

A/N: *MAJOR PIMPAGE ALERT!!* My wonderful mother hates it when I go to The Spuffy Realm, I have no idea why...she’s a semi-Puritan *scrunchy confused face* Sooo...I got me another LiveJournal under the name panta_rei_ I did the layout myself this time, and I’m not sure how I like it :/ but it’s pretty cool. I’ll be posting there most of the time now, probably a day or two earlier than I post at any other site—I’m posting 2 chaps there today and only 1 here. See, I’m pimping *and* blackmailing you into going over there =D Here’s the link www.livejournal.com/users/panta_rei_ And once again, thank you for all the reviews—I have a full 200 now *faints in shock* You guys rock!

“So...what club are you going to sign up for?”

Buffy and Spike were walking down the hallway towards the lunchroom, and Buffy was learning an important lesson. When you’re a teenager and you’re uber-horny, conversation? Not such a priority.

“Uh...dunno yet.” She was wearing a tank top, and he was staring at her boobs like there was no tomorrow. Buffy shifted uncomfortably, not because of the staring, but because of what it was doing to her. I could’ve worn a jacket, but no, the stupid weatherman said it was going to be warm today...

“Isn’t your mom ready to, you know, hit the roof? She doesn’t seem like the wait-ey type.”

Spike shrugged. “Haven’t found a club I wanna join just yet.” They entered the cafeteria. “Damn, ‘m hungry,” he said, looking around with a smirk. “Gotta get me somethin’ to eat.”

He would make with the innuendos in the middle of the lunch room. “Uh, yeah, I’m hungry too,” she stuttered.

He grinned at her. “Pouting, are we?”

“Nope. No pouting. Not even a tiny bit!” Oh, great. Now she was stuttering, too.

“Are you two about to have orgasms? Because there’s a utility closet on the second floor that I think you’ll find is very useful.”

Spike let out a sigh. “Hello, Anya,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Sorry I interrupted you hormone-fest. I know you’re grouchy because you’re horny,” Anya said cheerfully. “But I think I found a solution to your problem.”

“’f it’s got anything to do with utility closets...”

“No, idiot, it’s about how your mom wants you to join a club,” Anya said impatiently. “I don’t think it actually counts as a club, but your mother is a fairly stupid person, so I doubt she’d notice the difference—“

“Get on with it, yeah?”

“You could join the Halloween dance committee!”

Spike blinked. “Thanks, Ayn, but ‘m not one for school spirit.”

“Or any kind of spirit,” Buffy said sweetly, mostly just to get back at him for the eating comment. He cast her a sardonic look.

“Spike, it’s the easy was out! You’re the easiest person I know!”

“Spike’s easier than me? Damn,.” Faith joined the group, usual grin in place. “Rock on, stud.”

“I think she meant lazy,” Buffy told her.

Faith shrugged. “Whatever. We gonna sit down, or what?”

They all walked towards their normal table, Anya giving Spike a steady list of reasons why joining the Halloween committee was a good idea. As they sat down she finally said, “And anyway, you wouldn’t have to dress up if you don’t want to.”

Okay, Anya was so not being helpful. Spike just being...Spike was hot enough. Spike in a costume, assuming it was something sexy? Mouth-watering. “But he’ll want to wear a costume,” she said perkily. “Won’t you?”

“Uh, no,” Spike said, as though it should be the most obvious thing in the world. “Why the bloody hell would I wanna do that?”

She smiled at him flirtatiously. “’cause if you do, I’ll wear something sexy and you’ll get to ogle me all night.”

“That so?” He looked her up and down, smirk growing.

They were still staring at each other—a bad habit, Buffy had decided—when Xander sat down, a lunch tray loaded with fries and pizza in his hands. “Man,” he said, “That line when on forever. I though I was going to—sweet mother of Zeus, would it kill you guys to stop that?”

Willow and Tara joined the table. “What’s the matter, Xander?” Willow asked.

“Them! They’re doing the googly-eyed thing and it’s so incredibly annoying and embarrassing and you know, I don’t think you’re listening either since you’re making out with Oz!” Xander slumped down and banged his head on the table. “Witness the frustration of the sexless guy,” he muttered.

Anya patted his hand. “Don’t worry, sweetie,” she said. “I plan on giving you many orgasms as soon as we get home from school.”

“But I don’t get kisses now?” Xander whined.

Anya pointed at the pizza. “Garlic breath,” she reminded him.

Buffy was laughing when she saw a flash of green out of the corner of her eye: it was Lorne, cornered by Cordy near the drink machines. Buffy nudged Spike. “Look,” she said, eyes glinting mischievously, “Our friend is in trouble.”

The table fell silent. After a moment Faith said, “Think we should go help him?”

Silence. Lorne was shaking his head emphatically, and Cordelia looked like she was really to kill him. Her pointy little nail jabbed him in the chest.

Still more silence.

Finally, Xander said, “Nah. He’s a big boy, he can take care of himself.”

“’course he can,” Spike said. “He’s been doin’ the gay thing for years. He can handle one desperate bint.”

“Uh-huh,” Buffy agreed, eyes fixed on Lorne.

“Maybe we should go help him?” Willow suggested.

“Yeah, let’s do that. ‘m hungry anyway,” Spike said. He stood up; Buffy and Faith did, too. Everyone else remained seated.

“Chickens,” Faith said, grinning.

“We have a healthy sense of self-preservation. Confronting Cordelia would be both difficult and time-consuming,” Anya informed her flatly.

Spike snorted. “Right, then. Let’s go save the sodding day.”

Lorne was still shaking his head when they approached him. For a moment they all held back, even Buffy, simply because Cordelia looked pissed off in a big way. It was Faith who gathered her courage and strode into the battlefield. “Lorne, where the hell have you been? Anya’s dyin’ to hear if you got laid last night.”

Lorne looked confused. “Honey, I didn’t—“

“Don’t bother lyin’, it’s cool. You don’t want Her Highness telling everybody about your faggetry.” Faith linked arms with Lorne. “But I know you had a date, so once we get away from her, you’re gonna describe just how much cock you got.”

Faith led Lorne, still stuttering denials, away from Cordelia—who turned to Buffy with cold eyes.

“Okay, what’s up with that? You said you’d hook him up with me!”

“I never said you could go all intimidating on him,” Buffy defended herself. Cordy wasn’t in the least bit satisfied. “You lying, backstabbing, no-good little—“

“’ey. Shove it, you little bint,” Spike snapped. He took Buffy’s hand. “C’mon, luv. Gotta go here the details of our rainbow’s date.”

Any other time she would have insisted on standing her ground, but after the night they’d had she was too tired to do anything but let him gently tug her back to the table. Plus also, protective Spike was the cutest thing she’d ever seen. “I thought you said you were hungry?” she asked as she sat down.

He shrugged. “Bit peckish, is all. It’ll wear off.”

No wonder he’s so skinny, Buffy thought. He never eats!

Not that she was complaining, or anything...

“Oh, good,” Anya said in a relieved voice upon seeing the blonde duo. “Lorne wouldn’t tell us what happened until you came. I was getting impatient.”

“Wait.” Buffy frowned. “I thought the whole date thing was just Faith’s way of getting Lorne away from Cordy?”

“It was,” Willow told her. “Anya wants to know what Cordy said to him.”

“Oh, okay.” Buffy turned to Lorne. “What did she say before we came and rescued you?”

Lorne fanned himself dramatically, sighing. “Honey, it was a nightmare like you wouldn’t believe. That female is so determined, I thought she’d press a gun to my head if I didn’t go along with her little scheme. I swear, there was nothing I could do but give in.”

“Give in? What the bloody hell d’you mean, give in?”

“I mean, Sweetcheeks, that you rescued me too late. I am Cordelia Chase’s date to the Halloween soiree,” Lorne said with a dramatic sigh. “And by then, my dears, she’ll have given me a makeover that will simply stun you all.”

Willow whispered, “No green hair?”

“None. Not even the tiniest strand.”

“I’m sorry, Lorne.” Tara offered her sympathy quietly.

“That sucks,” was Xander’s contribution. “Welcome to the butt-monkey club—ow!” he yelped when Anya pinched him.

“Bloody hell,” Spike muttered, heaving a sigh. “I need a fag.”

“Well, hot stuff, I don’t usually sleep around, but if you’re offering...” Lorne trailed off with a playful and slightly suggestive grin.

Buffy pouted and hooked her arm in Spike’s. “No stealing my man,” she told Lorne.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetie.”

Buffy laughed, and the lunchroom banter continued.

~*~

She was in a pretty good mood when she got home, considering. Spike had Lorne had bother been whiney that afternoon, Spike because of the “soddin’ committee”, and Lorne because of the “Wicked Witch of the West, and not just her costume, darling”.

She’d even gotten kissage from Spike before he dropped her off at the house. The kissing had been on the road, this time; she and Spike were working hard to disprove the “we can only get it on in the driveway” theory.

She was in such a good mood, in fact, smiling when she walked through the door.

The smile disappeared when she saw her mother standing by the stairs. Joyce looked at her kindly—an expression that was foreign to Buffy.

“Buffy, honey, we need to talk,” she began.

Buffy started jabbering before her mother could make her listen to another lecture. “You know? Not really. Because I’ve got lots of homework, and I’m not really big with the whole talking thing—plus, I was thinking about maybe cleaning my room, so—“

“Buffy.” Now her eyes had more of the familiar hardness. “In the kitchen, now.”

She went quietly, but her mind was spinning. If Joyce decided to give her another argument after that thing with her dad, she was going to go insane. As in, certifiably.

She sat down at the table and looked at her mother expectantly. “What?”

Joyce sat down, too. She compressed her lips—nervously?—before saying, “Buffy, Dawn told me what your father said to you.”

“Yeah, cuz I never would’ve guessed that,” she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. “Why the hell haven’t you kicked him out yet?”

“Buffy Anne Summers, you will not use that tone with me!” Joyce scolded. Buffy fought not to role her eyes Whatever, Mom.

“I didn’t kick your father out because it would have been rude, Buffy,” Joyce continued. “I have, however, decided that maybe we should get a divorce.”

Buffy toyed with her hair. “Great. Have oodles of fun with that.”

“Buffy,” Joyce said reprovingly, “You need to stop being so apathetic. I know that since you’re a teenager you want to rebel, but—“

“But what, Mom?” Her temper finally flared up. “You know, maybe if you would pay more attention to me and less attention to those stupid parenting books, you might actually find out something useful!”

“That’s what I’m trying to do!” Joyce cried. “Buffy, I haven’t even told Dawn about this yet!”

“Oh, thanks ever so!” Buffy exclaimed. “The one thing I’ve ever gotten that Dawn hasn’t, and it’s bad news!”

To her surprise, Joyce didn’t yell or try to punish her. Instead she simply said, “You’re right.”

Buffy blinked. Invasion of the body snatchers much? “Huh?”

Joyce sighed. “You’re my daughter, Buffy. I’d like us to at least respect one another.”

“Why should I respect you?” Buffy asked—nastily, but she couldn’t really help it. She was still pissed off in a big way.

“Well, for one thing, I’m your mother,” Joyce pointed out, an annoyed look on her face.

Buffy sighed exasperatedly. God, this trip down Bizarro Road was not fun. “Look,” she said, “I’ll respect you, okay? I’ll respect the crap out of you.” She paused, searching for the right words. She wasn’t exactly good at emotional speech type things. Finally she said, “But you can’t expect me to respect you until you show me...until you show me that you love me, and that you know that how you’ve treated me was bitchy and unfair.” She stopped at that, tensing herself for the outburst she was positive would come. No one got away with calling their mothers bitchy.

But instead of the expected scream-fest, Joyce just nodded slowly. “I respect that,” she said softly.

Buffy cracked a small smile at her mom’s joke. “I’m gonna go upstairs and do my homework.” She left the kitchen.

“Call me if you need anything,” Joyce told her.

Now, that was a first. “Okay.” She grabbed her bookbag and headed up the stairs.

“Oh, and Buffy?”

Buffy stopped right before the stairs would conceal her from the lower half of the house, about halfway up the staircase. “Yeah?”

Joyce smiled, the warm, motherly smile that Buffy hadn’t seen in a long time, if ever. “I love you, sweetheart.”

Tears prickled at her eyes. “I love you too, Mommy,” she whispered, before fleeing up the stairs so things wouldn’t get over-emotional.

And thank you.

~*~

“Yeah, she actually apologized—well, sort of.” Buffy twirled the phone cord around her finger.

“Wow,” Willow said on the other end of the line. “Your mom actually said sorry? I wish mine would.” Willow’s parents had gone through a bout of severe anti-Wicca, resulting in many of Willow’s books and figurines being destroyed.

“It was pretty nice,” Buffy admitted. “Like, the first time we’ve ever been civil. Enlightening.” She smiled, though she knew Willow couldn’t see it. Reconciliation made her happy.

Willow laughed. “Have you reached nirvana, Oh Wise One?” she teased.

Buffy frowned. Nirvana? “The band?”

“No, silly! In Buddhism, Nirvana is a state of higher being, where you understand everything and you’re in harmony with the universe.”

“So, it’s like an extended orgasm, only minus the screaming?” Buffy winced as soon as the comment came out of her mouth. She’d been hanging around Anya—or maybe Spike—way too much. Not that I could ever really hang around Spike too much, no matter how perverted he makes me...

“Hello? Earth to Buffy! Come in, Buffy! Buffy? Are you there?”

Buffy snapped out of her Spike-induced trance. “Huh? Sorry. What?”

The redhead on the other end of the line gave a mock sigh. “People in love are so boring.”

“Oh really, Miss I’m Dating the Guitarist, isn’t he hot????” Buffy did her best Cordylike squeal.

“Oh, hush,” was Willow’s only comeback. Then, “So, did Spike sign up for the committee?”

Buffy nodded, then remembered she was on the phone. “Yup. They had a meeting after school, I think. He dropped me off and went back to Hell High.”

“So, I’m guessing you guys are going as a couple?”

Buffy grinned. “Yeah, we are. He won’t tell me what his costume’s gonna be, though.”

“Oz won’t, either. He just says he’ll be hairy.” Buffy could almost hear Willow’s pout. “I really wanted to know, too.”

“Guess we’re doomed to failure,” Buffy said cheerfully.

“You sound happy,” Willow grumbled.

She forced sexy costumed Spike images out of her head. “Huh? Oh, no, I’m just—I haven’t told him what I’m going to be, either,” she babbled, “So I guess we’re kinda even. What about you?”

“I have no idea.” Willow sounded faintly panicked.

“You should wear something sexy,” Buffy said, giggling.

“Uh, Buffy? You’re talking to Willow, not Faith.”

“I didn’t mean, like, Playboy bunny.” Oooh, bet Spike would love that... “Just, you know, cute. Less—Amish-ish than what you usually wear.”

“Amish-ish?”

“You know what I mean.” But Buffy was laughing, too.

When their giggles subsided, Willow asked, “So, what are you going to be?”

A wicked smile grew on Buffy’s lips. “Well,” she began, “He said his favorite color was red...”

~*~

A/N: The phone convo was originally going to be in a new chapter, but I decided to just include it in this one. Hope you guys enjoyed it—I tried to add more comedy in these last few chapters =D And thanks bunches for all the reviews--you guys are the best *hugs*

When Spike signed up for the Halloween committee, it was a week before the dance. That week seemed to fly by unnaturally quickly after that. Anya had been right about the committee; as long as he sat there and occasionally offered sarcastic commentary, they didn’t give a flyin’ damn about how much work he actually did. And much to his delight, his mum bought his excuse.

So the week was goin’ smoothly, all things considered. He was having a little trouble finding all the stuff he needed for his costume, but he was pretty sure he’d be able to find it all before the dance. It was a wonder how convincing you could be ‘f you slammed someone against the wall and demanded that they do what you say.

Now it was two days before the dance, and he and Buffy were walking around Sunnydale, doing what was in Spike’s opinion both the most wonderful and the ponciest thing on the planet: holding hands.

“I mean, it’s not that I don’t like vanilla,” Buffy was explaining. “It’s very comforting, sometimes. But there are lots of other ways to get your fix that are way more exiting, you know?”

“Wait. Thought we were discussing ice cream, pet.” He watched her blink, clearly confused.

“We are,” she said. “What else would I be talking ab—ooooh.” Now she blushed, licking her lips nervously. “I get it.”

Spike chucked, but decided not to put her on the hot spot for too long. He’d been horny as hell the past few days, and her bein’ all little and cute and mad made him even hornier, so teasing her wasn’t exactly the smartest thing in the world. “Right, then. I know your favorite ice cream flavor. Next question.”

“Um...” she frowned. “How’d you get the name Spike?”

He smirked. Well, he couldn’t help it. “What, you don’t think it’s m’ real name?”

“Mr. Giles calls you William.”

He could feel his smirk fade when he realized that he’d have to tell her the truth. “Old girlfriend thought ‘f it,” he said shortly. “When I was reinventin’ m’self.”

“Reinventing?” Buffy said curiously, completely unaware that to Spike, discussing this particular topic was like dripping lemon juice in a gaping wound. “Reinventing how?”

She wriggled her hand, and he realized that he was squeezing it far harder than was strictly necessary. He dropped it like a hot iron. “Look, before high school, I was...” he sighed. “I was different, a’right?”

“Different?”

Shrinks had tried to pry all this shit out of him before and they’d all failed. How the bleeding hell could this one girl make him spill his whole life’s story with just one question?

Oh, right. He was head over bleeding heels in love with her.

“I went by William,” he began to explain.

“And that’s so bad?” Buffy interrupted.

He almost glared at her. Not quite, but almost. “’s a nancy-boy name,” he grumbled. Oh, damn. Now he sounded like a pouty child.

“I like it,” she announced, cuddling closer. “It’s all sweet and old-fashioned. Manly.” Just when he was starting to think he’d steered her away from the topic, she gave him that cute little scowl of hers and said, “And you’re not going to distract me. Tell me about the girl who gave you the name.”

Damn that chit and her pigheadedness...oh, who the hell was he trying to kid? He loved it.

What he didn’t love, though, was this whole “life story” game. Vanilla ice cream was all well and good, but reliving past trauma? Not exactly his cup of tea—except that he didn’t drink tea, but—“Bloody hell,” he said out loud, raking a hand through his hair. “Can we sit down, pet?”

“Wow.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “That bad, huh?”

“Uh, yeah.” He spotted a bench and practically ran over to it. She followed quickly, sitting down next to him and fastening her eyes on his face.

When they were both sitting he took a deep breath and said, “Listen. What I’m about to tell you...’ve told others some of it, what they needed to know. But you—I think it’s only fair that you know the whole story.”

She nodded. “And I have to make with the silence afterwards?”

“Yeah.” he nodded emphatically, grateful that she understood.

“Okay.” She snuggled closer to him, leaning her head on his shoulder. The late afternoon sun turned her hair into a halo. “Story time.”

The fact that she was cracking jokes didn’t piss him off the pay it would’ve if it had been the whelp. Instead, it made him feel a bit happier, a bit more ready to deal with his not-so-wonderful past.

“Right. Once upon a time, there was a sorry little 13-year-old git who went by the name of William Walsh.” He paused, remembering.

”He’s turning into a complete rainbow!”

William stood in his doorway and watched his father argue with his mom. It was a fairly regular occurrence.

“Riley! You will not use that sort of language in my household!”

“Your household? I’m your Goddamn husband!”

“Well, you’re acting like a child!”

“So, that’s what this is really about, isn’t it? You think I’m too young for you!”

“Riley! Your diversionary tactics are not going to be successful! I am attempting to discuss your near-verbal abuse of William, and I am going to!”

“Maggie, he’s got a British accent, he dresses in tweed, for crying out loud, and he writes poetry! Bad poetry! He’s a complete faggot!”

“Riley! Your close-mindedness—“

“Don’t even start! If you can’t fix the kid, I will.” Riley whirled around. “Will!” He barked. “Get your sorry ass in here!”

He edged in timidly. “Yeah, Da?”

Riley’s hand crashed across his face. “Drop the accent and start acting like a real man,” his father ordered. “And stop whining! I should just beat your ass, like my father did.”

Will was lying on the floor long after his father left.

~*~

“Uh, Spike?”

He snapped out of his trance. “Yeah?”

“You done with the staring?” she asked, waving a hand in front of his face for demonstration. “I mean—“

“No, ‘s fine,” he reassured her. “Just some damn bad memories, is all.”

