London, 1996

William let out a yell as he tripped and fell sprawling onto the pavement. He barely noticed the pain, just scrambled to his feet and continued running, occasionally turning his head to see his pursuer, which caused him to collide with someone.

“Watch where you’re going!” the young man snapped in an Irish accent. He was a couple of years older than William, dark-haired and handsome, dressed in black leather and had two women about the same age hanging off his arms. William silently uttered a prayer of thanks – he was saved.

“I’m being followed,” he gasped. “He’s got a knife!”

A delighted smile broke out across the dark-haired woman’s face and she dropped the man’s arm to clap her hands gleefully. “Nobody messes with my Willykins!” she said in a strange sing-song voice, and laughed like a child.

“He won’t be able to take all of us at once,” the man said, a twisted smile breaking over his own face. “Darla?”

The other woman smiled, and picked up a loose brick off of the pavement. William stared at it. That could kill him.

They probably would.

Not surprisingly, he found that he didn’t care.

“Here comes the naughty boy!” the first woman, Drusilla, said.

William’s breath caught in his throat as his pursuer rounded the corner. Somewhat dishevelled and dressed in a hooded tracksuit, he was running slower than usual because of the amount of alcohol he had consumed. Darla took aim.

The brick connected painfully with his shoulder and sent him down to the ground.

“Get him!” Drusilla cried gleefully. “Get him, Angelus!”

Angelus picked up a plank of wood.

William was usually on the lookout, but this time but he wasn’t watching for passers-by or the police. He stood very still, blood pounding in his ears, as he watched Angelus beat the crumpled man while Darla kicked him and Drusilla egged them both on. William didn’t flinch, outward or inward. No guilt. Not then. Just a deep, burning fury.

Finally, they stopped. “How’s that, William? Don’t think he’ll be getting up for a while.” Angelus removed the knife from the ground, and William finally looked away. The hot emotions surging through him were too much.

“Get him!”

“I think I’ve got him enough, Dru.” Angelus knelt down beside the man and felt his neck. “I can’t feel a -” He broke off with an expletive, jumping backwards as if he had been burned.

“What is it? Is he dead?” Darla asked.

“He’s dead all right. And he’s something else too.” Angelus pulled his hood down, and the women both gasped.

“It’s the coach!” Darla whispered, horrified. “But – why would he -”

Angelus’ eyes narrowed as he turned to William, who gulped.

“You little -” Angelus grabbed William by the collar and slammed him against the brick wall. “Have you *any* idea what you’ve done? You useless, pathetic *kid*; how do you think we’re supposed to get away with this? We know the guy! The cops’ll link him to us in a heartbeat!” Angelus rammed a fist into William’s face, threw him on the ground and kicked him. “You *stupid*--”

“Angelus!” Darla stopped him. “Leave the kid alone; we have bigger problems! What do we do?”

The leader glanced around at his gang; the two women watching him anxiously and the younger teen crumpled on the ground, clutching broken glasses.

“We split. We run. Get as far away as possible. *Don’t* get caught; if one of us goes down, we all do.”

William got to his feet slowly as the others fled in different directions. The adrenaline rush had gone, and other feelings – ones he didn’t want to feel - were starting to sink in. He looked down at the sports coach.

“I hate you,” he whispered softly.

William took the coach’s wallet and headed for his secret hideaway. He had figured out the security codes for his old school years ago, and there was a blind spot where the cameras didn’t reach where he could get inside the place. As a student he had created a den, a kind of retreat, in the attic-space above the art classroom. No one had ever found it. He kept a supply of food and drink, some books, Walkman, torch and a few other personal possessions there.

Once inside the school, he headed for the toilets, and washed his hands in the sink. They were covered in grit, and scratched and bloody.

At least some of the blood was his own.

The teenager staring back at him out of the mirror looked awful. His brown hair was all over the place; his eyes looked hollow and had dark shadows under them. Dressed in an imitation of Angelus, the clothes were scuffed, dirty and in some cases ripped. His glasses were ruined. William removed them and stuffed them inside his jacket pocket. There was blood and dirt on his face as well, and bruises were starting to sprout.

He washed up as best he could and started shaking as the events of the evening began to sink in. He couldn’t believe it. What was he supposed to do now?

The echo of a door slamming shut had him quickly turning off the tap and swearing under his breath. The caretaker must still be there. He wiped his hands on his jeans as he left the room. There was nobody in the corridor, so he made a break for it.

No one called out or came running. William shut the Art room door behind him, climbed onto a table, pushed aside the loose ceiling tile, and hoisted himself up through the gap.

The space was fairly cramped, dark and shadowy. William couldn’t stand up straight. He replaced the ceiling tile and felt his way to the corner, where he kept a pillow and several blankets, and curled up in them, still trembling.

He wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d been unable to sleep all night, but after a while he fell into a restless slumber.

-----

Sunnydale, Ten Months Later

“Question Four,” Buffy Summers read out loud to herself. “Identify and explain the metaphor in the text.” She frowned and re-read the poem on her bed in front of her. “What metaphor?”

The telephone beside her began ringing, making her start, but as she reached for it, hoping it was Willow calling back, it stopped, and she heard her mother’s voice downstairs.

Buffy hesitated, listening for a call of “Buffy, it’s Willow for you!”, but none came. Sighing, she turned her attention back to her English homework.

“Oh, I give up,” she muttered ten minutes later. She would ask Willow for help when she saw her. Or maybe one of the cute nerdy boys. She knew she wouldn’t be ready for dating again for a long time, but there was nothing wrong with starting new friendships. “Wonder if Mom’s off the phone yet?”

Buffy made her way downstairs. Her mother, Joyce, was in the kitchen with the door shut, but it sounded as though she were trying – and failing miserably – to keep from raising her voice.

“This is *insane*, Hank!”

Buffy paused, suddenly hopeful. Her father was calling? Maybe to arrange another weekend visit?

“I don’t care what your woman of the week thinks, this is your *daughter* we’re talking about. Does she really mean that little to you?”

Buffy froze. *What?*

“Don’t drag me into this please, Hank. Try and do the decent thing for once and settle this between the three of you, for her sake. The poor child’s been through enough without you rejecting her.”

Buffy stood stock still, unable even to gasp, hurt and betrayal crashing over her in waves.

“No, Hank, I’m hanging up now. All I’m going to do is advise you to put your daughter first instead of yourself for once. If you can’t get your priorities straight, that’s your problem.” With that, she slammed the phone down and opened the kitchen door, jumping at the sight of her daughter frozen on the staircase.

“Buffy!” Joyce hovered uncertainly, looking awkward. “How long have you been there?”

Buffy attempted to smile, but it was a weak attempt. “Dad’s not coming next weekend?”

“No, honey, he’s … really busy at the moment. Buffy--”

“I’m going to stay over at Willow’s,” Buffy said, finally moving, hurrying past her mother to the door and grabbing a jacket on the way. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mom.”

-----

“William, wake up.”

He groaned and turned over.

“Do you want to be late on your first day?”

A sleepy pair of blue eyes opened in a glare. “S’Spike now.”

“Do you want to be late on your first day, *Spike*?”

“No,” Spike mumbled. “M’getting up.”

There was the sound of kitchen utensils being handled and his stomach growled.

“Breakfast’s in ten minutes.”

Spike sighed, yawned, and pushed back his blanket before sitting up and sliding off the camp-bed. “Um, Giles? Did you move my clothes?”

“They’re under your coat. I wish you wouldn’t leave that thing lying about, someone could trip on it.”

“I’ll move it,” Spike grumbled. He hung his leather duster up with Giles’ coats and rummaged in the holdall for something to wear. He didn’t have a lot in the way of clothes, just two pairs of jeans, dark blue and black, and a few plain shirts and t-shirts in mostly dark colours. Being comfortable was the main thing, but he didn’t want to make the wrong impression. In the end he picked out his only light coloured item, a white t-shirt, with the black shirt to wear open over it, and the blue jeans, and proceeded into the bathroom.

“Don’t use all the hot water!” Giles called after him.

Spike ran the shower and stepped inside, letting the hot water flow over him. It was soothing, and calmed his nerves about the day. It was not only the first time he had been to an American school, but it was the first time he had been to *any* school for a long time. Part of him wished that he had just got a job, but Giles had had none of it.

“You’re an intelligent young man, William; it would be a waste if you spent the rest of your life delivering pizzas or mopping floors. Do you want that, or are you going to turn your life around and make something of it?”

He had a point. Spike reached for the shampoo. It wasn’t that he wasn’t grateful for everything Giles had done for him; he just wished he didn’t have to face this particular inner demon.

The smell of sausages and onions permeated the flowery scent of the shampoo. Spike finished washing his hair, turned the shower off and stepped out, wrapping a towel around him. He sighed as he looked in the mirror. In ten months, Spike had changed into quite the handsome young man. After his arrival in America, whilst waiting to be enrolled at the school, he had taken up both swimming and karate and developed an enviable physique. He had cut his hair shorter, dyed it peroxide blonde, and wore it gelled back to get rid of the curls. He also wore contacts now instead of glasses. But he still felt the same useless William inside.

“Oh, well,” he murmured to himself. “Nothin’ I can do about that.”

He dressed and joined Giles in the kitchen, who looked him up and down. “That’s what you’re wearing?”

“Well, I could wear all black if you would prefer.”

Giles handed him a plate. “Just eat your breakfast.”

-----

“Buffy, I know you’re upset, but you’ve been talking about your dad all night *and* all morning,” Willow said gently as they walked up the school steps. “Please can we talk about something else? It’s not good for you to obsess like this.”

“Who’s obsessing? I’m not obsessed. Not one bit.”

“Yes you are. Come on. Let’s go to the library.”

“Is anyone even in yet?” Buffy looked around. The campus was practically deserted. It was just the two girls. There was bound to be someone inside, but they had arrived far earlier than usual.

“You know how early Giles is, he’ll be there. Come on, Buffy.”

To their surprise, the library was just as empty as the rest of the school. Willow and Buffy sat and pulled out their school books.

The two of them, and Xander Harris, had all been best friends since kindergarten. The girls lived next door to each other, and Xander’s house was across the street. Their parents were all friends, and the three of them were almost inseparable, despite their differences.

Buffy challenged Cordelia Chase for the title of the most popular girl in school. She was pretty, blonde, on the cheerleading team, and was liked for her general kindness and equal respect. Although she and Cordelia could almost be called friends, there was a definite underlying rivalry, especially as Cordelia seemed to resent the fact that Buffy could remain as popular as she was when she “hung around with those losers”, meaning Xander and Willow. The two of them were largely regarded as nobodies, especially as Willow was very shy and had a bit of a stammer.

“I’m not helping you guys with your homework any more, Buffy,” Willow said firmly, folding her arms and glaring across the table. “Find the metaphor on your own.”

“I’ve tried,” Buffy moaned. “*Please* come off strike, Will. I … I promise not to talk about my dad for a whole ten minutes.”

“Sorry, Buffy. You’re on your own.”

“Meanie.” Buffy sighed. Maybe Giles would help her out. He knew everything about everything, after all. Except synchronised swimming, he had once mentioned.

To their surprise, Giles continued to be absent, even as the rest of the students and teachers straggled into school, and Xander eventually turned up.

“Where’ve you been, late guy?”

He grinned as the bell rang. Xander repeatedly diagnosed himself as allergic to being at school longer than necessary and had a different excuse for not joining them, many of the times the girls stayed late or arrived early to study. “I was washing my dog.”

“You don’t have a dog, Xander,” Buffy reminded him.

He mock-pouted. “Don’t burst my bubble.”

“C’mon, we’d better go to class.”

-----

As the three of them settled in their seats for History class, Amy leaned in and said to Buffy, “have you seen the new guy?”

“What new guy?”

“Eighteen. Totally hot. Heard him talking with Principal Flutie. He’s British.”

“What’s his name?”

“Stake, or something weird like that.”
Buffy raised her eyebrows. The conversation died down as the teacher entered. Before the lesson could begin, there was a hesitant knock on the door.

“Come in,” the teacher called.

The door opened, and most of the females in the class sat up a little straighter. The young man there was definitely good-looking and hovering unsurely.

“Oh, you must be our new student.” He nodded. “Come in, sit down. Class, this is Spike Williams.”

“Knew it was something pointy,” Amy muttered.

There was a spare place just in front of Buffy, and for one heart-thumping moment she thought he might sit there, but instead Spike was given a place at the front of the class by the teacher’s desk. He never even looked in her direction.

“Thought you said he was eighteen?” Buffy whispered sideways.

“That’s what he said to Flutie. Guess he must have been held down a couple of years.”