She kissed his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“’s not your fault,” he assured her. “To tell the truth, havin’ you here makes it that much easier.”

“So...”

He took the prompt. “M’ parents are right arseholes,” he said, “But you know that. M’ dad used to beat on me a bit...never serious stuff, just whacks every now an’ then,” he hastened to assure her when she gasped. “He thought I was a poofter like Peaches.” That brought a grin from her. “So I decided to fix it...make m’self tough so that he’d be scared to swat me ‘round.”

”William...is that what they call you?”

He stared nervously at the girl next to him. At the time, exploring the bad side of town had seemed like a good idea. Now, though, it made him sick. Why he ever chose to listen to Faith when she told him that a night out in Sunnydale would be fun...”Uh, yes. I mean, that is my name,” he stuttered.

“Such a pretty face you have,” Drusilla murmured, tracing a sharp fingernail across his cheekbones. “So sharp...like nails, but softer. Like—“ she stopped, and her eyes grew wide, as though she’d just made a great discovery. When she stared up at him again, a sly smile was on her face. “Like a spike.”

“A—a spike?” he stuttered. “My face is like a spike?”

She nodded solemnly. “It has power. I can see it, all around you. Can you see it?”

“Sorry, but no,” William said honestly.

“But it is there...all around...my Spike. Such power,” she breathed.

He scooted away from her. “I—my name isn’t Spike,” he stuttered frantically. “It’s William.”

She shook a scolding finger. “Naughty Spike, not believing what Mummy tells him,” she purred, scooting closer, stroking his cheekbones. “He shall have to be punished.”

“Uh—not so close, please. In fact, I’d prefer if you—“

Something at the far end of the room caught his eye: it was Buffy, laughing and joking with that ponce Angel. It was the first time he’d seen her since his little anti-poofter stunt at Cordy’s pool party; and just like then, she glowed.

But her glow—her beautiful smile, her happy face—wasn’t directed towards him. It would never be directed towards him. That fact, one that had haunted him after the pool party, was reinforced just then. And it hurt.

He turned back to Drusilla, forcing himself to—smile? Not exactly. The smirk that Faith had taught him was firmly in place. “What’re you gonna do to me, baby?” he purred, sidling closer to her, putting his arm across her shoulder, and thanking God that Faith had made him wear jeans and a t-shirt instead of a tweed suit.

Drusilla seemed to know that she’d won him over; her smile became pure lust. “Such awful, awful things,” she purred, stroking his cheekbones. “My Spike.”

Smiling, he lowered his head and kissed her. After that, it was nothing but hands and lip and tongue...and William was lost forever.

~*~

“Spike? Hello, anyone there? Spike!”

He blinked; Buffy was snapping her fingers in front of his face.

His eyes locked with hers. “It was you,” he said quietly.

“Huh?”

She was cute when she was confused...he shook his head. “I was at a club, here in Sunnydale...you were there, too, guess you were visitin’. Faith hooked me up with this bint I‘d never met b’fore, said that we were both English so we already had a lot in common. At first I didn’t like her, thought her right loony, but then...then I saw you.”

“What—what’d I do?” Buffy asked guiltily.

“Nothin’,” he answered simply. “You were just standing there, flirtin’ with Peaches. But right then, I knew you’d never be mine. So I turned to Drusilla.”

She reached out and touched his face; but unlike Drusilla, she just cupped his cheek. “And the name?”

He gave her a wry smile. “Dru was a nut case,” he said. “She thought m’ cheekbones were spiky.”

“Wow. Not so much. Yummy, yeah,” she added with a smile, “But they’re spike-free.”

“Yeah.” He smiled wistfully. Dru had been insane, but he still missed her—which probably made him off his bird, too.

”Crying about your crazy chick?” his dad said sarcastically from his room.

He didn’t even bother to look up. “Shove off, Da,” he said, longing for the bottle of Jack he’d hidden under his bed when he heard his father’s footsteps.

“You’re not to use that language with me, Will,” Riley said coldly.

Spike heaved a sigh. “Right, then.” He leapt to his feet and walked toward his dad. Though he was rather a lot shorter than the military officer, his anger and grief made him more intimidating.

He looked his father straight in the eye and said, in a clear American accent, “Fuck off, Dad.”

And then he pushed his father out the door and slammed it in his face.

He turned the lock before Riley could muscle his way in; his Da might be less intimidating than he was, but the man had muscle.

When the door was safely locked, he slumped back down on the bed and picked up the bottle of Jack. Drusilla, baby, he thought as he drank. Why’d you leave me? What’s Peaches got that I haven’t? First Buffy, then Drusilla…he was love’s sodding bitch, and worse, that bastard Angel always got what he wanted.

So he drank himself into oblivion, into sweet, merciful darkness. That was one thing that Dru had taught him before she turned her eyes on Angel. The light hurt—it burned you, consumed you. But the darkness was kind, and gentle. When darkness took you over, all you felt was peace.

~*~

“So…what happened?”

Spike once again snapped out of his trance. “Oh, you know, the usual. Dru got frisky with Angel, and I became an even more pathetic sod than I already am.” He’d told her she deserved to know the whole story, but there were some things that he was never gonna tell anybody.

“Oh.” For a moment she was silent; then she said, “Is that when the Jack came in?”

God, she could read him like a book. “Yeah. Drinkin’, smokin’…I tried everything to make me forget her.”

“Did you?”

He focused on her face. She was quiet, her eyes downcast, almost like—

Like she was shy. Unsure.

He gently tilted her head up, smiling into her eyes. “Buffy, luv, what happened then…it was over. I’ve been over Dru for a long time—and what I feel for you, what I felt for you even then, is far greater than anything I ever felt for her.”

Tears came into her eyes. For a moment Spike was confused—what the bloody hell was she cryin’ for?—but then she leaned forward and kissed him, right there on the park bench.

They clung together, both drawing solace from the other. A few moments passed as lips melded—Spike clutched her face, and she wrapped her hands around his neck. It was a close kiss, an intimate one, but more loving than passionate.

When they separated, Buffy reached down and gently squeezed his hand. “Thanks for trusting me,” she whispered, smiling.

He smiled back. “You’re m’ girl,” he said honestly. “’d trust you with m’ life.”

“And your heart? Do you trust me with that?”

God, this conversation was getting’ maudlin, wasn’t it? But Spike could tell it was a serious question. “Yeah, kitten.” He kissed her hand and then stood up, drawing her with him. “I really do.”

~*~

A/N: I know the story behind Spike's name is a bit odd, but I was bored and since Dru's insane, I figured I could have any reason I wanted =D And I didn't say this before when I should have: thanks a million times to Mac and spufette for the wonderful reassurance about my mom and her disapproval for this site--it meant a ton to me, guys. *hugs* so thanks! And thanks also to the people who reviewed the last chapter--reviews are one of the reasons I post (though not one of the reasons I write), so getting them is wonderful!

~*~

“Oh my God, Willow, I so do not look sexy! I look like—like Tinkerbell!”

“Tinkerbell wore green,” her friend pointed out sensibly.

“Well, okay, Tinkerbell in a vat off...ketchup,” Buffy said, before renewing her freaking out. “The point is, I look completely stupid!”

Willow studied her friend carefully. Short red dress, cut raggedly at the hem. Hair teased into gentle curls. Red, red lipstick and fingernails.

“Um, Buffy? If it didn’t sound really gay, I’d say you look hot.”

“I so do not!” Buffy insisted, before turning back to the mirror and staring in it, head cocked. “Do I?”

“Look at it this way, Buffy. If tonight when Spike sees you—if his eyeballs go ker-plunk when he picks you up—then you’ll know he thinks you’re hot!”:

“But...what if his eyeballs don’t go ker-plunk?” she whined. “What if they go mush, or they burn up because I look so dumb? Oh no, what if he starts laughing!” Buffy went into panic mode. “He’ll laugh and probably look all sexy doing it but I won’t be able to jump him because there’s no ker-plunky eyes so he doesn’t think I’m hot!!!!”

“Okay, you guys are acting, like, really dumb.”

Buffy made a face at her sister. “Who asked you?”

Dawn shrugged and came into Buffy’s room, plopping herself down on the bed next to Willow. “You shouldn’t be worried,” the thirteen-year-old informed her older sister. “Spike’s completely in love with you.”

“What?! He is not!” Buffy practically yelled. Just the thought freaked her out in a big way. It had only been almost three weeks since Giles had made them do the project. Granted, it felt like practically forever—but the fact was that every time she was around him she was horny and he was horny too. Thinking about love and all that stuff would only make everything more complicated.

“He so does,” Dawn shot back. “After Dad was such a bastard to you? He was hanging outside the house, and when I talked to him, he was all, ‘I gotta go find my girl’.” Dawn arched an eyebrow at Buffy. “I mean, duh!”

“Wait—I’m confused,” Willow said, frowning. “I thought Dawn was the evil bratty little—“

“Things are starting to change,” Buffy cut in hastily. “Dawn—he really said that?”

Dawn nodded. Strangely enough, she didn’t bother confronting Willow about what the older girl had said. “Yeah. He was all with the being protective and stuff.”

“Aww, Buffy, that’s so sweet!” Willow exclaimed, a huge smile on her face.

“Yeah, I guess,” she said, trying hard to hide the fact that inside, she was jumping and squealing.

She adjusted the small red dress again, peering at herself intently in the mirror. Things had been getting better with her mother; Joyce had agreed to find some errand that would get Hank out of the house long enough for Spike to pick Buffy up. Which was good, because although Buffy had no idea what her boyfriend would be going as, she was pretty sure it wouldn’t be in the realm of normal, and if Hank saw her dress he’d totally flip.

She was about to ask Willow if she looked okay again when she heard the doorbell ring. Her eyes widened. “Oh my God, Wills!””

She heard the door open and close; her mother voice floated up the stairs, followed by a low British rumble that she knew was Spike’s. Someone laughed, and then Joyce called up the stairs, “Buffy! Willow! Your dates are here!”

Buffy gulped, hard. “You know what, guys? This was a bad idea. Bad, bad idea,” she repeated, bounding over to the closet and rifling through it for something a little less sexy. “Willow, why did I let you talk me into this?!”

“Um, I seem to remember you talking me into wearing this!” Willow squeaked, motioning to her skimpy ghost outfit. “Don’t you have a blanket in there or something?”

“Okay. You’re not wearing blankets, or shawls, and Buffy if you put that stupid cloak thing on I will so kick your ass!” Dawn exclaimed. She grabbed first Willow’s, then Buffy’s arm, and dragged them over to the door. “Now, get your asses out there and go greet your boyfriends!”

I so officially hate Dawn now...for real, Buffy amended as she edged toward the steps. Spike wouldn’t like it—he wouldn’t remember what he’d told her—and she’d look like a complete idiot at the dance!

All thoughts of looking like bad vanished when she came halfway down the stairs and saw him.

She was pretty sure that Oz and Willow were doing the whole mushy greeting thing, but her eyes were glued to Spike—and, more specifically, what he was wearing.

He’d gone completely punk rock. He was wearing faded jeans, fastened with a black belt. Gone was the duster and neat, slicked-back hair—he wore a torn vest with safety pins randomly stuck through it, and his hair was whiter than usual and sticking straight up. He even had eyeliner on.

On any other high school guy, it would have looked ridiculous. But on him...

Oh, crap. I really shouldn’t have worn a thong. It was soaked through.

She wasn’t sure how long she stared at him, occasionally licking her lips, only faintly conscious that he was staring at her, too. She came to her sense when her mother cleared her throat.

“So, um...” She looked him up and down, trying not to salivate again. “What are you going to sign in as, Billy Idol?” Because there was a costume contest, they all had to sign in at the door.

“And what’ll you be goin’ as?” Spike shot back, looking her up and down. “Tink after Charles Manson got to her?”

“I asked first.” Buffy pouted at him.

He smiled slowly. “Well, I was gonna put in “The Sexiest Bloke At The Whole Soddin’ Dance, but yeah, Billy Idol’ll do.” He raked his eyes up and down her body again. “Your turn, Tink.”

She took a deep breath and walked down the stairs until she was looking him in the eye. “Remember when we had that talk outside school and you told me I looked like a pixie?” she asked, quietly enough that her mother wouldn’t hear.

He grinned at her. “Be damned hard to forget that, luv.”

“Well...” she motioned to herself. “Pixie. Dressed in red, cuz it’s your favorite color.”

His mouth went open a bit, and then a look came into his eyes that Buffy had only seen there when they kissed. Before she even had a chance to gulp, he grabbed her and kissed her—right in front of her mom, Willow, and Oz.

Despite the embarrassment factor, she returned the kiss eagerly, her tongue wrestling with his, her fingers buried in his hair. God, he was so hot—and this time she wasn’t talking about how he looked. His mouth, his hands, his entire body was burning into her. She could feel his hard-on press into her belly—well, either that or it was the zipper on his jeans, but she really didn’t think zippers were that big, and it wasn’t like it was a foreign feeling or anything...

Her mother’s voice cut through her half-lucid thoughts. “Buffy? Buffy, honey, I thought you were going to a dance!”

“Huh?” Buffy pouted when Spike’s lips went away from hers. She noticed everyone staring at them and blushed. “I mean...yeah...dance. Let’s go!” And then before Joyce had a chance to reprimand them, she grabbed Spike’s hand and dragged him out the door.

Once they were freely outside, Spike smirked at her. “Naughty girl, snogging your boyfriend and then runnin’ scared.”

“Hey! I wasn’t the only one who was snogging, mister,” she said, poking his chest. “Besides, how am I supposed to not snog you when you’re standing there all sexy in those clothes?”

His smirked grew. “So now ‘m sexy?”

“Oh, please. I’ve told you that like a million times bef—hey!” she protested as he grabbed her, lifting her feet off the pavement of the driveway in process.

All protests died when he proceeded to “snog” her right in front of the car.

She was just starting to really get into it when someone tapped their shoulders. They broke the kiss to see Oz standing there, completely expressionless as usual. “Dance?” he reminded them.

Buffy looked over at the DeSoto; Willow was already sitting in the backseat. “Right. Dance. The dance...that we have to go to, because we paid for tickets and not showing up would be very bad and—why don’t we just get in the car?”

Spike and Oz were both staring at her, Spike with an out-and-out incredulous look on his face, and Oz with one eyebrow raised—which for him was like staring at someone openmouthed.

Buffy gave them both what she hoped wasn’t a very insane looking smile. “Sorry,” she apologized, before running for the car and practically diving in.

She slammed the door and slumped against the window. “I am such an idiot,” she muttered, watched Spike and Oz. Oz said something and Spike laughed—Buffy would’ve bet any amount of money it was about her.

“I dunno, I thought it was kinda funny.” Willow grinned at her mischievously from the backseat. “You got all flustered and silly and stuff.”

Buffy made a face at her friend. “You’re one to talk. Oooh, Oz,” she put on a high voice, “You dressed up as a werewolf, that’s so sexy—hey!” They burst into laughter as Buffy glared at her friend indignantly, rubbing her head where the soft slipper from Willow’s foot had hit her.

Their laughter died down—Spike and Oz were still talking. “So...” Willow said finally, “Are you as nervous as I am?”

Buffy frowned. “’bout what?”

“I think Oz. wants to—you know,” Willow said. “And I mean, it makes sense, since we’ve been going out for, for almost four years, but at the same time I’m just really nervous about it all. Are you?”

For a second she had no idea what Willow was talking about. Really nervous about—ooh! She wrinkled her nose. Ew! Willow and Oz doing the nasty! Wait, Willow said they hadn’t yet. And—she think Spike’ll want to? Her mind flashed back to the erection he’d been sporting in her foyer. Okay, so he wanted to—and she did, too. The only problem was...”I’ve only been going out with him for a few weeks!”

“So?” was her friend’s response. “Faith says you guys have had big-time, um, sexual tension for kinda forever.”

“Well, yeah, but that so doesn’t mean I’d be willing to just—“

“Hey, guys.” Oz opened the back door and slid in next to Willow.

“Gettin’ lonely without me?” Spike asked, getting into the front seat and tweaking Buffy’s nose.

A nose that she immediately wrinkled at him. “You wish,” she shot back. “Me and Willow were having the funnest time ever. Weren’t we, Wills?”

Willow giggled. “Well, if funnest was a word, then yep, that would be us.”

“Hey! Funnest is so a word!”

“Think Red’s got a bigger vocab then you,” Spike taunted with a grin. “Makes sense that she’d know what’s a word and what’s not.”

She scowled at him. “Hello, girlfriend here! You’re supposed to back me up!”

“Sorry,” he said with an unapologetic grin.

“Besides,” Buffy continued, ignoring his apology, “Funnest is so a word. It’s in the Scrabble dictionary.”

“Does that count?” Oz wondered.

“Yuh-huh.” Buffy beamed in triumph. “If it’s in the dictionary it’s a word, right?”

“I didn’t know you played Scrabble,” Spike said, eyes narrowed and twinkling.

“Oh, no, mister, I am so never playing you,” she told him. “You’d kick my butt with all the weird British words.”

“And you’d use California bint words, so we’d be even,” he replied.

“Aha!” she shrieked, bouncing up and down. “See? You just used one! In America, bint isn’t a word!”

He just gave her a look. Of the long, slow, he wanted to kiss the hell out of her variety.

And just like that, her reservations about the—well, the making of the two-backed beast—went flying out the window. Because when Spike looked at her like that, she just wanted to jump him.

“Guys? Halloween dance?” Willow reminded them.

They yanked their eyes away from each other. “Uh, right,” Spike said. He jammed the key in the ignition and started the car. As he was backing out of the driveway, Buffy caught his eye and licked her lips flirtatiously.

He ran into the ditch.

Grumbling under his breath, he de-ditched the car and brought it out onto the road. Buffy patted his hand consolingly; in the backseat she could hear Willow stifling a giggle. Even Oz looked amused.

Something told her this was going to be a long, long night.

~*~

A/N: Sorry, it's a day late. I couldn't be prompt even if my life depended on it =D Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for all the wonderful reviews!!!!! You guys are the absolute best EVER!

~*~

Thinking back, it was a damn lucky thing they didn’t hit every inanimate object on the way to Sunnyhell High, and a few that were completely out of the way. It wasn’t really his fault, Spike mused. Bloody hell, he’d driven down the highway going ninety before and not gotten into a wreck simply because there was no way he was gonna hurt his baby if he could help it. And to be honest, the cargo he was carrying with him right now was much more precious than his car—but said cargo was also extremely distracting.

If that little red skirt slid up one more inch, he’d go completely mad.

It was bad enough that her entire costume was geared toward him. His knees had practically buckled when she’d told him just why she was wearing that particular outfit. The fact that she’d remembered his confession and cared about it enough to model an entire costume around it—she’d never know how much that meant to him after all the years of hoping. Sod the fact that she’d mentioned she had a thing for weird seventies clothing once—hers was still the more thoughtful costume.

When they finally arrived at the high school, he wasn’t the only one who breathed a sigh of relief.

Willow and Oz hopped out, holding hands (a feat that in Spike’s mind was damn admirable) and, after thanking Spike for the ride, headed towards the lit-up school.

He looked at Buffy expectantly. “Ready for this, pet?”

She shifted uncomfortably, causing the skirt to ride up a bit more on her thigh. Oh, bollocks The skirt wasn’t the only thing going up…”I dunno,” she said, oblivious to Spike’s problem. “It’s kind of weird. This is our first official we’re-a-couple thing.”

“We went to the beach the other day,” Spike pointed out.

“Well, yeah, but I was talking about school stuff,” Buffy admitted.

He smiled indulgently. She could be so cute when she acted the innocent…”I think the cuddlin’ before Calc mighta given us away, personally.”

“That or the butt-squeezing in the hall.” His girl gave him a scolding frown; he just responded with a smirk.

She kept telling him she still hadn’t forgiven him for that little event, but he knew she thought it was damn sexy. And anyway, if she insisted on short skirts and those little thongs that she thought passed for knickers, well, she was lucky all he did was squeeze her ass. “Yeah, that too.”

She sighed and put her hand on the door handle. “You’re such a pig, Spike.”

“You know you love it,” he shot back. She was about to get out of the car, wearing a rather familiar look of disgust, when he stopped her.

He couldn’t help it. It was more than just lust because of the costume; he wanted her, everything she was, everything he’d come to learn about her in the past few weeks. “Buffy,” he whispered, searching her eyes in the dim light of the parking lot.

“Yeah?” He saw her try for a flip smile, but the seriousness of the situation didn’t seem to allow it.

He thought about kissing her. To be truthful, he thought about doing a lot of things to her, included and not limited to throwing her in the backseat of the DeSoto and making their first time a quickie in the school parking lot. But instead he just smiled at her. And if it was rather predatory—he’d just put it down to the makeup.

“You do look beautiful, Goldilocks,” he said.

Now she did smile. “Thanks. You do, too.”

He fought not to laugh, keeping his face completely expressionless as he arched an eyebrow at her. “Do I, now?”

She screwed her eyes tight shut in humiliation, cheeks coloring as bright red as her dress. “I am such a blonde. I meant you looked sexy, and hot, and—“ As she babbled on about Spike’s manly attributes, the man in question slipped out of the car and came to stand in front of her.

Her eyes popped open when he gently grabbed her shoulders and pulled her upright. “Oh.”

He smiled and kissed her, letting his tongue come out to play for just a moment before pulling back. “Wanna go in, now that you’ve puffed up m’ ego beyond repair?” He grinned at her to let her know he was joking.

She snuggled into him, making a face when the safety pins poked her cheeks. He watched her rub them indignantly. “Okay, there are definite downsides to that costume,” she informed him, before sighing. “I really can’t put it off any more, can I?”

“Think it’s inevitable, pet,” he said, reaching over the car and slamming his door before doing the same to hers and starting to guide her to the school.

She sighed in resignation. “Here we go…”

~*~

Faith accosted them the second they walked in the door. “Spike!” she yelled to be heard over the music, “where you guys been? You’re supposed to get it on after the party!” Not surprisingly, she was dressed like what Spike thought was maybe supposed to be a Goth chick. Leather, dark makeup—hell, for all he knew she could be a dominatrix, though Snyder might’ve had a problem with her signing in as one.

“We weren’t getting it on!” Buffy piped up, a little too defensively.

“Not the way Willow tells it,” said the dark-haired girl, grinning. “She says you guys practically did the nasty in your foyer. By the way, exhibitionist much?”

“I’m not—“ Buffy began indignantly. Spike cut in. “Faith, everybody got a table yet?”

Faith nodded. “We would’ve gone in the corner so we could get our kink on, but everyone’s favorite prom princess snagged the middle one,” she reported, leading them to it.

Spike followed Buffy, eyes on her delightfully wriggling ass, as they wove through the mass of people bouncing to the heavy music. Sure enough, his mates were all at a table that had definitely been picked out by that Cordy bitch.

And the bitch herself was sitting in the middle, wearing a Playboy bunny outfit and talking to a de-greened Lorne.

“I so totally get it!” she said. “I mean, if I have to see one more Louis Vuitton knockoff, I will completely lose it.”

“Ugh, I know where you’re coming from, honey,” Lorne commiserated. “I mean, Lord have mercy, if you can’t afford it, don’t buy the tacky knockoff from the honey on the street corner.” He shuddered illustriously. “It’s enough to make anyone absolutely insane.”

Cordy patted his hand in a friendly fashion. “You know, we are totally bonding!” she exclaimed, looking delighted at the fact. “It’s really too bad you’re gay and weird and stuff!”

“Aww, darling, don’t make me blush!”

“Sickening, aren’t they?” Anya, dressed as a 50s waitress, asked Spike as he sat down. “They’ve been doing this since they got there. I think they gave each other orgasms while they did their hair over at Cordelia’s house this afternoon.”

“I thought Lorne fancied men,” Spike said with a frown.

“He does,” was Anya’s blunt answer. “I mean they got orgasms from fixing each other’s hair. They understand each other too well. It’s frightening.”

The whelp, who was sporting a rather corny pirate outfit, patted her hand. “Diplomacy is an option, sweetie.”

“Humph,” Anya pouted. “Tact is for cowards.”

Spike was about to respond when his own date plopped her adorable little ass in his lap, wiggling it just as enticingly as she had when she was walking.

“So,” she said coquettishly, “Having fun yet?”

Bloody hell—he should have worn underwear. Or, better yet, one of those metal underwear things the virgin chits always wore in the movies with the poncy knights. Because God help him, he was gonna let her know just how much fun he was having in a minute, and he wasn’t entirely sure how she’d react.

“Uh, yeah,” he said in a voice that sounded strained even to him. “A blast.”

“Good,” she said, taking his hand in her own. “Dance with me?”

“Luv, I don’t—“ He began to refuse her, but then a slower song came on. The song itself was rather insipid, something about belonging together, but the chance to hold his girl close like there was nothing more important or precious in the world to him—the chance to really express his feelings without worrying about her running scared—looked damn good at the moment. “—really like the song,” he finished, nipping at her bottom lip, “But yeah, let’s dance.”

She gave a little squeal and hopped up, practically dragging him to the center of the dance floor. At first Spike was worried that she’d want to talk to him and thus distract him from the divine feeling of loving her without any sexuality (though of course he was turned on by the whole thing), but she just laid her head on his chest beneath his chin, leaving him staring at the shimmery wings hanging from her back.

They revolved slowly, and as time passed, the world dissolved for Spike. The people, the room, even the music slowly disappeared, until the only thing that existed, the only thing that mattered, was the exquisite girl in his arms. He inhaled her scent and rubbed her arms. ’s like heaven, he thought reverently.

He was so absorbed in his poetic thoughts that he didn’t notice Buffy slyly maneuvering him towards the darkest corner of the room. If he had, he would have stopped it, because what he wanted from her at that moment didn’t have the slightest thing to do with sex. But he was too busy being in heaven. He’d forgotten that angel though she was, his girl had a downright demonic bent to her. He’d forgotten that when she got horny, she tended to get demanding.

He remembered when she shoved him up against the wall and attacked him, plundering his mouth with her own.

He found himself rudely ripped out of his mental heaven and dragged into one that was, while more physical, still equally perfect. All thoughts of not wanting sex fled from his head, to be replaced by one simple impulse: need—Buffy—now!

His arms came round her and he pressed her into his erection, gripping her bottom firmly, tangling her tongue with his. Her fingers came into his hair, making the gel far less stiff. When her hands slid down to his vest and firmly pulled him closer, he couldn’t help himself—he growled and slid one hand from her ass up to the breasts barely concealed by the pretty red fabric.

“Wait—“ Buffy panted, seeming to suddenly realize where they were—“Public place—bad.”

“Sod it,” Spike growled, his lust-addled brain wanting only one thing. Still, lust or no, part of him was mocking his own single-mindedness: Bit schizophrenic, aren’t you, mate? One second you’re practically spouting nancy-boy poetry ‘bout no sex, and the next you’re damn near spewing in your pants.

“Spike!” Her hand stopped him when he moved in to kiss her again. “Where are your—ah!—parents?” She slapped his chest half-heartedly, he supposed as a punishment for finding her nipple beneath the cloth of her dress and pinching it.

“Party,” he replied without thinking. “One of those all-nighters, won’t be back till November second at the earliest sorts of things.” When he realized what he was saying, and what she was suggesting, he stared at her incredulously. “Are you sure?”

For a second, just a second, he thought he saw fear flicker through her eyes. If he’d been sure he had, he would’ve called the whole thing off, intense world-ending horniness notwithstanding. But he was so lust-addled that when he blinked, the fear was gone, to be replaced by a quietly resolute face that had his eager brain figuring maybe he’d just been imagining things.

“Positive.” She leaned in to kiss him again, a hot kiss that left them both breathless.

“Right, then.” He hoisted her a bit higher, pressing her against his erection for one last second, before placing her on the floor. “Wanna get the hell outta here?”

She bit her lip. Now she really did look nervous. “Should we—you know—stay for awhile? Just so everyone doesn’t laugh at us?”

Was she getting cold feet? Spike decided to give her a chance to back out. Interlacing their hands, he said, “Sure. We’ll stay for an hour or so, a’right?”

She nodded, straightening her dress. Her gaze fell to their joined hands, and she smiled. “Wanna dance for real?” she asked playfully.

He nodded enthusiastically. Maybe romance would help her forget the shagging—not that he didn’t want that, too, but now that his lust was abating slightly he was starting to wonder if it was the wisest thing in the world for either of them. Well, she said she was ready, and I sure as hell am… “Sounds good,” he said, and he wasn’t just talking about the dance.

She led him back out to the dance floor. Spike closed his eyes as he enveloped her in a tight embrace, willing her to forget whatever urge was driving her to be so very forward. God knows, ‘f she comes on to me ‘ll be powerless, he thought. But I want her to be sure. What it all comes down to is, I want her to be sure, and I’m not sure that she is.

For both their sakes, he prayed that she was. It was ultimately her decision, because Spike wasn’t ever going to take advantage of her—but he’d seen what happened to girls who made love with a bloke before they were ready.

If Buffy wasn’t fully prepared for what she wanted to do, then he’d end up breaking her heart and completely unable to do anything about it. If he refused her because he thought she wasn’t ready and she was ready, that would break her heart—but she’d break her own heart, with him as a rather willing participant, if she told him she was ready and she wasn’t.

Damn, luv, I hope you know what you’re doing.

~*~

A/N: For the record, I’m not trying to be preachy, and there won’t be any huge paragraphs about being ready for sex in the future. I just had to lay the groundwork for some stuff so I didn’t have big overdramatic paragraphs a few chapters from now =D Thanks for sitting through it, and as always, hugs and kisses and nekkid Spikes for all the wonderful reviews!

It turned out that when you were both horny and nervous beyond the telling of it, an hour really just crawled by.

Buffy shifted uncomfortably in her chair. She and Spike had danced twice since the slow dance that had resulted in making out in a dark corner, but neither time had been as magical, and she was starting to wonder if losing her virginity to him on Halloween night was a good thing.

Not that she didn’t want to, because she did. But she was also kind of scared, and just a little worried that maybe she wasn’t doing the right thing. Part of her thought that they should wait.

But every time they got within five feet of each other, they both got unbearably horny. Didn’t that mean that the next logical step in their relationship was sex?

She sighed. It did, and she knew it. So...why was she so damn nervous?

Fingers brushed her shoulders. She jumped before realizing that they belonged to Spike. “Sad thoughts, pet?”

She shrugged and put on a bright smile. “Just impatient.”

This had to be right. It just had to be.

She shivered when his lips brushed her neck. “A few more minutes is all, and then we’ll say we’re knackered an’ head on home,” he promised.

As his lips continued to play, her head fell back. When he did things like that, all the nervousness went away.

“And in the meantime,” he added, devilry in his voice, “Just watch Little Miss Popular an’ her date. They’re right funny, they are.”

Buffy giggled. Cordy and Lorne had been having dramatic fashionita heart-to-hearts for the entire dance so far and showed no signs of stopping. They’d moved on from Vuitton to the agonies of high heels—Faith and Tara were both watching them, Faith with a huge grin, and Tara with a look that said what Buffy was thinking: she didn’t even want to know how Lorne knew about high heels.

“Yeah, bet this is the best date Cordy’s ever had. Finally, someone who understands her.” She giggled again, watching Lorne place his hands over his heart dramatically.

“Now, now, pet, don’t get catty.” He placed a hand on her waist, squeezing gently, his tone amused. She grinned at him unrepentantly.

“Oh, come on. She totally deserves it.”

“Damn straight.” Faith, apparently having tired of watching Cordy and Lorne’s tête-à-tête, plopped down next to the blonde duo. “My plan completely backfired, yo. I thought she’d be freakin’ out by now.”

“Wait—your plan? You planned this?”

“Hell yeah, B. Whisper in the right ears, and all of a sudden everybody thinks Queen C’s got herself a case of temporary syphilis.” Faith grinned broadly.

Buffy laughed incredulously. “You didn’t,” she said, but her eyes shone with approval.

Spike shook his head. “You bints’re insane,” he informed them.

Buffy snuggled him. “That’s why you love us,” she told him, staring into his eyes. The room was rather dark, and colors were dim at best thanks to the tacky disco ball hanging from the ceiling, but she was sure she could see the deep blue of his eyes all the same.

For a breathless moment their eyes stayed locked, communicating silently. She could feel his want, both in his gaze and poking her bottom, just as she was sure he could feel his. And in addition to lust she read something else in his eyes—something that made her shy away every so slightly. It was deep, it was dark, and it went beyond anything she’d ever experienced. Seeing it in his eyes was frightening.

Feeling it in her heart, though, was worse.

Which was why she hurriedly broke the rapport between them and called out to Lorne, “Hey, Lorne! Why aren’t you dancing?”

Lorne, oblivious to the intense staring that had been going on, smiled at her and said, “Well, sweetie, no one’s asked me just yet. Is that an offer I hear?”

Buffy looked over at Spike questioningly. He smiled and said, “Have fun, kitten.”

She grinned and stood up, delighted that she’d be able to have some nice, non-intense fun. “Well, come on, then. Let’s shake it!”

“Sure thing. Doesn’t your gorgeous hunk of blonde beefcake want to come?”

Buffy laughed outright at that. No one could cheer her up quite like Lorne. He was great at lightening things up. “Sorry, I don’t think he wants to be ogled today.” She giggled at the black look on Spike’s face.

“Ah, well, the best laid plans of mice and men…” Lorne sighed dramatically before holding his hand out to Buffy. “Shall we?”

*

Spike watched Buffy dancing with what he knew was a moody look on his face. It was a familiar scenario—which, considering that she was now his girl, was distinctly disturbing.

For a second there, he’d been sure he’d seen just as much love in her eyes as he himself felt—but then she’d looked away. It frustrated him to no end. Why was she so skittish? It wasn’t like they hadn’t both been burned. After the disaster that was their parents, they should’ve both needed some pretty intensive therapy. Yet it was Buffy who ran scared at the idea of love.

“So, stud, what’s on your mind?”

Spike sighed. “Faith, when’d you lose your virginity?”

Faith shrugged. “I dunno…when I was ‘bout fourteen. Why’s it—holy shit! B’s a friggin’ virgin?”

“Uh, yeah.” He exhaled slowly. He oughta feel awkward, talking to his friend about his sex life, but if anyone could offer advice, it would be Faith. She definitely knew enough about the subject.

“Is she givin’ it up tonight?”

Despite the flippant words, Faith’s tone was serious; Spike answered in kind. “Says she wants to.”

“Do you?”

He arched a sardonic eyebrow at her.

“Well, okay, I know you are. What I was askin’ is…right. Bear with me here, because this question is totally health class. But—do you think she’s ready?”

He nearly growled in frustration. “See, that’s what I was thinkin’ before. But how in hell can she not be ready when she drags me over to the corner and practically rapes me?”

“Do you love her?”

“What’s that got to do with it?’ Spike grumbled. He’d had a nice little rant going on there…”And when the bleeding hell did you get so bloody perceptive? It’s a bit scary, y’know?”

Faith put her hand over her heart. “See, now I’m hurt. I’ve got mad skills, buddy. If there’s one thing I know about, it’s sex.”

Since he’d just been thinking the same thing in his head a minute ago, he couldn’t really disagree. “So spill your wisdom, O wise one,” he said with a smirk.

“’k, then.” Faith leaned back, not in the least perturbed by his teasing. “You got bouncy with Drusilla when you were what, 14?”

“Um, yeah,” he said, shifting uncomfortably.

Faith saw his discomfort. “Hey, if you’re a slut, so am I,” she said with another grin. “Anyway, my point is, by then you’d been knocked around by your dad forever.”

“Yeah?” he prodded, more than a little irritated at the mention of his git of a father.

“Well, you got—you know—what’s the word? Older, bigger—“

“More mature?” Spike supplied.

Faith snapped her fingers. “Mature, right, that’s it! You got way mature faster than any of us. But B…man, she’s been living in dreamland for years. She only wised up a few weeks ago. Give her some time before you guys fuck.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do!” he exclaimed through gritted teeth. “But if she wants to, what in hell am I s’posed to do, refuse her? You know it’d kill her!”

He sighed. “It’s just...complicated,” he admitted, slumping down in the chair.

“Least you’re thinking about it,” Faith mused, tracing the top of a cheap glass filled with punch that someone had left at their table. “Lotta guys wouldn’t even bother—they’d get straight to the good stuff.”

“Yeah, but with her, might not be good.”

Faith rolled his eyes. “Trust me, those guys don’t give a fuck about how she feels afterwards.”

When he realized fully what she was saying—that she was glad he wasn’t the type of guy who’d just get into Buffy’s pants for the hell of it and laugh at her afterwards—he felt rage fly through him. Not at Faith, of course; her advice was spot-on. No, he just felt a blinding, deadly fury towards anyone who’d dare touch his girl and then throw her away like she didn’t matter.

Well. That certainly boded well for their relationship, didn’t it? Him worrying about her “readiness” like they were in some Victorian novel one second, and then the next turning into that mad Yank Charles Manson at the mere thought of someone using her. At this rate, the psychiatrists’ couch was gonna get pretty damned familiar…

He heard the song end and sighed. Things were no clearer than they had been when Buffy left his lap. He still wanted her like he wanted to breathe, was still dying to finally have her on his bed, beneath him, surrounding him.

But what about the after? He didn’t just want her just the once, or until he got tired of her. He wanted her for keeps. Hell, he was only eighteen, and he knew that his bastard of a Da, along with half the adult population in the world, would smile and call what he was feeling “puppy love”—but he knew it wasn’t. He trusted her with everything, loved everything she was, and would die for her in a heartbeat. If that wasn’t love, then Spike was stumped as to what was.

The only problem—well, not the only problem, but the problem currently bitch-slapping him in the face—was that he wasn’t sure she felt the same, and if she did, he wasn’t sure she was ready to accept it.

Damn. Hadn’t he thought that just a few minutes ago? Now his thoughts were going round in circles. This couldn’t be good...

He was about to obsess some more when a laughing Buffy deposited himself on her lap. Faith grinned and slapped him on the back. “Later, stud.”

“So.” She grinned at him. “Ready to go?” Her hand slipped down his back, coming to rest right above the waistline of his jeans—and God help him, he wanted it to go lower.

“Buffy.”

His tone of voice was serious; she immediately became so. Sliding her hand back up to his shoulder, she said, “Yeah?”

“I—I care ‘bout you,” he said, so quietly that even as close as they were he knew he could barely be heard over the pounding music.

She met his eyes squarely. In them he’d seen fear, friendship, affection, mischief—every emotion under the sun but one.

Did she love him? Could she love him? Could I act any more the poncey poet if I slipped right back into the tweed suit? Is she even wearing any knickers under that outfit? All pretty good questions…

She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I care about you too, William,” she whispered. For once, his given name didn’t sound poncy and weak. It couldn’t, not when she was saying it.

Her hand curved down again, this time slipping into his pocket and squeezing. He clutched her waist as sensations roared through him.

“Bloody hell,” he said in a voice that even he knew sounded strangled, “You tryin’ to kill me, luv?”

She grinned. “Not yet,” she purred, before pulling him to his feet. “C’mon, Billy Idol,” she said, running her fingers through his spikey hair. “Let’s go so I can show you just how much I do care.”

Sodding hell, he thought again as she dragged him to the door. Her touch was firm, confident—her body, at least, was as ready for his as his. Excitement shot through him. Guess it’s time.

~*~

Buffy was actually sort of worried about the whole making love thing. Spike Jr. was making it kind of obvious that Spike really, really wanted her, but what if his brain didn’t want to, didn’t think they were ready yet? Given that he was a teenaged guy, she thought it was kind of unlikely…but this was Spike. He’d said and done some things that no normal teenage guy did. Why shouldn’t he be reluctant to make love with her?

But when he slammed her against the car door and kissed her even harder and more desperately than he had in her foyer, she realized that he wasn’t exactly a reluctant participant in this whole making love thing.

She poured her whole self into the kiss, trying to help him. She hadn’t been his biggest enemy for three years without learning a thing or two about him—he’d been nervous back there, worried about her. Why, she wasn’t exactly sure, but after the whole “I care about you” thing—well, she’d just have to put all her concentration into showing him how un-reluctant (eager? Wasn’t that what eager meant? She was having a little trouble thinking…) she was.

His hands snaked down to her thighs just as she grabbed his ass—they moaned simultaneously. They’d touched before, of course, but now, knowing what was about to happen—it made every caress so much more intense.