Buffy kept half an eye on Spike all through the lesson. He certainly seemed to want to take part in the class, but there was a lot of the material he didn’t seem to know. *Of course*, Buffy suddenly thought. *He’s British; he must have just moved here, and doesn’t know American history very well.* She made up her mind immediately to introduce herself and offer help. It must be horrible to move to another country and not know much about it.

History ended, and they went straight to French. Spike was in this class too, but unlike previously, he had a quiet word with the teacher before class and sat out of the general discussion, just listening and following the textbook. Buffy failed to catch his eye again and when the bell rang for break, he ventured outside. Buffy decided to get her things out of her locker and go back to the library to try and persuade Willow to help her again, and save the introductions for lunchtime.

-----

That hadn’t been so bad, Spike thought, breathing a sigh of relief. He’d known he would be still be behind in everything, despite whizzing through what seemed like every school textbook under the sun with Giles since he’d arrived in America. The thought of the rest of his classes, though, made him wish desperately that he had a cigarette. But the thought of being caught smoking on campus on his first day had been enough to make him pack the nicotine patches Giles had presented him with instead. They didn’t stop him from wanting a smoke, but they took the edge off.

He had barely taken a step back inside when he was accosted by a girl he thought he had seen in his class. She was tall, brunette, and fairly pretty, with a wide smile that made him take an involuntary step backwards.

“Hi!” She extended her hand. “I’m Cordelia Chase. On behalf of all the cool and popular, welcome to Sunnydale High!”

Spike stared at her. “Er … thanks?”

Someone behind Cordelia laughed and remarked, “Don’t listen to her, she just likes to think she’s the school queen.” Spike’s mouth practically fell open. The girl who had spoken was breathtaking. Before he had time to admire her properly, she shot him a small smile, turned and left, calling after a friend to wait.

“Who’s *that*?” he murmured in wonder.

Cordelia frowned. “Oh, that’s nobody. So, you’re the new English kid, right?”

Spike shook himself. “Uh, yeah, that’s right. I’m Spike, Spike Williams.”

Cordelia slipped her arm into his, and Spike stared at her as if she had grown an extra head. “Would you like the grand tour?”

“Actually, I’ve already seen where everything is … but I appreciate the offer,” Spike said, keen to get rid of her but not wanting to be rude.

He was suddenly aware of many pairs of eyes on him and turned to see several groups of students watching the two of them. As he stared at a group of girls, they all turned away, breaking into giggles.

“Er … do I have something on my face or something?” he asked Cordelia.

“Don’t pay attention to them, they’re just giggling over the new hottie.” Spike started to feel hot in the face as she smiled charmingly at him. “But if you stick with me, you won’t have to deal with them.”

“Hottie?” Spike said blankly.

“Dish. Eye candy. *Good-looking guy*,” Cordelia translated.

“I know what it means, I meant, *me*?”

“Oh, my goodness, are you one of those guys who’s just oblivious to his own attraction power? Or are you just really, really modest? Either way, that’s *so* sexy.”

All right. That was it. “Cordelia, for the record, you’re not really my type.” He smiled at her and dropped her arm. “But it was nice to meet you.”

Maybe no guy had ever turned her down, Spike wondered as he escaped, leaving Cordelia staring after him with her mouth open. He found his locker, opened it and started piling in the books he wouldn’t need for next lesson, when someone strode behind him, calling loudly, “Hey, Buffy!”

*What kind of name is Buffy?* Spike thought, as he automatically turned his head before freezing. The girl who had been addressed was the one who had told him not to listen to Cordelia. She was gorgeous, blonde and slight, with a good-humoured face and, he remembered, a warm laugh. Buffy was chatting with two students next to her, a red-haired girl and the boy who had called her. A book slipped from Spike’s hands to the floor and landed on his foot. “Ow!”

He knelt down and picked it up, but when he’d straightened and looked back, the three of them were gone.

TBC …

Chapter Two: Skiving off School

Spike was glad he’d eaten well at breakfast time when he saw what the cafeteria food was like. Making a mental note to make his own lunches from now on, he skipped the main meal – whatever it was supposed to be – and took an apple, a banana and a bottle of water, and froze in the middle of the room, wondering what to do now. Every table had people sitting at it. He spotted Cordelia Chase trying to catch his eye and quickly turned to look in the opposite direction. A group of students were just leaving a table and he hurried over and sat down, only to be joined immediately by a two guys, one with a jacket emblazoned with the school logo on the back, who introduced themselves as Larry Blaisdell and Percy West. They seemed friendly enough, if a little full of themselves. But Spike decided not to complain. They beat the last “friends” he had had by a long shot.

“Check out the drooling chicks,” Larry commented, nodding towards one of the girls’ tables. Glancing over, Spike saw them all turn away quickly, giggling like mad.

“Everyone’s been doin’ that all day,” he murmured.

“Well, *duh*.” Percy rolled his eyes. “Make the most of it, dude. You starting at this school’s been the biggest news since the swim coach got sacked for giving the team steroids. The interest’ll wear off in time, so grab a couple of girls now before they set their sights on someone else!”

“Um … all right.” Spike paused. “There was one, actually. Either of you know a girl called Buffy? Blonde, kind of short, absolutely gorgeous …”

“Buffy Summers? Sure,” Percy said. “She’s like the most popular girl in school, ‘cept for Cordelia Chase. They’re deadly rivals.”

“Oh,” Spike said. Another girl like Cordelia? Looks were most definitely not everything. Shame.

“I think she’s single,” Larry said in a thoughtful tone. “That Finn guy she was dating left town a couple of months back and I haven’t seen her with anyone new.”

“Um … no, I don’ think so,” Spike said. “Not if she’s like Cordelia.”

Percy raised his eyebrows. “You met dear Cordy already, huh?”

Spike nodded. “Call it repulsion at first sight.”

They stared at him as if he’d grown an extra head. “Are you crazy? She’s *Hot* with a capital H,” Percy exclaimed.

“Also shallow, self-centred and -- I think I need to look shallow up in the thesaurus, but you get the idea. I prefer my girls with personality.” Preferably not a psychotic one.

“Well, maybe she can come over a little strong,” Larry admitted. “Specially when a new guy starts. It’s a political statement. You’re new, you’re attractive to the female population, and she wants a date with you before anyone else, especially Summers. Like a competition.”

“And, explain which part of that is not shallow or self-centred?”

There was a pause.

“You’re just too picky, Spike.”

Spike chuckled. “I would just rather go out with someone I know *wants* to go out with me, rather than to make a statement. Even if that means no one ever does.”

Larry laughed. “I doubt that. Look at you, man. What makes you think no one would want to date you?”