After a few minutes of some truly amazing lip action, Buffy broke away. God, he was the only person who could make her forget that she kind of needed to breathe to live…

“Drive home,” she managed to get out, staring at the pavement in front of her. Well, she couldn’t stare at him, could she? Every time she caught even a glimpse of the whole 70’s bad boy thing she turned her underwear into Lake Michigan. Uncomfortable in a big way. Of course, if we just got in the car and I took them off…nu-uh. Bad Buffy, she scolded herself mentally. You are not going to be devirginized in a car, even if it is the car of a seriously sexy guy that you’re about to have hot steamy sex with anyway… Almost unconsciously, she whimpered.

That must’ve been the last straw for him, because right after the whimper, she blinked, and the next thing she knew, she was sitting in the passenger seat, he was jamming the key into the ignition, and they were leaving Sunnydale High so quickly that they almost hit the brick sign on their way out.

“Hey!” Buffy shrieked as he veered to avoid it, “Like killing the welcome sign wasn’t bad enough!”

He shot her a smirk. “You know you loved it,” he shot back.

“I didn’t even realize it was you,” she grumbled, even though she totally had. Rumors had been flying around the town for weeks about who knocked down the precious sign. Buffy had known—or thought she’d known—that Spike was the biggest butthead ever, and he’d come to town the same day the sign had been knocked down. For her, it wasn’t exactly rocket science.

“Liar,” he accused, amusement laced with the ever-present lust entering his voice.

She stuck her tongue out at him. She didn’t mean it to be sexy, she really didn’t. She stuck her tongue out at Dawn all the time!

But as soon as it appeared, the car swerved, jumping up onto a sidewalk. Buffy almost screamed before he managed to right the car. “Okay, you are so trying to kill me, aren’t you?” she got out, still clutching the seat.

“’Course not, Blondie,” he said with the familiar smirk. “That comes later.”

You could tell she was horny when even his usual innuendos totally turned her on.

Buffy turned to the window in a mock pout; inside she was grinning wickedly. Note to self: keep tongue in, she thought smugly. Because for some reason—well, okay, I know the reason—my boyfriend thinks it’s super-hot.

Her smile widened when the car slowed, and then stopped, in front of Spike’s house.

He cut the ignition and leaned back, clearing his throat nervously. “Here we are,” he said in what to Buffy’s ears was a tone of forced casualness.

“Yup,” she said, just staring at him. God, she wanted him so bad…

“Wanna come—er, I mean, d’you wanna go in?”

“Sure,” she said, still forcing herself to be nonchalant even though now that they’d arrived, she was just as nervous as he.

“Right, then.” He got out, walked round, and opened the door for her. When she grabbed his hand and he pulled her out and towards him, tangling her up in another kiss, she moaned and leaned into him.

Funny how, even though her feet were firmly planted on solid ground—even though now she could feel the door pressing up against her back, even as a very horny Spike pressed up against her front—funny how even with all the contrary evidence, she felt like she was falling. Even funnier how she wasn’t sure if Spike was falling with her or not.

And funniest of all? She didn’t care. Because as they stumbled into the house together, as clothes began to be shed before they even reached the stairs, she wasn’t concerned with falling at all. All she wanted, all her entire body and mind and heart was focused on, was him. Spike. Her former enemy.

And now—a happy smile curved her lips, pressed hard against his.

Now he was hers. Maybe not forever, not yet anyway, but for a little while. For now.

I just hope that’s enough.

~*~

A/N: Don’t worry, the psychoanalyzing/annoying preaching/Impending Shoe of Angsty Doom part of the story is almost over. Promise. Next up is a sex scene, in case you were kind of stoned when you read this so you couldn’t tell =D And I’ll try to have that up before I go on the Computer Exodus 2005, also known as my suckass family having no Internet for awhile due to moving…so review, please! And thanks as always to the wonderful, amazing, fantastic, every other good adjective I can think of people who reviewed the last chapter. I love you guys! (And sorry for the weirdness of this note—it’s almost midnight and I’m practically schizophrenic right now.)

He slammed the door closed and locked it, pressing her back against the hard wood. She made a satisfied sound in the back of her throat and arched toward him, seeking more of his warmth, more of the wonderful friction that was sending tingles throughout her body.

His hands found the hem of her dress, slipping upwards. She thrust her hips forward, hoping he’d attend to the soaking wet there—but he continued upwards, unhooking the front clasp of her bra and cupping her breasts in his hands.

Their moans were simultaneous. “God, Buffy,” he panted, leaning his forehead against hers, gently rolling her nipples between his fingers, “Wanted this for so long…”

She gasped and clutched at him. “Shirt off,” she ordered breathlessly.

A second later, when he went to shed it, she realized that maybe she’d made a mistake in ordering him to do so, since when he was unclothing himself he wasn’t touching her.

She solved the problem by pushing his hands away and pulling the vest and shirt off herself, making a satisfied sound when she lay her hands on his abdomen, feeling the muscles rippling there.

He chuckled. “See somethin’ you like?” His hands went over her breasts and skimmed down, down, until they rested on her ass.

Two could play that game. She smiled at him slyly. “See, feel…” She slid her hand down and squeezed his erection. She licked her lips when she felt it jump under her touch. “Taste,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss him.

He groaned into her mouth before attacking her with his tongue. Hands slid over skin, both of them rejoicing that they could finally be as close as possible without reservation.

When his hands lifted her ass into the air, Buffy eagerly wrapped her legs around his wait. “Bed?” she murmured when he nipped at her ear. “Oooh, God…”

“Mm,” was her only answer, but judging by the stairward stumbling, she guessed that was where they were going.

Somehow—later, Buffy would mull over it, and still not be able to puzzle out exactly how they’d managed it—they got up the stairs and into Spike’s room without falling or breaking their liplock. When they entered the room, though, they both stopped.

Buffy unlocked her arms from where they’d been around his neck and slid down his body, feeling his hard-on jump at her movements, before taking a step back. Spike stared at her with his head tilted sideways, clearly trying to puzzle out what she was doing. “Something wrong, pet?”

She would’ve liked to answer that, but the thing was, she really didn’t know. It had just struck her, all of a sudden, that the first time she’d come in here had only been a few weeks ago, and that then, she’d thought she hated him. There had been some crazy-bad UST going on, but she’d still been clinging to the idea that she wasn’t even a bit attracted to him.

Look how far we’ve come.

“Buffy? You in there?” Spike reached out and brushed a finger along her face.

She smiled up at him. “Yeah. Present and accounted for.” Her voice was soft. “I’m glad we’re here,” she admitted, glancing up at him shyly—which she knew was weird, given all that had been going on.

“You’re not the only one.” His hand cupped her cheek, tracing her features. “God, I still can’t believe…”

“What?”

He made a frustrated noise. “’s nothin’.”

“No, it’s definitely something,” she insisted. “Now tell me.” She batted her eyelashes at him.

“I just—‘ve been havin’ arguments with m’self all night long, ‘bout whether or not you were ready to—you know,” he confessed with an embarrassed grimace.

“What?” He’d worried about her being ready? How dumb was that? Stupid Spike and his stupid overprotectiveness!

Although—she had to admit this to herself—most guys wouldn’t even have bothered with the worrying, they just would’ve boinked her and gone off whistling. And it was kinda cute, this Billy Idol-wannabe rocker guy telling her that he worried about them having sex.

“I know, ‘s completely poncy, but—“

Wow. He looked stressed. Buffy decided to be the nice one in the situation—she moved forward and slipped her arms around his waist, turning her face up, deliberately pouting. “Spike?”

He gulped. “Yeah?”

She wriggled a bit, pressed herself against his leg. When he felt what she was doing, he gasped.

She reached up and pulled his head down. Just before their lips met, she whispered, “I am definitely ready.”

*

Well, that was nice to know, ‘specially considering that he was about to pound her into his bed.

If that wanker Angel hadn’t grumbled a million times about how she wouldn’t give it up, Spike would’ve never guessed that she was a virgin—she was just so damned enthusiastic. She pulled at his pants, kissed his neck and his chest, until he was just as frantic as she. He’d wanted to give her a hugely romantic seduction, but somehow, he couldn’t manage it. Even as he fondled her perfect breasts and stared down at her in complete disbelief that this beautiful girl was his, a certain part of his anatomy was demanding to be satisfied.

“Bloody hell!” His scattered train of thought was cut off when Buffy finally succeeded in getting his pants off. Kicking them across the room, she reached down and gripped his cock firmly in one small but very eager hand.

Just the feel of her—knowing that she wanted to make him just as happy as he was determined to make her—was almost enough to make him go off, right then. He closed his eyes in a frantic effort to regain control. “Buffy, luv—“

“You need to be inside me?” His girl’s voice was slightly amused. She kissed the tip of his nose.

“Well, yeah, but—“

“It’ll hurt,” she finished.

He opened his eyes. “You readin’ my mind, or something?”

She rolled her eyes. “Puh-leeze. Spike, this is so the same thing every single guy ever says to his virgin girlfriend. I’ve read, like, a million Avon romances, you know.”

He chuckled. She might be able to predict him, but he was surprised by her almost every time she opened her mouth. “I love you so much, you know that?”

As soon as he said it, they both froze. Spike mentally slapped himself—good job, you sorry git. Spend all night wonderin’ if she’s ready and tryin’ not to scare her away, and then you blurt out a declaration of love. You really are worse than the poofter. He steeled himself for what he was pretty damn sure would be rejection.

*

Buffy was kind of shocked, and part of her was scared as hell, but she was starting to think that was kind of the normal course of events. One second she was all over him and the next her not-so-lucid brain was screaming at her to cut it out. She wasn’t entirely sure if that was love, but…well…she was wondering, more and more, if maybe Spike being in love with her wasn’t such a bad thing. Which considering that I like bit Dawn’s head off earlier for saying he was is pretty good progress…

So instead of running scared, she just smiled at him. “I love you, too,” she told him, curling her legs round his back.

“God, Buffy.” Spike gazed down at her worshipfully for what felt like the millionth time that night. She was nowhere near tired of it. “’ve waited so sodding long…”

She leaned up and pressed a kiss to his shoulder, gripping him tightly. “Me, too,” she told him. “I mean, I guess even when we were fighting, I sort of knew…it was always too much fun.”

He chuckled. “That it was, pet.”

She smiled in response, edging just a little closer, trying to make him realize that she wanted less talk and more him being inside of her. She was so going to rape him if he didn’t just…

“Oh!”

She squeaked. She actually squeaked. He entered just the teensiest bit, and she squeaked!

But apparently it was a good squeak, or something, because he groaned louder than he had all night and slid forward a bit more. “God…so…bleeding…”

She barely heard him; her thoughts had spiraled away the second the friction started as heat shot through every part of her body, centering on the area that he was currently entering, making her want more—making her feel so incredibly—

“Wonderful,” she breathed happily, clutching him. If this was what making love was like, why had she waited so long?

“Damn right.” He came up against her hymen and paused. “Buffy, I know you said it was old news, but—“

“This’ll hurt,” she said impatiently. “I know! And if you don’t just do it, I really will rape you!”

The look he gave her almost knocked her out, it was so hot. “Save that for later, pet,” he growled, before flexing his muscles and thrusting as quickly as possible.

Just like when he’d entered her, white-hot fire shot through her veins—only this time, it was fire of the painful, make you want to cry variety. She stifled a scream, fingers digging into his shoulder.

“Buffy—pet—I’m so sorry, I did tell you, the first time always hurts, oh baby please stop, you okay, Goldilocks? We can stop if you want to…”

Stop? Through a fog of fading pain and mounting desire, she heard him offer to stop. Oh, no. That was so never happening. Not right now, anyway.

She reached back and grabbed his ass, holding the cheeks tightly. “Spike?” Despite the aggressiveness of her actions, her voice was soft.

He halted his litany immediately. “Yeah, luv?”

She looked him straight in the eye. “You sound like Angel.”

Buffy forestalled his laughter by rotating her hips, making them both gasp. “Oh—“

“Bloody—hell—“

After that, all coherent thought completely fled. All Buffy knew was that he was moving inside of her, and licking and gently biting her nipples, and she was running her hands up and down his back and kissing him like there was no tomorrow—but then, even if there wasn’t, she didn’t really care, as long as he kept making her feel like this, as long as he kept driving her toward the point that she could feel, just out of reach…

She ran her tongue up his neck, tasting salt. “Love you,” she panted, meeting his thrusts with her own. She could feel her orgasm—so very close—she wanted to reach it, but at the same time, she wanted these incredible feelings to keep going forever.

*

That admission—free of any urging on his part—just whipped Spike into an even greater frenzy. “Buffy—so sweet—fuck—love you too—oh, bleeding—incredible—“ He’d never been in anyone tighter. Her (now former) virginity, combined with her petite frame, made her exquisitely tight, and she was wet as hell.

Her exquisite body, combined with the fact that she was just as enthusiastic as he was, that the bed frame wasn’t pounding up against the wall due only to his thrusts, made him want to stay here, like this, forever.

But he could feel himself coming. He was babbling incoherently, praising her, blurting out obscenities, kissing her frantically—and every move she made, every little groan or endearment or hell, every sodding breath, had him closer.

He reached down, down, curving his hands first around her breasts and then around her pussy, finding and pressing down on her clit.

“Oh—my—God—Spike!” Buffy came with an incoherent scream that he thought might be his name. Her hands dug into his shoulders, still moving with him as he continued to thrust into her, nearly losing his mind at the sensation of her already incredibly tight muscles spasming around him, squeezing him like nothing he’d ever felt.

She came down slowly, finally opening her eyes and smiling at him. “I love you,” she whispered again, leaning up and kissing him before deliberately squeezing him with her vaginal muscles as tightly as she possibly could.

For Spike, that was the end of the line. He came with a roar, saying her name over and over again like a prayer, clutching her wait frantically as he shot into her.

He collapsed next to her, pulling out as gently as he could. “Bloody hell, Buffy,” he gasped, fighting for breath.

“Agreed,” she said, her hand over her heart. “Is it—always—that wonderful?”

He couldn’t stop himself—a smile spread over his face. “You thought it was wonderful?”

She stared at him. “Well, yeah,” she said, unconsciously echoing a favorite phrase of his.

He pulled her closer to him, rejoicing inside when she automatically rested her head on his chest. “Not entirely sure, kitten,” he replied. “With Dru it was always damn hot, but not…not like this.” He said the last part quietly, staring down at her face. She was so beautiful, fresh and innocent yet so damn sexy it almost undid him. What had he done to deserve her?

And now she was pouting. “Humph. Better not be thinking about Drusilla.”

“Buffy, ‘m head over sodding heels in love with you.” He nipped her lip affectionately. “Wasn’t thinking of anyone but you…and m’ dick,” he added, grinning.

She slapped his chest halfheartedly. “Butthole.”

“Not just yet, kitten,” he teased, earning another slap. He laughed, and then made her giggle when his laugh caught on a yawn.

“Let’s get some sleep, yeah?”

She snuggled into him; he reveled in the feeling. Lying there in his bed, with his girl at his side and post-orgasmic bliss weighing his body down, he was happier than he’d ever been before.

“Okay.” The word followed the deed; just a few minutes later, she was sleeping, mouth half-open in a soft snore.

He smiled at that. She was unbelievably adorable. He adjusted her head ever so slightly so that they were both more comfortable before kissing the top of her head.

“See you in the morning, luv.”

~*~

A/N: Eh. Was that okay? *is insecure* I’m just…I dunno. I feel like I’m piling on the sap and clichés, and I’m really unsure about the whole thing…OK, I’ll stop blabbering. This is the last chap I’m going to post before I move up to Maryland. I might not have Internet access for awhile, so I decided to make it a happy one. Thanks again and again for all the reviews telling me what you thought of the last chapter—it means the world to me! And of course I wouldn’t mind if you weighed in again *hopeful look*

~*~

When Buffy woke up, sunlight was streaming through the windows.

Since that wasn’t exactly an unusual occurrence, she just smiled and rolled over…

Right into Spike’s arms.

Her eyes flew open, finally registering that she wasn’t in Spike’s room, and that the soft warm object at her back was too big and human to be Mr. Gordo.

Well, okay. Mostly soft. Because part of him was admittedly kinda hard.

She smiled in what she was pretty sure was a super-gooey, entirely girlish way. Funny how she didn’t really care, not when he was clutching her to him like she was the only thing in the whole world that mattered. Not when he really was the only thing in the world that mattered to her.

He looked so peaceful, she mused as she stared at him. His face was relaxed, not defensive or snarky in the least. Not that she didn’t like snarky Spike, ‘cause that was sexy in a big way—but right now he looked just about as peaceful as he’d ever looked.

Well, except for right after they’d…Buffy’s face turned bright red, something that she immediately scoffed at. You’d think that after doing the nasty with her boyfriend, just thinking about it wouldn’t embarrass her.

“Buffy…” Spike murmured, smacking his lips. “So soft…”

Her face turned even redder.

Okay. Apparently not.

He rolled over, letting go of her. She used the opportunity to stretch and let her eyes wander around his room.

Her eyes fell on a small manila envelope from their school that was lying on his night table. She picked it up curiously and pulled out the piece of paper inside.

~*~

“I can’t believe you!”

A screeching female voice intruded on Spike’s rather pleasant dreams. He scrunched his brow in confusion. Had he gotten drunk last night? He could’ve sworn he’d gone to the Halloween dance with Buffy—

Buffy on top of him, under him, around him, her breasts heaving, her skin sweat-slicked...

Spike sat bolt upright, dread shooting through him. It was Buffy he’d finally fallen asleep with the night before, Buffy who he was waking up with. Buffy who was yelling at him.

Not exactly the reaction he’d been hoping for…with his eyes still closed, he groaned.

“Spike?” Now her sweet voice sounded more curious than irate.

He popped open an eye. “Mornin’, kitten,” he said groggily. “Judging by your hollerin’, ‘m guessing you’d like to talk?” He kept his voice neutral, trying not to betray how nervous he was.

She waved a piece of paper in front of him that he vaguely recognized as his report card. “You’re a friggin’ genius!” she explained in an accusatory voice.

He snatched the piece of paper from her. Oh, right—last year’s final report. Sodding hell. He was a prat, leavin’ it out like that. “Hey—lemme see that.” He snatched it out of her hand, easily ignoring her screeching (and trying a bit harder to ignore the bouncing of her breasts, along with what it was doing to him), and scanned it.

English, 99. AP Biology , 98. Oh, bloody hell. “This isn’t what it looks like,” he began, feeling the need to explain away his grades. Except that it is. There goes my rep…

“Um, it looks like you’re smart,” she said, still staring at him—but there was a sparkle in her eyes and a smile on her cute little lips that hadn’t been there before.

“Wait—you’re not mad?” Spike said, suddenly confused. She’d sounded pretty brassed when she woke him up…

Her answer came in the form of her jumping on him and kissing him until they were both breathless. “Are you kidding?” she asked when they finally parted. “It’s totally hot.”

He smiled at her. God, she was an angel. So beautiful, so sweet, so pristine—

Well, not all that pristine. Not anymore.

He let a smirk overtake his face as memories of the night before flooded his brain. Her exquisite body…how incredibly gorgeous she’d been, even as he—

For the second time in ten minutes, Spike’s brain came to a complete and utter halt. Fucking, buggering shit!

Buffy squinted at him, her face scrunched up in confusion again. “What’s the matter? I though I told you, I’m not—“

“Condom,” Spike blurted out, barely restraining full-out panic. He loved her, yeah, but he wasn’t ready to have a kid! “We didn’t use a condom! We—three sodding times—without—“ He trailed off, sputtering incoherently. Buffy had frozen, too. Shit! She’d been a bloody virgin—what were the chances of her being on the pill? Especially given that she looked almost as scared as he did?

His girl took a deep breath. He knew her well enough to see that her mind was racing—and despite the Valley Girl attitude she sometimes still took on, when her mind raced, it raced.

So the words that popped out of her mouth shocked him. “Don’t have a fit,” she said in an almost calm voice. “I’m on the pill.”

His eyes were buggin’ out of his head. He could feel them. “You are?”

Now she rolled her eyes. “Duh. My parents think I’m this evil ho-bag, remember?” The words were harsh, but the tone she said them in was shakily playful. Spike rose to the challenge.

“That so?” He moved a bit closer, trailing a finger down her arm. “S’pose that makes sense.”

She made to bat his arm away. “Hey! You’re not supposed to agree, you—“

He caught her arm easily, caressing her inner wrist and smiling when she shivered. God, she was perfect.

“Did I mention,” he drawled, deliberately roughening his already lower-class accent, “That I ‘appen t’ like that li’l trait of yours?”