Spike shrugged. “Past experience, I guess. I’m just not used to this kind of attention,” he admitted. “I haven’ had a lot of luck with girls before now.”

“Well, you’re new, which helps. And chicks really dig the British accent,” Percy assured him.

“English.”

“Same thing.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Well, either way,” Larry said quickly to stop an argument, “they love it. And hey, you’re not *my* type, but you didn’t exactly lose in the looks lottery.”

-----

Spike thought about their conversation as he made his way back to his locker to pick up his books. He wondered how much truth there was in what Larry and Percy had said. Did girls really find him attractive nowadays? At his old school, he hadn’t exactly been popular, and Drusilla was the only girl who’d paid him any sort of attention other than taunting him. Maybe he had changed more than he thought.

He found his locker and pulled out his English books. It was the one subject he was really looking forward to and the only, he knew, he was likely to do well in. Spike wasn’t sure whether this would help or impair his potential social life. The best he could do, he supposed, was do his best and see how people reacted, hoping he wouldn’t be branded a wuss all over again.

“Hi,” someone suddenly said beside him. “It’s Spike, right?”

“Ye-ow!” Spike turned his head abruptly, only to bash his nose painfully on his locker door. He could feel himself going scarlet as he realised who had spoken. Buffy Summers was smiling at him, her expression changing to concern as he rubbed his nose. “I’m sorry! Are you all right?”

“F-fine,” Spike assured her, starting to stammer as he did so. Up close, she was even prettier; her eyes were green, his favourite. He kicked himself.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Um.” Spike coughed awkwardly.

“I’m Buffy Summers.” She shifted her books under one arm and held out a hand, which Spike hesitantly shook, ignoring the voice inside his head telling him to walk away now. “Welcome to Sunnydale – Actually, welcome to America,” she smiled. “You been here long?”

“A few months,” he replied. “Took a while for my transfer to work out.”

“You like it here?”

“I …” Spike paused. “It’s … different.”

“I imagine it must be pretty overwhelming, moving to a new country,” she said thoughtfully. “Listen, I was thinking, maybe sometime you and I could -”

Spike, coming to his senses, cut her off. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

Buffy looked taken aback. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“Look. I know all about you and Cordelia’s get-a-date-with-the-new-guy-first crap. And I’m not interested in dating someone who only wants me to make a statement.”

Hurt and anger flashed in Buffy’s eyes and Spike suddenly realised how that must have sounded. “*Actually*, Spike, I was going to ask if sometime you’d like a friend to show you around town, and an introduction to the American teen lifestyle. I don’t know who told you about Cordelia’s habits, but rest assured nothing like that ever crossed *my* mind.” Before Spike could register the meaning of her words, let alone form some kind of response, she pushed him aside, straight into his locker door, and hurried down the corridor, rounding the corner at a run.

Spike, shocked, slowly slid down the lockers and sat on the ground, massaging his sore nose. Had he been wrong after all? He groaned as it suddenly hit him that he had probably just ruined his chance of making a friend at this school.

At least he wasn’t at school to make friends.

Spike stood up, gathered his books and headed for English. Buffy wasn’t in the class, but the teacher called out her name on the register. Not long into class, her redheaded friend left for the bathroom and never returned. Spike found it hard to focus on the class, despite it being on poetry. Nevertheless, at the end of the class, Ms. Miller called him over and told him she was impressed.

*Well,* Spike thought, *Not a bad reaction, considering I don’t think I took in a word of what she said.*

-----

Willow paused outside the English classroom. She had lost count the number of times she had been through a similar conversation in the last few months. Most of the time Buffy seemed to be coping okay, then something would happen – often something trivial – that rocked the boat, and she was left in tears. At least the teachers understood why. When Buffy had eventually come back to school, Flutie had assured her and her mother that Buffy was not the first student to have been through a similar grief, and that allowances could and would be made. It was a good thing, too, Willow thought as she knocked.

“Come in.”

Willow entered the classroom. “Um, Ms. Miller?”

The teacher sighed. “Yes, Willow?”

“I-I’m sorry about class today. Buffy couldn’t … couldn’t handle it, and … I felt I needed to be with her.”

Ms. Miller nodded. “Thank you, Willow, and under the circumstances I completely understand. However, maybe next time you could simply tell me at the beginning of class, rather than making me send out a search party when you don’t return from the bathroom?”

“Sorry, Ms. Miller.”

Buffy was sitting with Xander outside. As Willow drew near enough to hear them, Xander was saying, “So you blew off English ‘cause the new guy was cold and rude to you?”

Buffy glared at him. Her eyes were slightly red. “It wasn’t just about that, Xander.”

“Right, you also haven’t done your homework. Isn’t that called taking advantage?”

“Shut up, Mr. Insensitive,” Willow said, giving him a shove. “That’s got nothing to do with it. Right, Buffy?”

Buffy nodded, looking down at the ground. “I just … You know what I’ve been like lately, Xander. The littlest thing and I’m blubbing for half an hour.” She frowned at her shoes. “It’s worse than when I was …” She trailed off, but she didn’t have to finish her sentence. They knew what she meant.

-----

Although Buffy and Willow had appeared for the rest of the day, they and Xander determinedly ignored Spike. He had tried his best to return the favour, not entirely sure what to say if he had to talk to one of them. After classes were over, Spike headed to the library. It was empty. He put his things down on the end of the table and called, “Giles?”

There was no answer, so he pulled out his homework. After a few minutes, Giles came out of his office.

“Oh, Spike. How was the first day?” Giles looked at him. “Spike?”

“Okay,” Spike muttered.

Giles continued looking at him for a moment. “Did you make any friends?”

“Dunno. Though I think I’ve made three enemies quite easily.”

He heard Giles sigh and tried to avoid his eye. “What happened?”

Spike snapped his textbook shut. “There was this girl. I got it into my head from stuff people said that she was really shallow and only interested in getting a date with the new guy before her rival. She tried to suggest we go around the town sometime so she could show me around, but I wouldn’t let her finish before I told her I wasn’t interested. I was really rude to her.” Spike paused. “Now she hates me. And her friends too.”

“Oh dear.” Giles removed his glasses and began to polish them. “Who was this girl?”

“Buffy Summers. You know her?”

“Buffy? Yes, I know her very well. Who said all those things about her?”

“No one,” Spike admitted. “Everyone said them about Cordelia Chase, and said Buffy was like her, so …”

“Ah.” Giles looked at Spike seriously. “I don’t think I have to tell you, you’ve made a terrible mistake there.”

“No, you don’t have to tell me.”

“From what I’ve seen, and heard from the other students, Cordelia is very shallow and extremely competitive. Buffy doesn’t take popularity very seriously; she’s a lovely girl, kind, hard-working … She and Xander and Willow spend a lot of time in here.” Giles checked his watch. “They should be here any minute, actually.”

“What? They’re coming here? *Now?*”

“They normally do – Use the library’s resources for an hour or so after school each day.”

Spike started gathering up his things.

“What do you think you are doing?” Giles grabbed his arm and said firmly, “Oh, no you don’t. You are going to stay here and do your homework and when Buffy comes you can apologise for earlier.”

“But – I can’t -”

“Tell her you’re sorry for being rude to her. You won’t get anywhere by just avoiding her.”

-----

There was already a place set with homework when Willow, Buffy and Xander arrived at the library.

“Is Oz here? I thought he said he was -” Willow began, but broke off as voices sounded from among the shelves.

“Spike, was this the one you wanted?”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

The new guy came down the steps, loaded with books, and froze when he saw them there. All four students waited, and Giles appeared a moment later.

“Oh, hello, you three.”

The scene began to unfreeze as he started stacking books and the three arrivals sat down at the table and began to get out their own. Spike slowly placed the books Giles had given him in his place and sat down as well. All were avoiding eye contact, and began working in silence.

Buffy chewed the end of her pencil, and eventually broke the quiet. “Willow, please come off strike. I swear we’ll never take advantage of you again. *Please* help me out, I really don’t get this.”

“Nope.”

“But it’s *poetry*. You know that’s my weak point. I’m useless at it.”

Spike looked up. “Poetry?”

“Hey, this is a private conversation, Ice Man,” Xander snapped.

Buffy looked at Spike. He went slightly pink, but determinedly held her gaze. His eyes didn’t look cold. On the contrary, they looked hopeful.

“I’m good at English,” he ventured. “Can I help?”

Buffy hesitated, but there was sincerity on his face. She pushed the book towards him. “I have to find the metaphor in this. I’ve been through every word, every *syllable*, but I’m still not getting it.”

Spike scanned the poem, and he grinned. “I’ve done this one before. See, what you need to do, is step back a little – figuratively speaking – and view the piece as a whole, rather than analysing it word by word.” He returned it. “Does that help?”

Buffy re-read the poem, and suddenly it was obvious. “Yes! I think I’ve got it!” She looked up at him in bewilderment. “Thanks, I guess.”

“You’re welcome.”

The four of them continued working quietly, but the atmosphere was a little less awkward. Finally, Buffy sighed and started packing away her things.

“I think I’m gonna call that a day. My mom’s probably worrying.”

Her friends murmured goodbyes. Spike stayed put until Buffy was almost out the door, when he suddenly bolted after her, knocking his chair over, and caught up with her just outside the library.

“Um, Buffy?”

She turned. “Yes?”

Stumbling slightly over his words in his haste, Spike said, “I wanted to apologise for earlier. I was really rude -”

“Yeah, you were,” Buffy agreed.

“I’m sorry. I just … I heard a lot of things about you and Cordelia and I, and I made presumptions about you based on that before I got to know you. I’m really, really sorry.” He paused for breath. “I really want to get along here and making mortal enemies wasn’t exactly on my top ten list of things to do on my first day. Bloody hell, I’m babbling like an idiot.” Buffy smiled slightly. “So … do you think you can forgive me?”

She considered the young man standing before her. She supposed it was his first day. And he was pretty cute, with the deep blue eyes, pronounced cheekbones, and the accent, and the way he was blushing now as she looked at him. And, despite the misunderstanding earlier, he seemed nice enough, helping her out even when she was ignoring him. He seemed an interesting character, and Buffy found herself wanting to know him better.

“Maybe,” she finally said playfully. “If you make it up to me.” A thought struck her. “Do you have a car?”

He shook his head. “’Fraid not. Giles drives me.”

So he couldn’t give her a lift home. “In that case, I’ll have to think of something else.” She paused. “Perhaps you could help me out with English sometime? I’m not really *bad* at it, but you’re definitely better.”

Spike smiled. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Great. Thanks … Spike. And … You know, the offer’s still open, if you’re interested.”

“Well, I guess it would be good to have a tour of Sunnydale from a teenager’s point of view rather than a forty-something-year-old’s,” Spike said thoughtfully. “All right, I’m in, thanks.”

“Okay, then. Why don’t we talk tomorrow at lunchtime? I’ve got to get home now.”

Spike nodded. “’Course, that would be great. Do you need a hand?” he asked, gesturing towards Buffy’s books under her arm.

“No, thanks, I’ve got it.” Buffy smiled at him. “See you …” She trailed off. “Giles drives you here?”

“What?” Spike said blankly.

“You said Giles drives you here.” Buffy’s face registered comprehension. “Are you two related?”

“He’s my godfather.”

“Wow. Small world.”

“Not really, he enrolled me here when I came to live with him.”

“Oh. Well … Guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Spike nodded. “Better not keep your mum worrying.”

-----

London, Six Years Earlier

“I can’t do P.E today, sir.”

“Why not, William?”

“I forgot my kit.”

This was not strictly true. Ever since starting at “Big School” two years ago, William had been trying various ways to get out of his least favourite lesson, including leaving his P.E kit at home. Unfortunately, his mother always seemed to find wherever he had stuffed it out of sight and presented it to him as he walked out of the door. Today, however, after she remarkably managed to retrieve it from behind the boiler, William had thrown it in a skip on the way to school.

“Do it in your underwear. And then I want you to write lines, one hundred times: I must not be a forgetful sod and leave my Physical Education kit at home where I cannot use it for lessons and have to parade around in my underpants.”

William undressed as slowly as he could, in his usual corner by the fire exit where he was mostly out of sight. He folded up his school uniform with shaking hands, picturing the inevitable reaction from his classmates. He frequently heard mutters of “Mama’s boy” and “Useless Eustace” in P.E, which was the only time any of his class acknowledged his existence. He was always, always picked last for teams, the only exception having been when one of the other boys had come to school with a filthy cold no-one wanted to catch.

The boxers William was wearing were the worst he could have possibly worn; they were patterned with Santas and reindeer, a joke present in his stocking last Christmas. The thought of all the jeering they were bound to elicit filled him with dread. He would probably have something like “Santa’s Little Helper” added to his list of nicknames.