She grinned at him. “Really?” She sidled closer, till her breasts were brushing against his chest. Now he was the one gulping. “So if I decided to reform…” she trailed off, staring at his lips.

He focused on hers as his hands came round to cup her bottom and pull her closer. “Never,” he ordered in a rough voice.

“So…I can be a ho-bag with whoever I want?” Her voice was mischievous; she had to know the question would make him angry.

It infuriated him—not at her, but at the thought that any other ponce would dare touch what was his, and more importantly, what he loved.

He let out a small growl, grabbing her and kissing her roughly, urgently. She responded immediately; she seemed to be happy that she’d driven him to it. Spike suddenly realized that that had been her objective the whole time. Making him jealous only increased her fervor. Little minx, he thought, smiling into the kiss.

They parted a moment later. “God, I love you,” he said quietly, staring into her eyes.

“Love you, too,” she said, just as softly. For a moment, the teasing light faded from both their faces, and they stared at one another somberly, both in wonder at the words falling from the others’ lips.

Then, as usual, his girl decided to lighten—or at least change—the mood. Grinning, she trailed a finger down his chest, stopping just at his waistline.

His long, throaty groan made the familiar smile curve her lips. “Wanna show me how much?” she asked, sliding her hand up and down a few times.

They were in bed for hours after that.

~*~

It was almost one in the afternoon before they finally decided to get up. Buffy was feeling more than a little apprehensive about going home and would have stayed longer, but Spike wisely pointed out that his parents would throw an absolute fit if they found their son naked in bed with a girl, “No matter how pretty the chit in question is,” he’d added with the characteristic smirk.

She sighed as she prepared to enter her house. She’d opted to walk home; she didn’t really feel like finding out what would happen if her parents saw her get out of a boy’s car when she’d been gone the entire night before. Especially since she’d only been friends—or more than friends, but whatever—with said boy for a few weeks.

Granted, she felt closer to Spike than she’d ever felt to anyone else—but she knew that she wouldn’t have an easy time explaining that to her parents. As it was, she might have trouble convincing them that she’d spent the night at Willow’s.

When she reached her house, though, she discovered that she hadn’t needed to worry. Her parents were fighting again, and not just a yelling match, either. When Buffy neared the door, she heard the distinct sound of glass shattering.

Her good mood, which had already been deflating, disappeared. Wonderful, she thought disgustedly, slipping in and starting up the stairs. Wonder how long they’ve been going at it? Poor Dawnie probably didn’t get a wink of sleep.

“But I love you, Hank!” Joyce was sobbing. “You know that! I just can’t stand by and watch as you hurt our oldest daughter!”

“Our oldest daughter is a little slut!” Hank yelled back. “And I’m starting to think you are, too! Who the hell gave you permission to file for divorce papers?”

“Permission?!” In a second, Joyce went from weepy to furious. “What is this, the middle ages? If I want to file for divorce, I damn well will!” Her voice weakened. “And I don’t want to, Hank…I love you so much…but God, I can’t just let you hurt Buffy like that…I can’t…” Once again, her voice degenerated into sobs.

Buffy listened closely for Hank’s reaction. Fights like this one always scared her—when she was little, she’d been terrified that one or both of them would lose control completely and start fighting physically. Fortunately that hadn’t happened yet, but Buffy could tell that this fight had been going on for a long time, and it was worse than any of the others she’d overheard.

She didn’t hear any more yelling, though. Maybe her dad had started crying, too. Serves the bastard right, she thought savagely as she slipped into her room.

She stared around at the walls with a sense of relief. They’d been her haven for three years; now was no different.

She lay down on her bed, all euphoric Spike thoughts forgotten. I love you. That was what she’d told Spike many times last night…what he’d told her…and she’d thought they were the best words in the world. But how could they be when her mother said them to her father even as she insisted on a divorce?

If she didn’t love him, she wouldn’t be so sad. Well, duh. She wasn’t exactly a stranger to the whole Love Is Pain concept. But she was with Anya when it came to bemoaning tragic love: “Oh, cry me a river. It’s the orgasms that matter, anyway.”

Okay, so she didn’t completely agree with Anya. But the “cry me a river” part she totally agreed with. She just didn’t do the angst thing.

So…why was she suddenly feeling incredibly unsure about Spike? She should have been really happy that they’d exchanged vows of love and everything, but instead her mother’s sobbing kept intruding.

She loves him, and now she’s paying.

The image of Spike’s expression when he’d remembered protection—or lack thereof—floated into her head. He’d definitely enjoyed the sex part, but having a baby seemed to freak him out beyond measure. Which made sense, since it freaked her out, too, but…

They should’ve thought about it. If they were both so damn ready, then they should’ve remembered protection. Her being on the pill was just a lucky thing. Even if she hadn’t been, Buffy was pretty sure she wouldn’t have remembered it until the deed had been done.

And that really bugged her. She wasn’t sure why, but it bugged her.

I love you, Hank. Was that what her love for Spike would lead to? Sobbing over him because even though he was a complete jerk, she couldn’t bring herself to hate him?

No. Spike would never do that. He’d never hurt me like that…

would he?

What if they really hadn’t been protected? Would Spike accept the baby, or would he reject it? She wanted to think he’d help her raise it—but the panic she remembered suggested otherwise.

What if our love destroys us like it did Mom?

She’d thought she was willing to take the risk. It wasn’t like she hadn’t thought of most of this stuff before. But now, face-to-face with the not so great results of love, she wasn’t sure. Was Spike worth the pain she saw her mother going through?

Suddenly, the muffled crying she’d heard became screams again. Another dish shattered—probably her mother, throwing a glass. She did that a lot when she was upset.

Buffy squeezed her eyes shut, tears leaking through and running down to stain the side of her face. She could remember the adoration in Spike’s eyes…but she could also remember devastation in her mother’s.

I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, William—but I can’t. Tears streaming down her face, she grabbed her phone and dialed the now-familiar number.

“Spike? Yeah…I’m fine…uh-huh…no, not now. I need to—I need to talk to you. Can you meet me at the cemetery in twenty minutes? Oh, right…the one the Mayor dedicated last year. With all the Sunnydale High alumni in it? Yeah, near the school…okay. See you.”

“Buffy?”

His tone stopped her from hanging up. She clutched it tighter, knowing what was coming. “Yeah?”

“I love you, kitten.”

She squeezed her eyes shut as more tears entered her eyes. She fought a sob—there would be plenty of time for crying later. “I love you too.” She set the phone down before he could say anything else. Before she could break down or start begging for his forgiveness.

As soon as the phone touched its cradle, she did both. Her hands came up to cover her face as sobs wracked her body. Please forgive me, Spike. I have to. I’m not strong enough. Please forgive me.

But she knew that when the time came, he wouldn’t. And that was fair, because she also knew that she wouldn’t forgive herself.

~*~

A/N: So, just out of curiosity…how much do you hate me? ;)

~*~

Only a complete prat wouldn’t have noticed that there was something wrong with his girl when she practically burst into tears over the phone.

Since Spike wasn’t a complete prat, he knew damn good and well that whatever Buffy had to tell him, it couldn’t be good. He hadn’t pressed for details over the phone, though. Whatever she had to say, he wanted her to say it to his face.

Still, his knuckles were white on the steering wheel as he drove toward the cemetery. He was pretty damn sure it wasn’t normal for a girl to be crying the night after making love for the first time with her boyfriend. Or, if it was, then it sure as hell shouldn’t be.

When he arrived at the cemetery, she was already waiting, sitting on one of the headstones near the entrance. He jumped out of his car and ran towards her.

When she lifted her head to reveal tear-stained cheeks, his pace redoubled. Shit. “What’s wrong, pet?” he asked, slowing as he came near. He reached out and touched her cheeks. “Looks like you’ve been cryin’ something fierce.”

Buffy closed her eyes and leaned—but instead of going forward, toward his touch, she leaned away. Somehow that upset him more than the tears had. “Buffy…luv…what’s wrong?” Oh, sodding hell. He hadn’t sounded this pathetic since he was rejected by Cecily, back when he was stilling going round calling himself William. But she’s not gonna reject me. My girl wouldn’t do that.

“Yeah, I have,” she answered him in a small voice. “Spike…what happened last night. It was wrong.”

“Wrong? What the hell d’you mean, wrong?” Spike demanded. He saw her flinch, probably since he was yelling—but dammit! She couldn’t call what had happened the night before wrong! “Buffy, that was the best night of my life!”

“And it was mine, too, but—“

“But what? Why are we even having this conversation?” Spike plowed a hand through his hair. He had to stop yelling or all of Sunnydale would come out to witness this sorry soap opera. He forced his voice to soften. “Sorry, luv. ‘s just…I love you.”

He had no idea why, but it was clearly the wrong thing to say. Buffy’s eyes again filled with tears. “Summers? What—“

“That’s the problem!” Buffy burst out. “I love you, and you love me, but we didn’t use a condom, and—“

“Condom?” Now Spike was thoroughly confused. “What does a condom have to do with this?” Desperate, feeling like he was drowning, he tried to reach out to her. She again flinched away. “Summers—“

“No.” A single word, but spoken so resolutely, with such sadness written on her face, that Spike felt his heart break.

God, no. Not again. Please. I love her. She has to know that. Why is she hurting me? Herself? He felt his eyes fill with tears. Any other time he would have been embarrassed, but now he was just devastated. He could practically see all the foolish, poncy dreams he’d had about their future falling to pieces.

She must have seen the heartbreak on his face, because she whispered, “I’m sorry, Spike,” before turning around and walking away.

He’d never be sure why he let her go. Probably because his eyes were too blurred by tears to even see her walking away from him. He was in a stupor, blinded by the images of his love and the knowledge that she’d never be his again.

“Buffy.” Two syllables. Once they’d represented everything he’d ever wanted from the world. Now they were the reason he wanted nothing more than to leave.

Silence fell over the cemetery, broken only by heart-wrenching sobs and a name, repeated over and over like a litany: “Buffy….Buffy…Buffy…”

But no one else was there.

~*~

Was this what a broken heart felt like?

Buffy wasn’t sure. All she knew was that the weekend after the Halloween dance was utter hell. She spent most of it lying on her bed, staring at the wall, refusing to answer her phone for fear that Spike would be on the other end. She couldn’t face him right now. She couldn’t face anyone right now.

Dawn had asked a few tentative questions and gotten short, abrupt answers that probably told the younger girl exactly what was wrong. Dawn was smart that way.

The only good thing about that weekend was her parents. They’d been fighting without pause pretty much the whole time. It made everyone in the house miserable, but at least Buffy was constantly reminded of why she’d broken up with Spike.

Now it was late Sunday afternoon. She’d been without Spike for a day and a half. It had been hell, but at least school would be starting again soon. School, as long as she could avoid Spike, was a welcome distraction. Luckily for her, she’d already finished the parts of the project she’d have to be around Spike for.

Spike. Despite the fact that she’d ended things with him—or maybe because of it—she thought of him every second of the day, and each time she thought of him, it sent pain coursing through her.

“Fucking hell, B. I knew you were a bitch, but this really takes the cake.”

Buffy shot bolt upright. As soon as she saw the girl standing in her doorway, she groaned. “Faith, what the hell are you doing here?”

Faith grinned, walking in and plopping herself down next to Buffy on the bed. “Figured I’d pay you a visit,” she said cheerfully. “And, no offense, but you look like shit. Ever heard of a shower?”

Buffy narrowed her eyes at her not-so-welcome guest. “Ever heard of manners?”

Faith raised her hands. “And she comes out swingin’!” she exclaimed, grinning. “Look, B—this sure as hell wasn’t my idea. Just be glad they didn’t send Anya down here to talk some sense into you.”

“What? This is a fucking intervention?” Just what she needed—not!

“Hey, if you two weren’t being so damn stupid—“

“We’re not being stupid!” Buffy burst out. “We just decided to break up!”

“Oh, please. Like we’re supposed to believe that.”

Buffy froze. She was used to her conscience talking like Cordelia, but this voice sounded just a little more real.

Her worst fears were realized when the teen queen herself marched in and sat down primly on Buffy’s desk chair.

Buffy turned disbelieving eyes to Faith. “You guys got Cordy to come? I’m gonna fucking kill you!”

“Okay, since when did you drop the f-word all over the place? You have so been hanging out with the Super-Slut too long.”

Faith narrowed her eyes at Cordy. “You wanna fight, girlfriend?”

Cordy narrowed her eyes right back. “Just the fact that you called me girlfriend is enough to make me want to rip your skanky head off.”

“Whatever.” Faith abruptly abandoned the potential girl fight. “We’re here to help, B. Which means that if we have to beat the shit out of you till you see sense, we will,” she added with a grin.

“Faith, I have seen sense!” Buffy exclaimed. “That’s why I broke up with Spike. We’re completely un-meshable! We’d make each other’s lives miserable!”

“Oh, right,” Cordelia said sarcastically. “That’s why you boinked him! Because you guys are so incredibly wrong for each other!”

Buffy narrowed her eyes at her former best friend. “So not your business,” she countered, unconsciously mimicking Cordy’s airhead way of speaking.

“Okay, valley girls, welcome back to reality,” Faith said impatiently. “I’m gonna ask you straight up: what the fuck happened with you and Spike?”

“Oh, I can answer that one!”

Buffy just arched an eyebrow incredulously at Cordelia. “You can?”

Cordy rolled her eyes. “Duh! Buffy’s got, like, a total complex about relationships because her parents are the worst couple ever, so she’s all terrified of relationships, and now that she and Spike are all ishy together, she’s running away like a scared little puppy. It’s totally obvious.”

Buffy and Faith just stared at her.

Cordelia was unfazed. “What? I watch a lot of Dr. Phil.”

“Is that really all, B?” Faith’s lip curled. “You parents are fucked up, so you think you and Spike are gonna bomb, too?”

“Speaking of bombs,” Cordelia interrupted, “could you please stop saying the f-word all the time?”

“Shut the fuck up, Cordy.”

“Guys!” Buffy interrupted hurriedly, before they started a catfight in the middle of her room. “Look, it’s not like I don’t appreciate the—um—help, but me and Spike are over, okay? As in, finished. Kaput. No more Buffy and Spike. Get it?”

Faith rolled her eyes. “I tried to tell ‘em she’d be bolshie,” she asided to Cordelia.

“Totally,” the other brunette agreed. “She’s way stubborn. She’s probably just as sad as Spike.”

“Spike?’ Buffy said quickly, hating herself for it but unable to let that pass. “He’s sad?”

“Hell yeah,” Faith said.

“He’s been like a puppy dog all weekend,” Cordelia chimed in. “I’ve seen him, because since me and Lorne are like best buds now, I hang out with his friends a lot. Well, that and because Harmony stepped on my dress and said something about Xander and I bitch-slapped her, so she kind of hates me now,” she added as an afterthought.

Buffy stared at her incredulously. Wow. Cordy was hanging out with the freaks and she didn’t need a date? That thought was almost funny enough to lift her current cloud of misery.

Almost.

“So, you’re really gonna be stupid about this?” Faith asked abruptly, staring at Buffy.

“Um. Yeah.” Buffy looked down, suddenly feeling ashamed—though she wasn’t really sure why. I had every right to break up with him!

Faith rolled her eyes. “Your fucking funeral, I guess.”

“You’re a total moron for letting a piece of salty goodness like that go—you know that, right?” Cordy said.

Buffy closed her eyes. “I know.” Her voice quavered.

“Okay, just checking…” Cordy trailed off, and an awkward silence took over the room.

“So—um—Tara’s grandmother—how is she?” Buffy asked. She honestly wanted to know, because she liked Tara, but it was also a desperate attempt to change the subject.

“Dying,” was Faith’s blunt answer. “She’s got a few more days, a week tops. Tara’s been shitty all weekend.”

“And I’ve just been lying here.” Buffy winced. Some friend she was.

The infamous shrug. “Doesn’t matter. She’s been doin’ the hermit thing, too, all locked up and refusing to talk to anyone.”

“Poor Tara.” Buffy felt a wave of sympathy for the other girl. She herself had only lost a boyfriend; Tara was facing the permanent loss of a relative. “Is she…I mean, is her grandmother going to…?”

“Odds are she kicks the bucket sometime this school week.” Faith’s words were callous, but their unsteadiness betrayed just how much the entire chain of events unsettled her. “Guess we’ll probably be goin’ to the funeral next weekend.”

“They really don’t expect her to hang on much longer?”

Faith shook her head. “The old woman’s brain is disintegrating, and she told everyone nix on the life support. She’s gonna die.” It was a stark, grief-filled statement; it suited the weekend perfectly, to Buffy’s way of thinking.

“If you see her before I do, tell her I’m sorry, okay?”

“Sure thing, B.” Faith stood up as thought to leave.

“Faith? Are we okay?” Buffy wasn’t exactly best friends with the girl, but Faith was a friend, one who she didn’t want to lose because of the thing with Spike.

“Five by five, B. Five by five.” And then, before Buffy could say anything else, Faith was gone.

Cordelia hesitated. “This doesn’t mean we’re friends again, you know. I’m only hanging out with your geeky new friends because Lorne’s the coolest gay guy I’ve ever met, and because I don’t have any other friends. But I still, like, totally hate you.”

Somehow, Buffy summoned the energy to smile. “Okay, Cordelia. See you tomorrow at school.”

“What-ever.” A typical Cordy rebuff; Buffy wasn’t in the least bit surprised.

What did surprise her was when, right before she reached the door, Cordelia paused and said, “But think about the Spike thing. Because I totally hate him, too, so you guys are, like, the perfect couple.”

“Right. I’ll do that.”

“Okay. Good. Bye.” Cordelia left hurriedly.

Buffy sighed and returned to staring at the ceiling. Neither Faith nor Cordelia really understood. She and Spike were doomed to never work out. That was just the way things were.

No matter how much Buffy wished it could be different.

~*~

“Um…Spike?”

“Couldn’t just leave a fellow alone to die, could you?”

“You’re gonna die?!” Panic registered in Red’s voice. “But…graduation! A-and, you, know, life!”

Spike sighed. “Willow—what the bloody hell are you doin’ here?”

“I, um—“ He sensed her hesitate but didn’t bother to look up. Pity she’d come in just then; he’d been gearin’ up to grab another JD.

“Okay, listen up, mister.” Red’s voice was suddenly stern, and ‘f he’d bothered to look at her, Spike knew he’d probably see her resolve face.

What he knew was that this time, there was no way in hell it was going to work.

“I’m here on a very important mission,” she continued.

He cocked a sardonic eyebrow. “Stop me from using m’ laser beam to destroy all ‘f metropolis?” he asked in a monotone, keeping his gaze trained on the ceiling.

“Um…no,” Willow stuttered. “Actually, Anya insisted that we try doing an intervention for you and Buffy, because you know you guys really shouldn’t have broken up, because you were perfect together, and now you’re—not together, and you’re both miserable, so why don’t you fix that problem and get un-broken-up?”

Spike let out another huge sigh. “B’cause she doesn’t sodding well want me, a’right? The bint made her choice, an’ it wasn’t—me.” His chest heaved up and down as he fought to keep a sob in. There was no way in hell he was gonna start crying again. Not until they left, anyways.

“Maybe there was another reason for her—you know—rejection?” Willow suggested in a small voice.

“Which was what, Red? Someone broke into her room an’ held a gun to her head, thereby forcing her to break up with me?” Spike voice was sarcastic. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Me be stupid? Excuse me? I’m not the one lying on the bed in misery because I’m too chicken to do anything except wallow!”

Normally that would’ve stung, especially coming from Willow, of all people, but right then, Spike couldn’t even muster up enough emotion to care what she’d said, much less get pissed off about it. “Look, Red. You did you part, came here and tried to talk me out ‘f my misery. Now be a good girl an’ go tell Anya I said to shove off, yeah?”

Despite the fact that he wasn’t looking at her, he could almost see her pursing her lips. “Fine,” she said, clearly peeved. “But when you’re miserable for the rest of your days because you’re too damn stubborn to make up with Buffy, don’t come crying to me.”

When he didn’t answer, just kept staring stubbornly at the wall, she stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

He sighed. Great show, Spike. Your girlfriend and your best friend both hate you. What’s next, the sodding apocalypse?

“’m not gonna come crying to ‘er, anyway,” Spike muttered, rolled over and grabbing the now-familiar bottle. “Don’t need her, do we, mate?” He drank as much whiskey as he could guzzle, took a break, and drank some more. “Nope. Jusht fine—on—m’ own. Donneed her, no shir. Nahme…”

Oblivion blanketed him for the rest of the day.