The coach presented him with the spare P.E kit, which consisted of a t-shirt and pair of trainers too small for him which were almost black with grime, smelt strongly of the boys’ toilets, and had SPARE PE KIT written all over them in large black letters. William pulled the shirt over his head, squashed his feet into the trainers and was roughly pushed into the gym by the coach. “Get a move on, William, we don’t have all year.”

At first no-one noticed William’s get-up, but as he moved self-consciously to his usual place in the back of the crowd, titters rang out. William snatched his glasses off his face so he couldn’t see them laughing at him. A moment later, the coach entered and they all quietened down.

For as long as he had done P.E, William had always been useless at it. He could run fast, but throw a ball in his direction and ninety-nine times out of a hundred he would completely miss it. A few months ago, the school bully, Angel Lyan, had punched him in the mouth so hard it broke his top front teeth clean in half. The injury was no longer noticeable since the dentist had fixed caps on, but William hated anything near his face and shied away from every ball, even if it was aimed at several feet away from him. He was labelled a “scaredy-cat” in addition to “useless”. The coach was the worst.

He wasted hours on William, even forcing him into one-on-one training sessions after school, which were pure torture. “Come *on*, William,” the coach would say angrily. “Don’t let me down. Put some effort into it, you useless boy.” The coach seemed to take it as a personal insult that William was no good at his subject, and when William failed to reach the coach’s standards, insults would be thrown – sometimes both ways – which just served to deepen the hatred felt between them.

The coach had been warned about his verbal abuse at the students. But the head teacher never took further action. William secretly thought she was scared of him. Everyone else was.

The teams were picked, and William hovered as far away from the ball as possible, hoping today wouldn’t be one of the days the coach said -

“William? Come and stand over here.”

And so the torture session began. William’s teammates groaned as he ducked around whoever had the ball, and missed when they had no choice but to pass to him. As usual, he did his best to ignore the jibes, but they still hurt as deeply as ever.

The coach blew the whistle for a time-out. William’s glasses had fogged up, and he removed them to wipe them clean. It took him a moment to realise the game was re-starting, and just as he was replacing his glasses the ball, thrown with deadly accuracy from the coach, hit him smack in the face. He let out a yell of pain as his hand smashed between the ball and his face, his knuckles colliding with his teeth. Pain jarred through his top jaw, and he couldn’t stop tears starting to leak down his face.

“William, quit being a cry-baby and pass the ball on!” the coach snapped.

Instead, William dropped the ball and ran out of the hall, followed by catcalls and the coach’s angry yells.

He didn’t go to another P.E lesson. He found the attic-space above the Art classroom and hid out there during the lessons, and every detention he was given for skipping them. It was the beginning of a dangerous pathway.

-----

Sunnydale, Present Day

The first lesson the next day was P.E. It wasn’t until the class were assembled in the gym that anyone realised someone was missing.

“Has anyone seen Mr Williams?”

Larry spoke up. “I saw him just before the bell went, he’s definitely here.”

Coach Marren checked his watch and looked back at the door. “We’ll give him a couple more minutes and then get started.”

“Do you think Spike got lost?” Willow murmured.

“Who cares?”

“Xander, it was a simple misunderstanding.” Buffy frowned. “The gym’s not *that* hard to find, surely.”

The coach began the lesson. Spike didn’t show at all.

“If any of you see Mr Williams, please let him know that, first week or not, he *will* get detention for unauthorised absence.”

TBC …

Chapter Three: Pep Talks and Puppies

Buffy headed for the library after gym finished. She entered the room and stopped, hearing Giles’ voice coming from the office. His tone was uncharacteristically sharp, and she hovered unsurely, not wanting to be found eavesdropping.

“Now, I understand and accept that this is hard for you Spike, but you came here for a fresh start and that’s what I expect to see from you. If you skip another class, I will pull you out of school and you will be earning your keep at the Doublemeat Palace. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” she heard Spike mutter.

Buffy slipped out of the library, waited a moment, and then entered as loudly as she could. Giles and a rather ashen-faced Spike emerged from the office.

“Oh, good morning, Buffy.”

“Morning, Giles. Hey, Spike.”

The latter smiled at her. “Hi.”

“Did you want a book, Buffy?”

“Actually, I was just returning this one.” Buffy handed Giles a large History text. Giles took it and moved to shelve it.

“You two should be going to your next class,” he said, giving Spike a hard look.

“We’re going,” he replied.

The rest of the morning passed uneventfully. When Xander started to ask Spike where he was during P.E, Buffy kicked him under the table and shook her head. He turned the question into a cough and changed the topic. Otherwise, the subject wasn’t breached until lunchtime.

Spike and Buffy sat together on an otherwise empty table, Buffy with her “muck” as Spike affectionately referred to it as, and he armed with a lunchbox.

“I don’t know how you can eat that stuff,” he said, eyeing her plate with distaste. Today it was supposed to be spaghetti bolognaise. To Spike it looked more like anaemic worms in ketchup.

“I’m not fussy,” Buffy shrugged. “I’ll eat pretty much anything. What have you brought then that’s so much better than the cafeteria food?”

He took the lid off his lunchbox and showed her. “Tuna and pasta salad. And Nutty Berries.”

“Nut-what? Ooh, cookies!”

He grinned at her. “With chocolate chips. White ones, today.”

“They look delicious,” Buffy said wistfully.

“You can have one or two if you want. I’ve got plenty more at home.”

“Really? You don’t mind?” Buffy picked one up and examined it. “Where do you get them from?”

“It’s my own recipe.”

“Wow. What’s in them?”

“Brazil nuts, strawberries, cranberries and of course the choc chips.”

She took a bite. “Oh my – they’re gorgeous!” Spike blushed as if the comment had been about him rather than his cookery. “You seriously make these yourself?”

He nodded. “Want the recipe?”

“Do I?” Buffy said, as if the question was ridiculous.

“Mostly I just sort of go by instinct when I’m cooking, but I’ll see what I can do about writing out the recipe for you.”

“You should market these,” Buffy told him.

“That’s what Giles says. Actually, he says that about a lot of things I make.”

“Do you cook a lot?” Buffy asked.

“We take turns. He says I’m better than him though.”

She laughed. “Do you believe him?”

Spike shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe. He’s always only cooked for himself, whereas by the time I was six I could do a simple dinner for four people unsupervised. I reckon, even though he’s older than me, I’ve had more experience.”

Buffy’s eyes widened. “By the time you were six?”

“Only simple stuff, you know, like jacket potato. Couldn’ do a roast on my own till I was nine.”

“Still … that’s really early,” Buffy said in amazement. “How did you learn so young?”

“My mum taught me.” Spike paused as he felt a pang in his heart. “It was our thing. I helped her out in the kitchen since before I could talk. Obviously at first I didn’ do much more than hold mixing bowls for her and lick the spoon -” Buffy laughed “- but I learned.”

“That sounds really nice,” Buffy said thoughtfully. “Wish I had something like that I did with my mom. Sounds like you two are close.”

A lump arose in Spike’s throat, and he just nodded. Buffy frowned slightly as a thought seemed to strike her. “Spike - if you don’t mind my asking - how come you live with Giles, and not your mom?”

Just two little words. She’s dead. No details needed. But Spike couldn’t bring himself to say them, or to see the sudden sympathy on her face as a result.

Buffy obviously noticed his expression, because she added in haste, “Or Buffy could just take her foot out of her mouth and change the subject, if you would prefer?”

“Yes, please.”

An awkward silence stretched for a moment before Buffy found a new topic and latched onto it. “So, when are you interested in the great Sunnydale tour?”

Spike replied gratefully, “What about tomorrow after school? I’ve got a karate class later.”

“I’m free then, too. Okay, it’s a date.” Buffy smiled. “You do karate, huh? What belt are you?”

“Only yellow. But I haven’t been doing it that long, I’m working my way up.”

“Did you do it in England?”

Spike shook his head. “No, I started a little while after arriving here. Swimming too. Giles got me a pass into the leisure centre for my birthday. I’m thinking of taking up rock climbing, too; they’ve got an indoor climbing wall.”

“Quite the active guy, aren’t you?” Buffy paused. “So -- just change the subject if you don’t want to answer -- but why weren’t you in P.E?”

“I was bunking off.” When Buffy frowned at him, he added, “I cut the class.”

“Yeah, the meaning was pretty obvious, I just … It’s not like you’re one of those people who hates anything physical; I just wondered if there was a special reason. Especially on your second day.”

Spike just looked at her for a moment. Did he trust her? He found that he did.

“I’ll tell you. If,” he said, “you tell me why you skived off English.”

“Fair enough.” Buffy sighed. “I wasn’t ‘skiving’, as you put it. Not exactly. See, a while ago I … I lost someone.” She swallowed. “I’ve been kind of … super-sensitive, I guess, since. The teachers understand. You upset me.”

“I’m sorry,” Spike said awkwardly, “I didn’t mean to -”

“I know, I’m just answering your question.” Buffy gave him a small smile to show she wasn’t trying to get at him. “Okay, your turn.”

Spike looked down at his hands. “At my old school, the P.E teacher was … well, he was a bully.” He paused. “He was only ever nice to those who were good at it, and even then he could turn nasty if they didn’t do what he wanted.”

Buffy remained silent, letting him continue.

“I was the worst in the class, and he made my life hell. When I was twelve or thirteen, he moved on from verbal abuse, and I started missing every P.E class after that.”

“Did you tell anyone about his behaviour?” Buffy asked finally. “One of the other teachers maybe?”

Spike gave a hollow laugh. “Everyone knew. But everyone was scared of him, so nothing was ever done about it.” He paused for a moment before forcing himself to meet Buffy’s eyes. “I was going to go in, I swear. I was in my kit and everything, and then … I just couldn’t do it.” Spike could hear the self-loathing in his tone and hoped Buffy couldn’t.

“This teacher of yours sounds like a complete jerk.” Buffy leaned forwards and touched Spike’s hand gently. “But he’s in your past. Coach Marren isn’t like that. He can be a bit hard on you if he thinks you’re not trying your best, but he’s a good teacher and he doesn’t abuse the students, verbally or otherwise. You don’t have anything to be afraid of.” Spike swallowed as she squeezed his hand gently. “We’ve got P.E again tomorrow; I think maybe you should get there during lunch and explain to him what you just told me. He’ll understand.”

“You think he will?”

“If he doesn’t, I’ll kick his ass.”

Spike chuckled, and Buffy smiled. “Knew I could get a grin. Look, I’ll go with you, okay? You don’t have to be on your own.”

“Thanks, Buffy.”

-----

“Mom, I’m home.” Buffy shrugged her bag off her shoulder. “Mom?”

“I’m up here,” Joyce called from upstairs. Buffy followed the sound of her mother’s voice and stopped dead just inside the spare room.

It had once been Buffy’s nursery and up until now, the faded wallpaper patterned with rocking-horses and teddy bears had remained. Joyce and Hank had talked for years about having more children, but it never happened; and plans laid down several months ago to redecorate had been scrapped suddenly. Afterwards, Buffy had wanted it to remain how it was and certainly didn’t expect to see Joyce standing on a stepladder in jeans and an old t-shirt, stripping the wallpaper.

Buffy found her voice. “Mom, what’s going on?”

“Well, honey, it’s about time we decorated this room; it’s been like this for years.”

Buffy found a lump in her throat as she watched the wallpaper tear, feeling as if the rip was inside of her. “Mom …”

Joyce stepped down from the ladder and turned to her. “Oh, Buffy, I’m sorry to spring this on you.” She pulled Buffy into a hug. “I know this is hard -”

“I’m not ready,” Buffy said hoarsely. “Why now?”

Joyce sighed. “Well, we need a spare room -”

“Why?”

“Buffy.” Joyce’s voice sounded tense. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

Buffy tensed. “Go on.”

“It’s … not going to be just you and me living here anymore, honey. There’s going to be an addition to our family.”

Buffy, alarmed, heard the same phrase ring in her memory in a different voice. “You’re not -”

Joyce laughed. “Goodness, no! - But - Buffy …” She took a deep breath. “You’re still going to be a big sister.”

“What?” Buffy frowned. “I don’t understand. Are you adopting a kid or something?”

“Well - not exactly.”

“Fostering then. Mom, why didn’t you discuss this with me before?”

“I’ve only had about twenty-four hours’ notice.” Joyce sat down on the rungs of the stepladder. “Buffy, your father rang me the other day -”

“I know. So?”

Joyce sighed. “Dawn’s your half-sister, Buffy.”

“My what?” Buffy gasped.

“Your half-sister. On your father’s side, not mine.” Joyce paused. “Dawn is eleven years old and a sweet kid, as far as I’ve seen.”