~*~

A/N: So, that was the major angst chapter. I’m thinking one, maybe two more sad chaps after this, then more fluffy goodness, then the end…sound good? Thanks for the reviews telling me just how much you hate me...no, seriously, thank you. I got a crapload of reviews for the last chap *is very happy* Oh, and “bolshie” is an actual word—or at least, Microsoft Word thinks it is. It came up as a synonym for stubborn. I just thought it was a very Faith-ish word ;)

~*~

The next day, Buffy wasn’t sure who looked worse—her, Spike, or Tara.

Which, when you thought about it, was really sort of pathetic. Tara was on the verge of losing her grandmother. Buffy and Spike had just lost a relationship that, when you looked at it logically, hadn’t even been going on for very long.

Love sucks.

Buffy sighed.

“A-are you okay?” Willow asked her, concerned.

Buffy stopped tapping the work Giles had handed out to give her friend a sardonic look.

“Okay, stupid question,” Willow admitted. “It’s just…I’ve never seen you this sad before. I mean, I know I’ve only known you for a little while, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone this sad before, and it’s really—well, sad. Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?”

Buffy tried to smile; it didn’t work. “He’s only a few feet away,” Buffy said in a low voice, fighting to explain. She was sitting in the front with Willow, and Spike was in the back. “It’s only a few feet, but I feel like…he’s just so far away.” She hung her head.

Willow squeezed her shoulder. “I’m sorry it’s so tough for you.”

“Yeah. Me, too.” She fought to keep tears from dripping out of her eyes. Way to make with the whiny drama queen in the middle of class, B.

She frowned. Okay. When did my conscience start sounding like Faith?

Faith as a moral guide…she barely restrained her shudder. She so needed more sleep.

“Okay, class, put away your books and pass your answer sheet down to the end of the row,” Giles ordered.

Buffy gave her sheet a panicked look: it was almost completely blank. Crap! This was not going to help her pull up the big fat F that had been on her progress report!

Her hand shot up in the air almost before she could stop it. Giles smiled pleasantly. “Yes, Buffy?”

“I—erm—“ God, how was it that she could still practically feel Spike’s eyes on her? It was completely unfair—they were broken up! But she would’ve bet her life that while she stuttered in front of Giles, Spike was watching her every move.

“Can I go to the bathroom?” she blurted out, gritting her teeth as a blush rose to her face. Stupid Spike. There is absolutely nothing wrong with asking to go to the bathroom and he’s making me blush…

Giles smiled at her, a smile so knowing that she couldn’t help but wonder how much he knew about her not-so-wonderful nonrelationship with Spike. Crap. Was she really being that obvious?

“Of course you may, Buffy,” he said kindly.

She bolted out of the room, tossing a hurried “Thank you!” over her shoulder. God, she was glad to be able to get out of there—one more second in the same room as Spike and she was gonna end up—

“Hey, Goldilocks. Ever heard of a hall pass?”

Buffy whirled around, an angry retort on her tongue: “Hey, Spike, ever heard of leaving me the fuck alone?”

She’d wanted to hurt him. That was the whole point of the meanness—if she hurt him badly enough, maybe he’d leave her alone.

Or maybe not. He smirked. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Summers. Brit-boy sent me out here to give you this.” He handed her a hall pass, careful to avoid touching her hand.

Buffy narrowed her eyes at him. “Bet you’d love to see that.”

“What, your knickers?” If anything, the smirk got—well, smirkier. “Been there, done that, luv. But ‘f you wanna have another go…” He trailed off, leering at her suggestively.

She recoiled, half in disgust, half in hurt, and felt tears fill her eyes. Well, what did you expect? she scolded herself. You guys are broken up—he has every right to hate you!

But that didn’t change the fact that she wished he would just take her in his arms and hold her until she stopped crying, or the fact that she knew, damn good and well, that she was a pathetic, stupid idiot for even wishing he would. She’d broken up with him, for Pete’s sake!

You know, I don’t really know a guy named Pete…

Even that completely random thought couldn’t cheer her up. She slumped against the lockers, closing her eyes to shut out the sight of Spike standing there, staring at her in a manner that fully contradicted his flip, arrogant talk.

“Summers? I just insulted you, y’know.”

“Would you please just leave me alone?” No anger this time. Not even a fighting spirit. She just felt…empty.

And it scared her.

“Buffy…” Spike took a step forward.

“Just—no.” She turned around and began to walk away, determined to put a distance between herself and the one person in the world who had the power to hurt her beyond repair.

“You can’t just walk away!”

She almost stopped at that. His voice sounded ragged, desperate—broken, almost.

No. Remember Mom and Dad. Be strong. She stiffened her shoulders. “That’s what I’m doing,” she said, forcing her voice to be callous.

Silence for a long enough time that it started to feel sinister. Then: “So ‘s like that, is it? You’re just gonna ignore me?”

“Pretty much.”

“Right, then.”

She didn’t have time to register that he’d moved before he was right in front of her, gripping her arms and staring into her eyes with a look on his face that went beyond angry.

He was furious. Insanely so.

“Spike…” she whispered, twisting her arms. “Let me go!” Louder this time, but not loud enough to make any teacher come out of their classroom.

“No. That’s what you don’t get, Blondie. ‘m not lettin’ you go.”

“I’ll scream.”

He released her abruptly, but his intense gaze kept her rooted to the spot. “You ran away two nights ago,” he reminded her in a low voice. “An’ you’re runnin’ away again. But watch your step, Blondie. From now on, you get yourself alone for even a second, and ‘ll be there. An’ when that happens, there won’t be any power on this earth strong enough to make me let go again.”

She stood rooted to the spot long after he’d left her, stomping off in a way that made her doubt his words not the tiniest bit.

~*~

Spike didn’t, of course, go back to class.

He wasn’t worried about getting’ caught skipping. He knew damn good and well that it wasn’t coincidence that had Rupes choosing him out of all the other people in the room to go give Buffy that hall pass.

Buffy. Shit, just saying her name made him hurt. He took a deep drag on his fag, letting the smoke drift out of his nostrils lazily.

He hadn’t been joking when he’d made his threatening little speech. If he had to, he’d chain her up. Sooner or later, the bint was gonna listen to him.

“Shoulda known you’d be out here. You’re a dick, did anyone ever tell you?”

He rolled his eyes. “Faith, ‘m really not in the mood.”

“Tough luck. None of the rest of us were in the mood to deal with the shit you and B are makin’ us put up with.” Faith came to stand in front of him, her famed “Bring it on, bitch” stance in full evidence.

“Look, ‘f you’re gonna try to do that intervention crap again—“

“No, I’m not,” she cut in. “Actually, I came up here to tell you that I got detention again for kicking Veruca’s skanky ho-bag ass.”

He arched a sardonic brow. “Congratulations. Where should I send the flowers?”

“Very funny, you British asshole. I was in the office waiting for Snyder to bust my ass, and I went by the guidance office.”

“And?”

“Tara’s grandma.” Faith’s voice was flat. “She’s dead.”

~*~

A/N: Sorry for the embarrassing shortness of this chapter, but I’m trying to make the angst as quick and painless as possible =D Hope you liked it, and of course there’s more to come. Review pretty please?

~*~

For once, she wished she was a weird Goth freak. Then maybe Tara’s funeral would be easier to dress for.

She settled on a simple black dress. It had a deep v-neck and a raggedly cut hem, which made it look a little less formal than was probably right for a funeral, but it was the only black thing she owned that was even remotely appropriate.

Buffy wiped a tear from her eyes. She had no idea why Tara’s grandmother’s death was affecting her so strongly—she knew it shouldn’t. She hadn’t even met the woman. But somehow…

Well, it was death, and she was super-depressed, anyway. It was really no wonder that she was crying. It had become her extracurricular of choice since she’d broken up with Spike nearly a week ago.

They hadn’t spoken since his outburst in the hallway. She’d stuck to Willow like glue, and though Buffy suspected the redhead knew why, she luckily didn’t say anything.

All of her other friends acted like they were walking on eggshells around her. She couldn’t really blame them; she was a shadow of who she’d been before the breakup. Even having her father verbally attack her wasn’t as bad as this.

And when she was around Spike, it was even worse. Forget eggshells; everyone acted like they were dancing on friggin’ needles.

It was, in a word, miserable.

The funeral just made things even more miserable. She felt awful about the lack of attention she’d been giving Tara’s troubles. Willow and the others had been visiting her house for hours at a time ever since the news had reached them, but somehow, Buffy couldn’t bring herself to go. She wouldn’t have been able to bear being in a presence that was even more grief-filled than her own was.

She sighed and slipped on the dress, pulling her hair into a bun, bothering with only a minimal amount of makeup. It wasn’t exactly a party, and anyway, she didn’t really care about how she looked anymore.

She didn’t really care about anything anymore…

No. Not gonna go there. She forced the depressed thought from her head and strapped on black sandals. Okay, she thought, picking up her purse. Here we go.

Buffy left her room and crept downstairs. Her parents were, as usual, arguing. She’d told her mother about the funeral, but she was betting that her mother hadn’t bothered telling her father. It would be good if she could just leave without talking to the bastard.

“Hold it, young lady.”

She froze, wincing inwardly. So much for luck…

“Where the hell are you going looking like that?”

“To a friend’s grandmother’s funeral.” Her voice was quiet; she lacked even the energy to fight with her dad, something that she would’ve gladly done just a few weeks ago.

“In that?” Hank’s voice was scornful. “Looks more like you’re out to fuck half the male population of Sunnydale.”

No one saw it coming, least of all Buffy. Her eyes had widened in hurt, he’d smiled cruelly, Dawn had gasped from her place on the stairs—

And Joyce had strode up to him and slapped him. Hard.

“If you don’t shut the hell up and leave my daughter alone, I swear to God I won’t wait for the divorce to come through. I’ll kill your sorry ass and leave it in an alley somewhere to rot.”

Buffy’s mouth fell open. Never in her life had she heard her mother sound so cold, so angry, so—

Protective.

Joyce turned around, a gentle, motherly smile on her face. “Buffy, honey, why don’t you just go on. You don’t need a ride, do you?”

Buffy forced her mouth to close. “Nu-uh. It’s—it’s just a little ways away.”

“Are you sure you don’t want someone to come with you?” Joyce’s kind tone wasn’t artifice; she and Buffy had grown closer over the past few weeks, and she knew what had happened between Buffy and Spike, and how much the funeral was affecting her daughter.

“Um, no. I’ll be fine. I’m meeting everybody there.”

Joyce nodded. “Okay, sweetie. See you later.” Buffy’s left as Joyce turned back to her husband with a malevolent look on her face.

The shouting restarted before she’d even gotten as far as the sidewalk. Poor Dawn, Buffy thought sympathetically before she started for the cemetery.

Willow, Spike, Faith, Oz, and Lorne were already waiting at the gate. Willow rushed forward and hugged Buffy, tears streaming down her face. Buffy comforted her friend as best as she could. “How are you holding up?” she asked the redhead quietly. Willow had known Tara’s grandmother fairly well; Buffy knew the death was hurting her badly.

Willow shrugged. “There’s a silver lining to every cloud, right? At least—at least it can’t hurt worse.”

“God, Willow.” Buffy hugged her friend again. “I’m sorry,” she whispered as they pulled apart.

“It’s not your fault,” Willow said with a faint approximation of a smile.

“It’s not anyone’s fault,” Oz pointed out. “Just the way it is.” He gave a minute nod. “Hi, Buffy.”

“Hi.” Buffy glanced briefly at Spike, who fortunately was studying the ground like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. He was wearing a suit with a black silk shirt, and even in their surroundings, some part of Buffy acknowledge how, as always, just glancing at him made her body long to be closer.

“So…we’re waiting for Xander and Anya”

“Yep.” Faith nodded. “Been waiting awhile. Bet Xander couldn’t find anything black to wear.”

Buffy cracked a tiny smile. “Too bad neon colors are inappropriate.”

Everyone cracked a minute smile at her joke, smiles that faded rapidly. There was nothing in the world that could cheer them up for long, not right now.

And what they were feeling combined was only a fraction of what Tara felt. Poor, poor Tara. God, let her pull through, Buffy prayed silently.

A few minutes later, a small, beat-up car pulled up and parked. Anya and Xander got out and walked over toward the others, their faces solemn.

“Hey, guys,” Buffy said quietly, avoiding their gaze. It was really hard to be around your friends when most of them thought you were the biggest idiot ever.

“Hey, Buff,” Xander said. His nod lacked the warmth it had before she’d dumped Spike. Anya didn’t bother answering.

Buffy closed her eyes briefly. She deserved his coldness—hell, she deserved everybody’s. With every day that passed, the wondered more and more if ending things with Spike hadn’t been the meanest, stupidest mistake she’d ever made. When she’d been with him, it had been the happiest time of her life. Now that she’d pushed him away, she was miserable.

An image intruded: her mother, sobbing as her husband stared at her in cold silence, while liquid dripped onto broken glass in a corner.

No. I can’t risk that. I just…can’t. For what felt like the millionth time, she mentally hardened her resolve.

The hordes of black-clad people milling about suddenly began filing into the cemetery.

Faith took a deep breath. “We ready for this?”

“I’m thinking we have to be,” Oz replied. As one, the group entered the cemetery.

Buffy sat down in between Willow and Anya, squeezing her hands together in her lap tightly. She was near the end of the row of chairs; Spike sat almost directly in front of her.

It was cloudy overhead, but one of those days when the chance of rain coming is next to nothing. There was false grass laid down in the aisle and around the flower-covered coffin—God, she hated that stuff.

The solemn preacher took the pulpit and began speaking. Buffy caught the occasional word: “Special …distinguished…loved…missed…” but she couldn’t bring herself to pay as strict attention as she knew she should be.

Selfish though it might be, her thoughts just couldn’t leave Spike. Here in this place of death she was asking herself again and again why she’d broken things off with him. Part of her kept bringing her mother to mind, reminding her of the paralyzing fear that had led to her pushing Spike away—but the other part was arguing fiercely.

There’s no one who can say we’d end up like them. Tara’s grandma lived fifty years with the man she loved! My parents aren’t the only option for marriage!

She knew that. In a way, she’d always known that. But her parent’s marriage was the one she’d seen up close since she was born, and some part of her, deep down in the dark, dusty corners of her soul, was petrified that she was doomed to the same fate.

But…it was Spike! She loved him, and she knew he’d never, never hurt her!

So…why had she ended their relationship?

She was a coward. A nasty, pathetic little coward. People died every day, most not as hold as Tara’s grandmother had been—and she might die alone because she was such a coward.

And the sad part was that she knew she’d never have enough courage to be with someone like him.

~*~

The funeral was over relatively soon, much to Buffy’s relief. Being around Spike, even if she was several feet away and he wasn’t even facing her, was excruciating. The grief that she could feel emanating from everyone around her just made it worse.

Everyone milled about afterwards, giving the family their condolences and comforting each other. Buffy embraced a distraught Tara, whispering words of comfort. The gang stayed with her for awhile until she had to greet other attendants.

Buffy glanced around the circle her friends had made uncertainly. “I guess…I guess we should leave?”

Anya, her face tear-streaked nodded. “Yes, let’s. This display of grief is simultaneously heartbreaking and terrifying.”

It was strange—they were such a close-knit group, they almost always hung out together as long as possible. This time, though, it was like they couldn’t stand to be around each other. Buffy blinked and everyone was gone. Willow was heading off with Oz, Anya with Xander, and Faith with Spike.

When Buffy saw Spike leaving, something inside just snapped. She hurried over to them. “Spike!”

They both whirled around. Before Buffy even had a chance to ask to speak to him alone, Faith grinned and left them.

“Yeah?” Spike asked, his brow arched.

She swallowed hard, thanking God that the middle of a funeral didn’t count as alone. “I just want to say…I know you knew Tara’s grandma pretty well.”

“And?”

Buffy briefly closed her eyes. She summoned what tiny amount of courage she still had and, looking directly into his eyes, said, “I’m sorry.”

His own eyes narrowed. For a moment, Buffy was trapped in two deep pools of blue. Then he nodded curtly. “Thanks,” he said softly—and she knew that just as her own words had applied to more than the death of Tara’s grandmother, so did his.

It wasn’t much. It wasn’t even a beginning, given that she herself had precipitated the end of their relationship.

But it was something, and as she fled his presence and walked home, Buffy comforted herself with that fact.

~*~

A/N: OK…that was the last chapter that’s completely angst-filled. To those of you who reviewed with something along the lines of “Buffy’s a dumbass, but I love this story!”—I tried to show in this chapter that she knows how dumb she’s being =D And please review, because I'm not sure how I like my portrayal of Tara's loss.

He really had to stop making a habit of walking around Sunnydale cemeteries at night. Right creepy, it was…though Spike supposed that this night was special, given that he’d just been to a funeral and his girl—not yours any more, mate—had actually taken a baby-step towards letting him back in.

Because she was going to let him back in. That much Spike was sure of. He was absolutely determined to make her see sense, even if it took him a million years.

Funny, it had never occurred to him that she might see sense all on her own…

Not that he blamed her. Bloody hell, if his parents’ marriage was half so bad as hers was, he’d prob’ly be running scared, too. Plus, everyone knew that even the smartest birds took great stock in their parents. Buffy wasn’t the first chit he’d met who thought that her parents were walking, talking psychic readings of what her life would be like.

But still…his fist clenched, betraying his frustration. Buggerin’ bint could’ve at least given me more than some incoherent ramblings an’ a broken heart. She hadn’t even bothered to talk to him about it, and that pissed him off.

“Stupid—bloody—bitch!” he muttered. On the last word he spun around and gave one of the larger tombstones the most violent kick he could summon. “Thinks she’s better than me, does she?” Kick. “Sodding center of the world!” Kick. “Doesn’t even bother to give a bloke an explana—“

He froze. A sound had caught his ear, so far away that he wasn’t even sure he’d really heard it. Ceasing his assault on the tombstone, he walked a bit closer towards the murmur, quickly recognizing it as a human voice.

“…guess I understand why he’s mad,” a female voice said. Spike just barely stifled an exclamation of surprise; it was Buffy. “I mean, I was freaking out in a big way when I broke up with him. But if I told him, he would so never understand. He’s all…confident and smart and stuff. I’m not.”

Spike would’ve loved to stand where he was and listen to her monologue all day long, but he knew that wasn’t fair. He began to move closer to the sound of her voice until he could see her. She was sitting on top of what he was pretty sure was a random tombstone, talking to thin air. Lucky for her I do the name thing, else ‘d think she was completely carrot-top.

“And who the heck is he, anyway, to act all wounded and sexy and stuff, when I’m hurting just as much as h—“

“Uh, Buffy?”

Buffy blinked, yelped, and almost fell off the tombstone. Spike fought not to smile as she clutched the stone and glared at him. “Geez! Eavesdrop much?”

“Only when it’s an ex-girl who dumped me for no damn good reason,” Spike said genially, sitting on a tombstone across from her. She was still wearing that hot little black number, and even though her mascara was smeared from crying, she was, as always, the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. “D’you do this often, pet?”

Her chin jutted out. “What if I do?”

“Then you’re more than a little buggered up,” Spike replied, still half-smiling.

“Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes. “Everybody talks to themselves sometimes.”

“Well, yeah, but not everybody does it in a soddin’ cemetery,” Spike pointed out.

Buffy raised an eyebrow, a mannerism that he knew she’d gotten from him. “Look who’s talking,” she retorted.

Spike was about to reply when he realized something—she was right. His shoulders slumped in defeat. “Shut y’gob,” he muttered, avoiding her gaze.

She laughed delightedly, clapping her hands together like a little kid. “I win!”

“So this is what this is to you?” he blurted out before he could stop himself. “A game? You think m’ playing for the thrill of it?”

“Huh?” Now she looked adorably befuddled—no, you wanker, not adorable! She’s not adorable, or cute, or the most amazing girl you’ve ever met in your life— Spike gave up. It was clearly a lost cause.

Realizing that she was staring at him, clearly expecting him to explain himself, he muttered, “Nothin’. Just…forget it.”

“Nuh-uh. No way,” Buffy said, hopping off her tombstone and walking over till she stood directly in front of him, staring stubbornly into his eyes. “I was talking about our argument. What were you talking about?”

“Last time I checked, Blondie, you weren’t m’ girl, which means you’ve got no bloody right to interrogate me like this. So shove off, yeah?” Spike yanked out a cigarette and put it in his mouth—

Only to have it yanked from his mouth by impertinent fingers and dropped on the ground, where Buffy’s foot ground it into the dirt.