There was a few moments’ silence while Buffy attempted to process this. Finally, she said, “Dad has another daughter?”

“Yes.”

“She’s eleven?”

Joyce knew what she was thinking. “Yes, she is; and yes, I know what that means. But what your father did while we were married is ancient history, and it’s not Dawn’s fault.”

“Why’s she coming here?” Buffy asked.

“Because there’s nowhere else for her to go,” Joyce replied sadly. “She’s had a rough time, Buffy. Her mother doesn’t want anything to do with her; she’s been raised by her grandmother, who’s just died. Your father didn’t know Dawn existed, he only found out when she was sent to live with him - And it’s not working out. I went up there this morning after your father practically begged me to come and mediate between the three of them -”

“Three?”

“Him, Dawn and his girlfriend.”

“Right. And?”

“Dawn was just about ready to run away, Buffy. I could see there was no hope for the situation, and I offered her a home with us. She’s going to arrive tomorrow. Give us time to sort all this out for her.” Joyce gestured round the walls.

Buffy looked around at the room. She couldn’t imagine someone else in here; someone else in the family.

“I know it’s sudden, but Buffy, you’re the only real family she has left. Maybe you can do your best to help her feel welcome in ours?”

“I’ll try my best, Mom,” Buffy whispered.

“Good. Could you give me a hand here?”

Reluctantly, Buffy started helping her mother strip off the old wallpaper, pocketing a corner to keep, and painting the walls white. After dinner, Joyce produced several tins of coloured paint she had bought earlier that day and they began on a design Joyce had drawn up herself.

“I’ve ordered a new bed, chest-of-drawers, and small desk from that furniture store,” Joyce said as they admired their handiwork. “They won’t arrive till next week, but we’ve got the camp bed till then.” She thought a moment. “Maybe we should put up some shelves, they’re not too expensive. And maybe we should get her some presents - from what I’ve seen, what she owns can fit into one small suitcase, clothes included.”

Buffy looked round at the brightly-painted walls. “We should add curtains to the list.”

“Of course, I knew there was something. Right, curtains tomorrow morning. What colour do you think, Buffy?”

Buffy looked around at the window. “That colour blue. And for presents, I think something for the room, like a dreamcatcher or one of those disco balls.”

“I’ll see what I can find.” Joyce put her arm around her daughter and sighed. “I have to admit, this is venturing into the unknown for both of us, but isn’t it kind of exiting as well?”

Buffy smiled. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

-----

Spike woke up to the next day with mixed feelings. On the one hand, he was looking forward to his “date” with Buffy – not just because it was her, but also because he was eager to see around the town from a teenager’s perspective. On the other hand, he was dreading his meeting with the coach.

Lunchtime arrived and although he didn’t feel particularly hungry, he took his sandwiches into the cafeteria. There was no spare table. Glancing around, he spotted Buffy and her friends and hesitated. Willow caught his eye and waved him over.

“I’m not intruding, am I?” Spike asked. “I don’t want -”

“Spike, sit down.”

He sat down hurriedly. Willow might appear shy but she could sound extremely authorative, he noted. Buffy didn’t seem to have noticed him sitting opposite her; she was staring blankly into her plate of mince (which looked even less appetising than the worms had). He was about to ask her if she was all right when a ginger boy at the table spoke. His name, Spike remembered, was Oz, and it was the first time he had spoken in front of him.

“Anyone want a puppy?”

They all looked at him, even Buffy reacting.

“And, the Random Question of the Day Award goes to …” Xander gestured in a dramatic fashion with his mouth full, spraying crumbs and nearly knocking a tray of food out of a passing Cordelia’s hands. She squealed, slapped him and ran to join her friends.

“Sorry!” he called after her. “Not …”

“I’m serious,” Oz continued as if there had been no interruption. “Fergie’s pups are ready to leave their mom, and my own mom won’t let me keep more than one. She said twenty dogs is enough for any household.”

“You have twenty dogs?” Spike asked in interest.

“He breeds them,” Willow said with pride. “And he has twenty-six, including the puppies.”

“Yeah, and my mom says I’ve got to start selling them.” Oz sighed. “I’d like to know they’re going to a good home.”

“I’d love to Oz, but you know my mom won’t let me have one,” Willow told him.

Spike hesitantly raised a hand as if he was in class. “I’m interested. I know how to look after a dog. I’d have to check with my godfather first, though.”

“Sure. If you like, you can come back to my place after school and see them.”

“I’ve got plans for later,” Spike said, grinning, “but I can come over tomorrow.”

“Great. I’ll give you the address.” Oz paused and patted his jacket pocket, looking for something. “Anyone got a pen handy?”

Spike passed Oz a blotchy biro and he started writing on a paper napkin.

“Have you had a dog before, then?” Willow asked.

He nodded. “My brother bought me a puppy when he went away to university.” He paused, not noticing Buffy’s head shooting up at the word “brother”.

“What happened?” Xander asked.

Spike decided on the edited version. “She got sick when I’d had her three years or so. My mum wouldn’t let me stay off school to look after her.” He paused. ”When I came home she was dead.”

“I’m sorry,” Buffy said.

“Thanks.”

“What was she called?” Willow asked.

“Aphrodite. Di for short.”

Oz looked up and handed him the napkin. “What breed was she?”

“Golden Labrador.” Spike considered. “What breed are your puppies?”

Oz began to answer, but Buffy cleared her throat. “Uh, Spike? Sorry to interrupt the doggy dialogue, but did I hear you say you had a brother?”

Spike gave her a funny look. “Yeah, why?”

“Oh, thank you!” Buffy sighed dramatically. “Everyone here’s a only child, and I’ve been trying to find someone who isn’t. You don’t have a sister as well, do you?”

Spike slowly shook his head. “’Fraid I don’, pet. Why’d you want to know?”

Buffy took a deep breath. “I’ve just found out I’ve got one.”

“One what?”

“One sister.”

“You didn’t know before?” Spike raised his eyebrows.

“She’s my half-sister, and I’ve never met her but Mom has and she’s invited her to come and live with us. She’s arriving after school. I was sort of hoping I could find someone who can give me some advice on being a big sister. She’s eleven, I think.”

“Can’ help you there, Buffy. My brother was nine years older than me and I haven’t seen him since I was seven.”

“How come?”

“He went off to Oxford and never came back.” Spike shrugged. “I’m not really the person to ask about sibling relations, especially not of the girly sort.”

“Great,” Buffy muttered. “Oh, well. I’ll wing it. How hard can it be?”

TBC …