“’ey!” He protested angrily. “Gimme!”

“It’s dirty now,” she pointed out primly. “And anyway, they’re bad for you.”

“Why the bloody hell d’you care?” Spike inquired, cursing even more than usual due to his anger.

Was it just him, or did her eyes just get a hell of a lot bigger? “Because I care about you,” she said quietly. “I was trying to get that through to you...earlier.”

“What, with the silence an’ the ignorin’ at the funeral?” Spike said sarcastically, even though he knew what she was talking about.

Her face hardened instantly. “You know what I’m talking about,” she all but spat.

He looked at her consideringly. You’d have thought that after his big stalker speech in the hallway would’ve scared her into avoiding alone time with him—or at least made her intimidated now that they were havin’ a one-on-one—but no, she was the same as ever, all bouncy hair and fearless glare.

An’ damned ‘f I’m not suddenly a poet again...

Which brought him back to his main quandary. Being around Buffy, being with her, hell—being in her, made him feel more wonderful than he ever had before. Wonderful enough for him to have let William out, something that hadn’t happened before since Spike had figuratively locked away the ponce and thrown away the key. He loved her. She had hair like spun gold, eyes like the first day of spring, a smile as dazzling as the stars, yadda yadda.

She didn’t want him. She’d said as much just a few days ago. Then, he’d believed her. That was his weakness, the one left over from the days when he was William—part of him had refused to believe that such a beauty could really want him, and it was that part that had taken over that day.

Well, not any more.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and exhaling slowly. It was the only useful thing his mum had ever taught him. “Look, pet,” he began slowly. “I know what you mean. An’ I’m sorry. ‘m not trying to be a git, honestly.”

Her face softened slightly. “I know,” she grumbled. “It’s, like, your second nature, or something.”

“Jus’ like ‘s your second nature to be a silly little chit. Buffy—“ his voice became pleading, and he reached out to grab her chin—“Talk to me, baby. Why’d you end things when they were going so wonderfully?”

Her eyes teared up, and though she couldn’t move her head, she averted her gaze from his. “I’m—I’m scared,” she admitted in a tiny, shamed voice. “I know it’s stupid, and—and selfish, but I’m just so scared.” Tears ran down her cheeks, and if he hadn’t known it was already n pieces, he would’ve swore he heard his heart break.

“Shh, pet, don’t cry,” he whispered, wishing he could hug her and knowing that he could—not with their relationship being the shambles that it was.

“I can’t help it,” she gasped, giving a strange little hiccup. “I’m just—God, I’m so horrible!”

“No. No, you’re not.” His fingers ghosted over her shoulder, and when she leaned into the touch, he gently rubbed her shoulder and her arm. “You’re the most amazing person ‘ve ever met. I love you, Buffy.”

He was astonished to see her hands fist. “Don’t—say—that,” she ordered in a low voice, her teeth clenched.

His eyes narrowed. So that’s the problem, is it? “What’re you scared of?” he demanded. “Why is it that you can’t stand knowin’ I love you?”

“It’s—it’s nothing,” she said, still refusing to look at him. “I just...we’re broken up.”

Spike was nonplussed. “Your point being?”

“We’re broken up,” she repeated. “Why are you still telling me you love me?”

Bloody hell. “D’you think that matters to me?” he asked, half-angry that she’d even asked. “Buffy, ‘m gonna love you till they put me in the ground. ‘s not somethin’ I’m proud of, because God knows loving you’s one of the dumber things ‘ve done lately. But I can’t sodding well stop.” He fell quiet, breathing heavily, his emotions running high.

Buffy stared at him, unblinking, tears still running down her face. The silence stretched on, and on, till Spike started to wonder if a man could die from pure, not even sexual, tension.

“Buffy? You gonna say anything, luv?”

She smiled slightly and wiped her face. “Can’t I have my girly freak-out moment?” she asked with a mock scowl.

His heart lightened ever so slightly. “That amazing, huh?”

“Oh, shut up.” She stuck her tongue out at him.

He smiled for what felt like the first time in years and tweaked her nose. “Sorry, Blondie, I don’t follow orders.”

“Wouldn’t life be easier if you did, though?” Buffy said lightly, smiling back.

Spike was about to respond when he saw her shiver. He had his duster, of course, but she wore nothing but that filmy black dress. “Cold, kitten?”

“Nu-uh.” She shook her head and shivered again. “Okay—maybe a little,” she admitted, blushing.

“Here.” Spike took off his coat and wrapped her in it. “Let’s get you home, yeah?”

She nodded wordlessly, wrapping the duster around herself tightly.

They walked back to her house in silence, but it was a different silence than the one that had governed them the day before. This silence wasn’t strained with words that ought to be said but weren’t; instead, it was filled with a quiet understanding.

What they’d had was broken—but not beyond repair.

When they reached Buffy’s house Spike hesitated, unsure about what she was expecting from him. “Well, we’re here.”

“Yeah.” She was staring into space, a slight frown on her face.

“Buffy?” Spike said uncertainly, not wanting to make her mad by intruding on her thoughts. “You in there?”

She shook her head slightly. “No. I mean, yes. I mean—what was the question?”

Spike stifled a laugh. “Just askin’ where that pretty head of your was, luv.”

“Oh.” A slightly awkward pause, then Buffy said, “So...I’d better go inside. Here’s your jacket.” She began to pull it from her shoulders.

Spike stopped her fingers, his eyes meeting her surprised ones. “Keep it for awhile,” he suggested. “’f you’re gonna be runnin’ off to the cemetery in the middle of the night, you need a bit of protection.”

She smiled and let go of it. “Thanks.”

”No problem.”

Another awkward silence. Spike cursed under his breath; this was happening just a bit too much. He would’ve said something, but something told him to keep his mouth shut.

A moment later it happened. Buffy let out a soft, breathy sigh that made his stomach clench. She looked him in the eye and said, “Spike?”

“Yeah?”

Buffy leaned up and kissed him.

Silky skin—lightly scented hair—and the softest pair of lips he’d ever come across. That was all his brain had to register before she moved away again, but it was enough. He’d kissed her so many times that his brain filled in all the sensations his body didn’t have time to register, and at that moment, something became painfully clear: he’d missed her so bloody much.

She smiled shyly at him, seeming nearly as flustered as he. “I—I love you, too,” she whispered back.

It wasn’t by far the first time she’d said those words, but this time it was different. This time it was a commitment, a declaration—she was telling him that there was hope.

Spike still wore an incredulous smile when the door to her house closed with her on the other side.

~*~

A/N: Hm...did that suck as much as I think it did? I had major writer’s block...ah, well. Thanks for all the reviews—I wouldn’t say no to more ;)

Three weeks passed by more quickly than Buffy would’ve thought possible. She wasn’t happy by a long shot—the whole gang was little saddened by the death of Tara’s grandmother—but things were getting better. It was funny how even though she and Spike’s post-breakup hostility had lasted for only three days, they were way more miserable than the next three weeks.

He hadn’t read too much into the kiss, something for which Buffy was devoutly grateful. If she’d kissed most of the guys in school the way she did Spike, they would’ve been pawing all over her. But Spike seemed to know that it was equal parts apology and mutual comfort.

And now that she thought of it, that was part of the problem. They were almost, but not quite, friends. Buffy seriously suspected that they could never be just friends. They’d shared waay too much to pretend their relationship was platonic.

So they had stilted conversations and tried to how horny they both were. At the end of each day, Buffy would clench her fists and fight to stay away from him, to keep from running to the cemetery, where she knew he’d be.

To say it wasn’t easy would have been the absolute biggest understatement of the century.

Now it was Thanksgiving. They’d been on vacation for almost a week, but since the gang met at the Bronze or the mall every day, Buffy had still gotten her (in her opinion, way unhealthy) daily dose of Spike. She sighed.

They still talked like friends, but their conversations were different. There was no banter, no word play, no innuendos—not that she missed those—no, not her! She didn’t miss them a single bit!

Well, okay. She did. But only in a life-wasn’t-normal-without-them kind of way, not a they-made-her-tingly-all-over way.

Right, Buffy. You really are the queen of self-delusion, aren’t you?

Yeah, that would be her. Little Miss Self-Delusion, in the flesh and currently procrastinating like mad so that she wouldn’t have to enter her house and begin the nightmare that was a Summers Thanksgiving.

“Buffy? Are you coming?”

“Yeah! Gimme a sec!” Buffy called back.

Over the past 3 weeks, her mom and dad had fought constantly. Joyce was expecting to get divorce papers any day now, and she kept badgering Hank about signing them. More often than not, Buffy and Dawn had gone out together to eat just to avoid the yelling—though things had been quiet for about a day now.

The fighting sucked some serious ass, but for Buffy it actually wasn’t as bad as it had been in years past, because now she knew that only one of her parents hated her guts instead of both of them.

Okay. So it could’ve been way better. But then, it could’ve been a whole lot worse, too.

“Buffy? Are you even listening to me?”

“Huh? Oh—yeah, Mom!” Buffy called back into the house hurriedly. “I’ll be right there!”

She sighed. Why can’t Thanksgiving be a friend thing? she wondered petulantly. Or better yet, an ex-couple with some serious history thing?

“Buffy?” Dawn appeared in the doorway of their house. “You do realize Mom’s going to kill you very dead if you don’t come inside and eat?”

“I know.” Buffy stood up from the front step, brushing off her jeans, and made a face at her little sister. “She’s being so neurotic about it…”

“She says she has big news,” Dawn offered as they went inside. “Although considering what’s been going on lately, I’m kind of scared to know what it is.”

“Tell me about it.” Buffy lowered her voice as they neared the kitchen. “I mean, she and Dad haven’t fought in a full twenty-four hours. What’s up with that?”

“I dunno. Maybe they decided they love each other after all,” Dawn said sarcastically.

Buffy just rolled her eyes.

“Oh, hi, kids!” Joyce said, beaming.

“Hi,” they mumbled.

“Here. Take these out to the dining room and then sit down, okay?” Joyce handed Buffy and Dawn a covered dish each. “We’re ready to eat.”

Buffy could almost feel her heart beating double time as she carried the dish out. She was sure this dinner was going to be even worse than usual.

She was right. They’d barely started eating before Joyce put down her fork and said matter-of-factly, “Kids, I have an announcement to make.”

Buffy and Dawn exchanged uh-oh looks. Here we go…

“Your father and I have reached an agreement. We sent my lawyer the signed divorce papers yesterday!”

~*~

Thinking back, Buffy knew that she’d acted pretty stupidly. She really shouldn’t have spilled her wine all over the white tablecloth and blurted out, “What the friggin’ hell?”

And when her father berated her for her language, she really, really shouldn’t have stood up and called him an arrogant asshole.

But she was pretty sure that the worst mistake of all was when she lost her temper and kneed him in the balls so hard that he’d fallen, hit his head on the table, and passed out.

Not that any of that had really gotten her in trouble. Her mother had been watching with a slight smile on her face. Buffy knew that she didn’t have to be roaming the streets of Sunnydale at 5 o’clock on Thanksgiving Day. It was getting dark and more than a little cold.

But she couldn’t bear to stay in the same house with her mother. Buffy loved Joyce, she really did, but right now was insanely angry with her, because who the hell thought that announcing a divorce at Thanksgiving dinner was a good idea?

Buffy sighed, wrapping her arms around herself. She was trying not to be self- pity gal, but she was all alone on Thanksgiving. It was like Suckfest 2005, or something. God, I wish Spike was here.

If she had a dollar for every time she thought that, Bill Gates would have competition for most annoyingly rich person in the world.

But annoying repeating aside, it sounded like a good idea. Wait—no, not good idea. Bad idea! Veryveryvery bad!

But she’d already thought of it, and part of her—namely, her body—thought it was a really good idea. So Buffy’s feet carried her to Spike’s house, and then her hand—her horrible, treasonous hand—reached up and knocked on the front door!

Unfortunately for her, there was a long enough pause between when she knocked and when the door opened for her to completely freak out over what she was doing.

When she saw who stood there, she had to fight to not pass out from terror.

Spike’s mother, Dr. Walsh, pursed her wrinkled lips at Buffy. “What are you doing here?”

“I…um…is Spike here? I mean, are you guys having dinner?”

“Our family does not believe in the absurdity that is Thanksgiving. I believe he is down at that Bronze place with his friends. Good night.”

Buffy was left blinking at the door that had just been slammed in her face.

She sighed and walked down the steps. Some Thanksgiving I’m having…

“Stalker.”

Buffy yelped and immediately clamped her hands over her mouth in embarrassment. “Dawn!”

“Well, you are,” her little sister said, unperturbed. “I mean, I thought you and Spike were all—you know—not going out.”

“We are,” she stuttered. “I just—I mean—it’s complicated, okay?” Irritated, she started walking again.

“Complicated. Right.” Unfazed, Dawn trailed after her. “It’s simple. You’re completely in love with him.”

Buffy chose to be silent. How was she going to answer that, anyway? It was the truth and she knew it.

“I’m right, aren’t I? I knew I was right.” Dawn’s voice was satisfied. “Which leads to this question—you broke up with him why?”

Buffy took a deep breath. It’s illegal to kill your sister in California, isn’t it? Damn. “Dawn, I really don’t want to talk about this.”

“Because you’re scared,” Dawn shot back.

Buffy reached her breaking point. “Yes, I’m scared, okay?” she yelled, whirling around to face her younger sister. “Look at Mom and Dad, would you? Mom loves Dad and he’s still the biggest asshole in the world to her! If I stay with Spike, we could end up just like that! We probably will, and it’ll be my fault because I was too dumb to break up with him before it was too late!”

Dawn stood very, very still throughout her sister’s tirade. When Buffy was finished, she said very calmly, “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Well, okay. Buffy knew that. But—“You’re thirteen. What the hell do you know?”

“I know that not all loves are like that, Buffy, okay? Janice’s parents have been married for twenty years and they’re still totally in love. We keep walking in on them making out, which hello, gross in a big way, but they’re clearly happy! Why are you convinced you can’t have that?”

“Because Mom doesn’t,” Buffy admitted quietly.

Maybe Thanksgiving was like Halloween and it was all magical, but no one had bothered to tell her. Or maybe she was just super-weird. Whatever it was, all of a sudden, she felt like the biggest idiot on the face of the planet.

For three weeks she’d been berated herself for being a coward, for not being strong enough to brave the heartbreak with Spike. She had refused to believe that maybe there wouldn’t be constant heartbreak to brave.

Because Mom doesn’t. How dumb was that, anyway? Was it written in stone somewhere that her mother’s life determined how hers was going to be? And even if it was—hey, Buffy was failing English. She sure as hell didn’t have to pay attention.

Dawn was still lecturing. “And you know, I think you broke up with him because you know there’s a chance of turning out like mom, not because you think you’re definitely going to. It’s a matter of making a choice—are you ready or not? Because if you’re not, I’m going to kick your butt. I so do not want to have to be the first person to get married and do the happily ever after thing just to prove it’s possible.”

Buffy stared at her sister in wonder. Faith, Cordelia, Spike, her own not-so-bright conscience—all of them had failed to make her see sense. But Dawn had, and at that moment, Buffy had never loved her more.

“Oof!” Dawn gasped as Buffy enveloped her in a hug. “What’s this for?”

“For being a great sister,” Buffy said, her voice muffled in Dawn’s shoulder. “I love you so much, did you know?”

Dawn smiled slightly. “Yeah.”

“Good.” She took a deep breath. Okay, Buffy. You can do this. “See you later.” She began to jog away as quickly as her skirt would allow.

“What are you doing?” Dawn called after her.

Buffy smiled—a true, genuine, happy smile. “Making a choice!” she yelled back, laughing.

Dawn was dancing all the way to Janice’s house.

~*~

A/N: I stole the whole “written in stone” thing from Prophecy Girl—I thought it fit well ;) And I know I said no more angst, but wasn’t Buffy kneeing Hank in the balls worth it? Don’t worry, the next chap is pretty much all fluff. Thanks for all the wonderful reviews telling me what you guys think of this fic!

~*~

Spike was outside the Bronze having a smoke when he saw Buffy coming towards him.

His first impulse was to run to her, kiss her then, shag her senseless—but that was always his first impulse with her, ‘specially when she wore little skirts like the one she had on just then.

His second impulse was to run in the opposite direction so she couldn’t stomp on his heart anymore with that “friends” routine they’d been going through.

Bloody confusing, that.

He chose to do neither. Instead he just arched an eyebrow at her. “Problem, Summers?”

“No,” she said with a funny expression on her face, “There’s no problem.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. Wait—that wasn’t a funny expression. She just looked happy, happier than he’d seen her look since…

Well, since they’d made love.

It was all he could do to stop his inner William from jumping for joy. She’s not happy about anything that has to do with you, ponce! “Well, then, what’s goin’ on? Thought you were doing the Thanksgiving thing.”

“I was. But…” she trailed off, smiling shyly. “Well…I kicked my dad in the balls and then I kind of ran out of the house.”

Well, well. That was a surprise. “Great job, kitten,” he said, trying to restrain the pride that washed through him. “Looks like you’ve got claws after all, eh?”

“Yeah.” She looked away from him. Spike cocked his head as he watched her; she seemed to be hesitating about something…

“Spike, I—“ She stopped again. “It’s just—auggh!” She let out a frustrated half-scream. “This is so not coming out right.”

“I rather think it’s not coming out at all,” he said, smirking.

She glared at him. “Well, if you keep chattering, it sure won’t.”

His smirk widened. He really couldn’t help it. They were back to the banter, just like old times. “You gonna try to shut me up, Blondie?”

He’d expected her to screech or at the very least give him a lecture on what a pig he was. What he didn’t expect was for her to smile slowly. “You know, that’s a really good idea.”

And then, before he had a chance to even think of a rejoinder, she went up on tiptoes and kissed him, just like she had three weeks ago. Only this time she was happy and not in the least bit grieving, and instead of her kiss being gentle and apologetic, it was hard and passionate.

Bloody hell, he thought, wrapping his arms around her waist and hauling her up closer to him. Feeling her breasts press against his chest, feeling her legs against his—Christ, he’d missed this. He’d missed it so damn much.

She was the first to break away. Gasping, she peppered little kissed all over his face. When she spoke, her voice was so sexy and throaty it made his stomach clench. “I’m so, so sorry,” she breathed, still giving him those sweet, feather-light kisses. “I was such an idiot, and I didn’t see sense for the longest time. I should never have broken up with you—I missed you so much. And I love you. I loved you even when I broke up with you, but I love you more now, and I hope you love me back, because there’s a good chance I’ll die if you don’t, because I have to be with you. I don’t have a choice. These past three weeks were horrible, being close to you and not being able to touch you—“

Knowing her, she probably would’ve gone on for quite some time after that, but Spike stopped her chattering with a kiss. A long, slow, deep, heartfelt kiss of the tonsil hockey variety.

“That answer the question, luv?” Spike asked, gasping, when they finally broke apart.

“I—forgot,” Buffy panted. “What was—the question?”

God, she was beautiful. He’d mussed her hair and her eyes were shining, and her lips—her lips were so plump and red—he dove in for another kiss.

“Question was—‘f I still love you,” he said when they again stopped to breathe, kissing down her neck. How the bleedin’ hell have I survived without this?

“Oh yeah.” She slipped a hand inside his shirt, moaning when she felt his muscles. “Do you?”

God, her hand was so small, so soft...he returned the favor, slipping a hand inside her little red tank top and caressing the bra-covered breast he found there, smiling when he heard her gasp. “Yeah, kitten. I still love you. Never stopped, to tell the truth.”

They probably would have continued to make out frantically, but at that moment a group of guys walked by, laughing. One of them shouted out, “Dude, way to score on Turkey Day!”

Spike watched Buffy’s cheeks redden. She always looked so cute when she did that. “I guess we’d better stop,” she said, sounding none too thrilled at the idea. “Having sex in an alley would be kinda ew.”

“That where you think this is going, pet?” he asked softly. Heaven knew if that’s what she wanted to do, he was up for it—but it took two to tango, after all.

She just gave him a look that said, clear as glass, duh.

“Right, then. Wanna go inside?” Spike asked, watching her face closely for her reaction. He sure as hell wasn’t rejecting her, but he wasn’t sure how she’d see it.

Apparently she didn’t think he was just being a bastard, because she smiled and said, “Sure. Is anyone else here?”

“Pretty much the whole gang,” Spike said, grinning at Buffy’s stunned look. “Well, we’re a nonconforming bunch. C’mon.” He tugged her inside. “Let’s have us a proper Thanksgiving.”

*

Buffy was happy. And not just “I got the presents I wanted for my birthday” happy. No, she was more “I’m so incredibly happy it’s almost wigging me out and I don’t think I could get any happier!!!!” happy. And damn, did it feel good.

She was stealing glances at Spike practically constantly as he led her to the table where the gang had gathered. Well, was it her fault that he looked so hot? He’d ditched his plain black t-shirt in favor of a black muscle shirt and a chain necklace, and he looked even more lickable than ever. In fact, just glancing at him made her want to—

Well, suffice it to say that turkey wasn’t the only thing she wanted to eat.

Spike hadn’t been lying when he’d said everyone was there. Faith, Willow, Anya, Xander, and Oz were all sitting casually at one of the Bronze’s larger tables. Buffy gaped at them. “Okay, what are all you guys doing here?”

“My family doesn’t celebrate Thanksgiving. It’s a sham,” Willow said cheerfully.

“Where the redhead goes, so do I,” Oz remarked.

“Uncle Rory turned the turkey into a bonfire,” was Xander’s contribution.

“My parents are at a stock convention, and anyway, I don’t enjoy ritual sacrifices, even if they are with pie,” Anya informed her.

“Please, B. You really think I’m all up for fun family time?” Faith snorted.

Buffy had to restrain a laugh. There she’d been, berating herself for dreading Thanksgiving—and it turned out her friends didn’t even celebrate it! “You guys are completely weird, you know that?” she said, sitting down next to Spike and leaning into his embrace. “Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t going to be at your houses?”

“Because we figured you were doing Turkey Day with your family, and—hey! You and Spike are all tactile again!” Xander exclaimed.

The others gave him a look of disgust. “We all noticed that as soon as they walked in, sweetie,” Anya said, patting his hand.

Xander slumped in his chair. “Captain Obvious says he’s sorry,” he muttered.

“It’s okay,” Buffy said. She was pretty sure she was grinning from ear to ear, just like she’d been ever since she and Spike had gotten all full-body outside, but she couldn’t have cared less. Let the world see how happy she was. “I just get to announce to everybody that Spike and I are a couple again!”

“An’ we couldn’t be happier,” Spike added, nuzzling her hair.

“Ooh…” Buffy melted into him, barely noticing the looks everyone else was giving them.

“Were they this gooey the last time they were goin’ out and I just didn’t notice?” Faith asked, staring at the couple.

“No, they’re definitely more sickeningly cute now,” Anya said. “But then, they’ve given each other orgasms and gone through great self-inflicted pain since then, so I suppose it makes sense that they’d be so openly in love now.”

Buffy giggled against Spike’s lips; she felt him smile, too. “I like that word,” she informed him, kissing his nose and then his ear. “I love you,” she sang into it softly.

His answer was a slight growl as he pulled her fully into his lap and nuzzled her neck. “Love you too, kitten,” he murmured, fingers dancing along the bottom of her tank top.

“Mmm.” Buffy arched into his touch. She couldn’t believe life could get this good—here at the Bronze with her incredible boyfriend and a group of friends who—

Wait. She peeked open one eye as her ears finally registered the lack of noise at their table. Sure enough, every single person who’d been sitting with them a minute ago had bolted to the dance floor. “Spike?” When he didn’t answer, she wriggled on his lap—and then colored when she realized what that did to him.

“Spike!”

“Yeah, Golidlocks?” Spike asked, finally pulling himself away from her neck.

“Look!”

Spike’s eyes took in the empty table; he snorted. “Tossers can’t take a little display of affection.”

“Or a big one,” Buffy said mischievously, wriggling on him again.

He shot her a look that promised retribution. “You’re a little minx, aren’t you?” he said.

“You’d better believe it,” she said, smiling at him, in completely gooey-girlfriend mode.

He smiled and leaned in for another kiss. When it was over he said, “You wanna dance, luv?”

Was it just her, or was he using a lot of pet names tonight? Oh, well—not like she was complaining. “Sure!” She hopped off the bench, keeping their hands linked, and led them out onto the dance floor.

~*~

A/N: Dumb place to end a chapter, I know, but if I didn’t end it there it would have been reeeeally long. Thanks so much for all the wonderful reviews—they made me smile! I love the fact that you guys stuck with me through the hard parts of the story and that you’re still enjoying it, so thanks, both for reading and for reviewing.

~*~

As they reached the dance floor, the band struck up a new song. Buffy smiled and wrapped her arms around Spike’s neck.

I guess this time you're really leaving
I heard your suitcase say goodbye
And as my broken heart lies bleeding
You say true love it's suicide

You say you're cried a thousand rivers
And now you're swimming for the shore
You left me drowning in my tears
And you won't save me anymore

Now I'm praying to God you'll give me one more chance, girl

She heard Spike chuckle into her ear. “Listen, luv,” he purred. “It’s us.”

Buffy grinned. “Maybe it was us a few weeks ago, but I’m thinking we’re happy now.” She caressed the nape of his neck. “Or at least, I am.”

“Bloody hell,” was his half-groaned response. “Think ‘m about to get a happy ‘f you keep that up.”

“If I keep what up?” she asked innocently. “This?” With a twinkle in her eye that was anything but innocent, she caressed his neck again while she slid one hand down to cup his butt.

He hissed. “You’re bloody amazing, you know that?” He leaned down and kissed her, hard. “After everything—you’re still amazing.”

I'll be there for you
These five words I swear to you
When you breathe I want to be the air for you
I'll be there for you
I'd live and I'd die for you
Steal the sun from the sky for you
Words can't say what a love can do
I'll be there for you

“See, that’s way more like us,” Buffy said. “All cuddly and happy.”

He arched an eyebrow at her. “You’re quick to forget three soddin’ weeks ‘f torture, pet.”

She pouted at him. “I happen to like my delusions, thank you very much!”

“Me, too, ‘f they make you pout like that,” he purred, leaning down and catching her lip between his teeth. She sighed and kissed him.

When they broke apart he echoed her. “God, kitten. Wish we could stay like this forever.”

I know you know we're had some good times
Now they have their own hiding place
I can promise you tomorrow
But I can't buy back yesterday

And Baby you know my hands are dirty
But I wanted to be your valentine
I'll be the water when you get thirsty, baby
When you get drunk, I'll be the wine

“Why can’t we?” Buffy asked, whispering, almost afraid of his answer. They’d made up, or so it seemed, but that didn’t mean everything was perfect. “I mean, we can’t say on the dance floor forever, since the Bronze does close in a few hours, but I wanna go out with you, and we’re all with the mutual love, so chances are there’ll be lots of cuddly moments like this and I’m babbling aren’t I?” she finished, finally noting the amused expression on Spike’s face.

“Bit,” he answered, grinning. “But don’t worry,” he added, his voice dropping to a husky murmur as he nipped at her ear. “I like it.”

She shivered. “Uh-huh. Me too.” God, this perfect. Cliché, but perfect...

I'll be there for you
These five words I swear to you
When you breathe I want to be the air for you
I'll be there for you
I'd live and I'd die for you
Steal the sun from the sky for you
Words can't say what a love can do
I'll be there for you

“Love you, pet,” he whispered as they rocked together.

She smiled tremulously. Was this affecting him half so much as it was her? “I love you, too.”

She got her answer when he reached up to brush a strand of golden hair out of her eyes: his hands were trembling.

And I wan't there when you were happy
I wasn't there when you were down
I didn't mean to miss your birthday, baby
I wish I'd seen you blow those candles out

Buffy placed her hand over his, gently. “I’m scared, too,” she whispered, leaning into his touch. “Actually, I’m terrified.”

“Nice to know ‘m not the only one. Feel like a wanker, though,” he admitted with a slight grin.

“Then we’re both wankers,” Buffy replied playfully. A moment later she frowned. “Wait—what’s a wanker?”

Spike’s answer was a chuckle. “A jerk or an idiot,” he defined, leaving out the part about what “wank” meant. “But—there’s so much—“ He broke off, looking frustrated. “Bugger. There’s been so much ‘ve been stupid ‘bout, so much ‘ve gotten wrong...”

Buffy knew what he meant. Their relationship wasn’t exactly conventional. Just a few months ago, they’d been complete enemies. They’d—no, she—had screwed up big time and had only fixed it tonight. And yet...

All the times he’d made her laugh, the times he’d helped her deal with her parents—even before they’d made with the face suckage, he’d always been there. She couldn’t lean on him, but her all-consuming “hate” for him was a crutch all the same.

She wouldn’t give it up for anything.

“You know?” she said, smiling wider than she’d ever have thought possible, “I completely agree.” She stopped their revolving motion and went up on tiptoes to kiss him. “But I think we got a few things right, too.”

If his attack on her lips was any indication, she thought so, too.

I'll be there for you
These five words I swear to you
When you breathe I want to be the air for you
I'll be there for you
I'd live and I'd die for you
Steal the sun from the sky for you
Words can't say what a love can do
I'll be there for you...

*

“Oh God—“ Buffy gulped, a sound that was music to Spike’s ears. “Spike, what are you doing?”

He paused in his ministrations to send her a wicked grin. “Giving thanks,” he replied before returning to the job he’d started. She looked so good—and tasted even better—that he was already close to popping.

“Oh—yes—wait—no! Here?” Buffy finished, panting.

“You got somethin’ against your room, pet?” he asked, grinning against her. He’d been looking forward to giving her room a proper christening for some time now.

“Um—no—but—ohGodohGod—my parents—“

“Are gone and will be for some time,” Spike finished for her, refraining from saying just what he thought of them, leaving their two kids alone on Thanksgiving. Well, alone in theory, at least.

“Joyce is stayin’ over at your Aunts’, an’ Hank skipped town. Dawn looked like she’d be glad to stay over at that Janice chit’s place. We’ve got the house all—to—ourselves.” He punctuated each word with a gentle kiss to her labia.

“But it’s Thanksgiving!” It was a last-ditch attempt at good-girl-ness, and given that she was thrusting her hips up into his face even as she said it, Spike was well aware of that fact.

“Your point being?” he inquired, emphasizing his point with another long lick and delighting in the delicious little shudder her body emitted.

“Aaah! Um...keep going?” Buffy suggested, gasping blissfully when he did.

Spike could almost feel his own happiness coursing through his veins. They’d gone through so much—both of them had suffered far more than could be considered normal—and it was incredible that they’d come so far. He’d been fighting his love for her since the moment he’d first seen her, all the way back in eighth grade. But now he’d finally given in.

And God, did it feel good.

~*~

A/N: See? Another chapter of fluff! Just ‘cuz I love you guys =D The song was “I’ll Be There For You” by Bon Jovi and recommended by Ashly (LJ user efulgence). *waves* Thanks hun!

~*~

“You know what was even funnier than Giles, though?” Buffy asked, giggling and burrowing a bit closer to Spike, laying her tousled head on his chest. “The look on Harmony’s face. I swear she was about to blow into a billion pieces.”

Spike chuckled, the rumble comforting against Buffy’s ear. “You’re a vindictive one, aren’t you, pet?”

She grinned up at him. “When it comes to someone moving in on my man, yes, I am, thank you very much.” My man. She loved saying that…

Her man. Would he ever get tired of being talked about that way?

Highly unlikely, Spike decided, drawing her a bit closer. It was two days before Christmas and they’d taken advantage Joyce’s now-common absence by grabbing a few hours in Buffy’s room for themselves.

“Still, it made me crack up,” Buffy said, giggling again. “Poor Giles. I think he was expecting us to do this huge, gooey report about how much the report changed our lives, instead of just following the requirements to the letter.”

“As opposed to Harm, who seemed to be waiting for us to start shaggin’ like bunnies in the middle of the floor,” Spike said, wagging his eyebrows suggestively.

She whacked his chest, only half in protest. “We just finished!”

“We can’t go again?”

Oh, crap, he’s pouting. He’s pouting and naked and oh my God I stare at his lips every single day and they never get the tiniest bit less hot—

Spike didn’t have time to attack her—she attacked him.

They both groaned as she pressed him into the pillow, lips attacking his, her hand wrapping around his already hard dick. “Want you now,” she muttered, kissing his chest.

“C’mon, then,” Spike gasped, and he pulled her fully on top of, and then into, him.

Buffy smiled down at him as she rode him. She’d thought their first time had been amazing—every single time after that surpassed the one past by leaps and bounds. Just when she thought it couldn’t get any more wonderful, Spike showed her something new, or expressed his love in a different way, and she reached a more amazing bliss than she’d ever seen before. It was beyond perfect—she didn’t even think there was a word for how happy he could make her.

“God, Spike—I love you. I love you I love youIloveyouIloveyouIloveyou—“

“Buffy…God…love you so—bloody—much—“ Spike grunted, pushing up into her.

“Yes,” she hissed, arching her back, going faster, faster—

She leaned down and furiously smashed her lip against his, the next angle making him rub places that sent her tumbling over the edge once again. Less than a second after she exploded, he did, too, shooting into her, babbling her name and various endearments over and over. She listened contentedly.

“You know,” she remarked when they’d both calmed down a bit, “We really should thank Giles.”

Spike grunted. “Spoil the mood much, luv?”

“Sorry,” Buffy said with an grin that was anything but. “It’s just, he was the one who finally forced us to work together. We hated each other then, remember? And I was all dumb valley girl.”

“When did that change—‘ey! No fair play!” Spike shrieked, and then began laughing, as Buffy mercilessly dug into his armpits and tickled him.

“Take it back,” she said determinedly, wiggling her fingers a bit more to emphasize her point.

“Right—okay—take it back!” he exclaimed, gasping for breath. When she settled back down next to him he said, “Although y’know, I think Giles was just doing what everybody in the school was hopin’ someone would do. Wouldn’t’ve surprised me if Anya an’ Faith an’ that lot had decided to shove us together—ole’ Rupes just got there first.”

Buffy was about to reply when an extremely unwelcome noise split the air: Ding-dong.

They both froze, their eyes flying to meet one another’s’. Very, very carefully, Buffy slid out of the bed and walked over to the window. She sighed in relief when she saw the mailman driving away. “It’s just the mail,” she announced—and then gasped when she realized why the man had rung the bell. “I’ll be right back,” she blurted out, and raced downstairs.

Spike propped himself up on his elbow, wondering what had gotten his girl so excited. Had she ordered something she wanted to show him? Maybe she’d picked some lingerie out of that hot little catalogue he’d found in her drawer the other day…his eyes glazed over as he considered the possibilities.

He couldn’t help but grin when Buffy came back inside the room, carrying two large envelopes and looking sheepish. Her face was bright red.

“Why’re you blushin’, pet? Not that it isn’t cute,” he teased, “But ‘d like to know the reason. Order any dirty magazines?”

“My neighbor—you know, that weird lady who insists I call her April? Yeah, she just saw me almost naked.”

Spike couldn’t help himself—he burst into laughter. “Why—the bloody hell—didn’t you put some clothes on?” he gasped out, trying to contain bursts of giggles and failing utterly.

Buffy looked thoroughly disgruntled—cute, but disgruntled. “I thought no one would be out there,” she admitted, rolling her eyes when Spike continued to laugh.

Normally she would’ve joined in, but right now she was incredibly nervous. She knew that Spike had applications out to a bunch of universities—hell, with his grades, they’d let him in anywhere—but she was hoping that what was in the envelope with his name on it would change that.

“Um, Spike?” she asked in what she hoped was a normal voice. She knew it wasn’t when he halted laughing instantly and looked at her with a worried expression on his face. “Yeah, kitten?”

“Remember how I said I’d maybe apply to UCLA, early decision?”

“Yeah,” Spike said, uneasy. College was something he’d been trying not to think about—he didn’t want to be away from the girl he loved for a second more than he absolutely had to be.

“Well—“ Buffy could feel her cheeks getting redder. Damn it. “I got in. But When I applied, I kinda—I kinda applied for you, too.” And then, before he had a chance to say anything, she shoved the envelope into his hand.

She’d been expecting for him to laugh at her, or maybe get a little annoyed. But instead he just gave her one long, unreadable look and opened the envelope.

Mr. Spike Walsh: We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to attend the University of California in Los Angeles for the coming year…

He stared at the paper, not fully comprehending what he was seeing. Buffy and me are gonna be going to the same college. We’re gonna still be able to see each other every day. This is—

“Bloody fantastic,” he whispered, finally tearing his gaze away from the paper to see Buffy standing in front of him, clearly nervous.

“So you like it?” she asked hesitantly, taking a baby step towards the bed.

Spike reached out and grabbed her, causing her to tumble onto the sheets beside him. He answered her with a kiss that was so hard and went on for so long that by the time he was done his heart was racing and the admissions papers were thoroughly crumpled in between them. “I sodding well love it,” he whispered heatedly, trailing kisses along her jaw line.

“Oh, good,” Buffy said in a breathless voice. “Because I wanted us to be together, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted to go to UCLA.”

“Don’t care where I go,” Spike informed her. “’long as I’m near you.”

“That works out, then,” she said, smiling happily. She was so relieved he hadn’t been angry with her…going to UCLA with him was going to be like a dream.

“Though,” he continued, “’m a bit confused as to where we’re gonna be staying. ‘Cause ‘m never gonna get laid ‘f we both get dorms.”

“Yeah, I thought of that,” she said proudly. “We’ll be staying with my Aunt Kim. Her apartment is a few blocks away from the university.”

“Your aunt? Pet, the rest of this plan is lovely, but I don’t fancy four years of celibacy.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Buffy said hastily. “She’s really nice and cool and stuff. She’ll leave us alone.”

“In that case, your plan is bloody perfect.” He began to nuzzle her breasts happily.

Buffy sighed, sinking into the bed, pulling him with her. “You’re perfect.”

Spike smirked. “Nice to know ‘m appreciated,” he said, leaning in for another kiss. When they parted he whispered, “An’ just for the record, luv—your just ‘bout as perfect as they come, yourself.”

“Mmm…” she pulled his head down again, kissing him. She’d been doing that a lot lately; it was nice to know it would be able to continue.

Because she wanted it to continue. Crazy though it was, nothing as good as her relationship with Spike had ever happened to her before. They’d fought bitterly for so many years—but now they were in perfect accord about almost everything. When they did disagree, it was mostly in jest. They loved each other—that was finally enough to erase the bitterness of the past.

For the longest time, everyone had known how much they hated each other—and both Buffy and Spike had believe it. They’d had to struggle past foolish misconceptions and stereotypes, both real and manufactured. But it had been worth it. As Spike entered her and she gasped in a combination of astonishment and joy, she was certain of that fact. The love on his face, the love she felt in her own heart, made her absolutely positive of that.

It had been worth it. It still was worth it. What they had went beyond simple lust or infatuation. It was love, pure and simple.

And finally, as her body clenched around his, Buffy knew. She knew that after all this time, after all her searching and hating and crying, she’d finally found what she was looking for. She was home, and she was never going to leave.

She clutched Spike to her, reveling in the feel of her body against his. “I love you,” she whispered, glorying in how close their bodies were. “I love you so, so much, Spike.”

And she was happy.


~~*The End*~~

A/N: WOW. It’s over!

Well, now that it’s done, thanks are in order. A thousand heaps of billboard-sized thank you’s to anyone who ever reviewed! I wrote this story through some tough times, and they really helped me keep writing. This story was more successful than my two other long fics combined, so I figure I must be doing something right =D and it’s reviews that tell me just exactly what that is. I was absolutely stunned by the response I got to this fic—even though a lot of you didn’t like the angst, you still read it and told me what you thought. You guys have stuck with me through thick and thin, through the angst and the fluff, and I love every single one of you for it. You guys are AWESOME!! *huggles everyone and gives them cookies and nekkid Spikes*

Kimber: hope you liked the “Aunt Kim” detail. I couldn’t resist =D

And finally, because pimping yourself will never go out of style (possible because it was never in style, but why sweat the small stuff?): next up on the list of fics is “Nothing More.” I’ve already posted two chapters. It’s an AU Buffyverse fic set in the world of “The Wish”, and it has Vamp Willow, Dracula, tortured vampire Dawn, a trip around Europe during which Buffy and Spike are forced to work together…anyway, it should be fun, so if that sort of fic is your thing (or even if it’s not, lol) check it out please =D Thanks again for all your support for Common Knowledge!

~~Panta_Rei