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Fourth, Smile for the Cameras



That bloody awful, stupid, no good, rotten, evil, godforsaken vampire!



I refuse to call him by name.



No good son-of-a. . .



He’s been trailing around after me all over the house this evening, asking for. . .



“. . . a kiss, pet,” Spike says, leaning in the doorway to my bedroom, trying to look. . . actually looking very sexy.



His arm blocks my path, and all I want to do is grab my pajamas and take a nice long. . . very long bubble bath. I think I deserve it after the day I’ve had.



“No!” I hiss with a smile on my face.



“But we have to show the cameras how much *in love* we are.”



“In love! Pffff!” I push his arm aside. “I feel weird doing couple-y things in front of the cameras. *Most* people would.”



Spike’s shoulder connects with the doorframe, and he watches me with an irritating sparkle in his eye. “I’m not most people, love. I adore the camera, and the camera adores me!” He flashes his pearly whites for the tiny black camera that’s been installed from the corner of my bedroom ceiling.



Have to admit that he looks nice when he smiles. Wonder why he’s never done it much before.



I open the drawer to my bureau and pull out what I hope is my least sexy, most frumpy T-shirt and shorts for sleeping. I tell myself I’m doing this for those stupid social workers who will be watching this evening.



Yeah, right, I’m doing it for them.



As usual, Spike calls me on my choice, “Sexy, very sexy. Then again, you’d be sexy in a potato sack.”



Coming from anyone else, his comment would be a compliment. “You probably remember when the fashion was to wear potato sacks.” With that said, I grab the front of his shirt and start to drag him toward the bathroom. Recalling the ever-present eye one us, I loosen my grip, fall behind him, and push him forward until we’re in the bathroom and the door is shut.



Spike snorts and leans against the bathroom basin. I still can’t get used to vampire’s casting no reflection. “If you’re going to insult me, you’ll have to come up with something a little better than that.”



“Too tired,” I admit. That’s true enough.



“So, what’re we going to do tonight after the lights go out? I’m assuming you’re not going pat. . . I mean, you’re not going out.”



“Nope. Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow evening.” I can’t possibly muster the energy for patrolling right now.



Spike fingers the edge of my wrinkled sleep shirt. “Gonna take this off for me or what?”



“Or what,” I state flatly, jerking my T-shirt away from him. “Dawn’s in the house. I’m not doing anything. . . like *that* while Dawn’s in the house.”



“Oh, ho. So, you admit we’re doing something here. There’s something between us.” Spike likes to insert that little jewel whenever he can.



“That’s *not* at all what I said.”



He changes tactics, “So, anyway, I gave Dawn permission to go spend the night at Janice’s. . . soooo. . . we have the house all to ourselves.” He bites his lower lip in a way that’s maddeningly sexy. “*And* we can play rough if you like. I’d still like to know what you’re planning with those razors.”



“What?!” My jaw drops open before I can stop it from falling. “You let Dawn go to Janice’s for the night without consulting me?”



Spike shrugs and gives me a half-smirk. I just want to smack him.



“You know, pet, we have to share the responsibility for disciplining and raising Dawn. I figured that she might need a little break from the stress of social services. You know. . . time to adjust to the notion that she’ll be recorded every second of every day for the next three days.”



He has a point. Not that I’ll admit it. “And since when did we decide to share the responsibility?”



“Since forever!” He puts his cool palm against my forehead. “Got a fever or something? Fall and hit your head?”



My temper soars, and I bat his hand away. “Ha ha ha.”



He gives me a stern look with a twinkle in his eyes. “Buffy, don’t you wanna play nice married couple for the cameras?”



“Won’t it look suspicious if Dawn leaves within the *first* hour of taping?”



“Well, I figure this will be a good chance for us to show off our ability to work together and our sensitivity to Dawn’s needs as a teenager.”


Gah! I get so pissed when he starts talking logical when I’m already mad. I know that last thought makes no sense, but at the moment, I don’t want to make sense. So there. I cross my arms.



“So, no response to that, eh?” Spike asks. “Nice of you to admit when I’m right and you’re. . .”



“Wrong?” I interrupt, eyes blazing.



“Nope. Stubborn.”



Now I know I need some space. “What do you think they’ll think if we’re in the bathroom together for too long?”



He dives in closer until our lips are almost touching, and every fiber in my being begins to tingle. “That we’re a normal, healthy couple.”



“*This* between us. . . is anything but norm. . .” I’m cut off because Spike’s lips are just too tempting, and I groan because he knows just the right place to put his tongue and just the right place to touch my thigh and just the right place to. . .



And I may just lose myself yet again.



But then. . .



Brriiiinnnggg!



I almost jump out of my skin.



With the second phone ring, I pull myself out of Spike’s embrace.



“What’s that?”



Spike sighs. “The bloody phone.”



I tug the edge of my shirtsleeve back into place on my shoulder. “Go *away*.”



Now it’s his turn to be annoyed. “Can hardly do that, now can I?”



“The phone’s ringing. I have to answer it,” I state as if he’s the village idiot.



I stomp out of the bathroom, trying not to show how much I’m fuming. I snatch up the receiver beside my bed and say as calmly as I can, “Hello?”



“Buffy?”



“Dawn! Why are you calling?” I turn to see Spike standing in the doorway with his hands in his pockets.



Dawn doesn’t respond right away. “Because Spike told me to?”



“He did?”



“Um, yeah. He made me promise to call you guys when I got to Janice’s house.”



“He did?” For some reason, I’m repeating myself.



“Hello? Buffy, are you broken or something? I said he did. Listen, I’m putting Janice’s mom on the phone to ‘confirm’ my whereabouts.”



“What?”



Dawn sighs, and I hear the sounds of a phone being passed off.



“Buffy?” Janice’s mom has a pleasant, adult-sounding voice. Something inside me relaxes.



“Hello,” I say, restraining myself from calling her Janice’s mom because I don’t know her name.



“This is Linda, Janice’s mom. The girls are spending the night here.” She pauses and when I don’t say anything, she continues, “Don’t worry. They have plenty of soda and a pile of movies I’ve rented for them.”



“Sounds like they’re in good hands,” I manage.



“Okay, then. I’ll drop Dawn off at around 10 A.M. tomorrow morning?”



“Sounds great!” Gee, at least I’m saying a few more words at a time now.



After an awkward break, Linda says, “Okay. Have a good evening. Bye!”



Right as she’s about to hang up, I decide I want to appear at least halfway intelligent. “Oh! Linda!”



And it’s a rip-roaring success so far. . .



Lucky for me, she plays along, “Yes, dear?”



“Tell Dawn to be good.” Okay, so I’m a complete moron. Since I came back, I seem to have lost my ability to do a lot of things. . . one of them is the ability to converse with any semblance of sense.



Linda holds the phone away from her mouth and shouts to Dawn, “Your sister says to be good!”



So maybe I’m not the only one with conversation skill problems.



“Buffy!” Dawn complains from the background.



I grin to myself. “Thanks, Linda! Bye.”



“Bye, dear.”



I set the phone in the cradle and find myself drowning in the man’s. . . no, vampire’s eyes across from me.



In less than a second, my body is alive in every sense of the word. . . arms, legs, breasts, head, feet, hands. . . consumed with a fire that may very well char my soul. A tiny guttural growl escapes my throat, and I launch myself at him so that I’m enveloped in his cool embrace.



His hands are every where. . . touching all the places that are anticipating contact, and I hear myself moan in response. To get him back, I wrestle with his shirt until the bottom has escaped his jeans, and I run my warm fingers over his cool abdomen. He groans, and I smile with my lips covering his. He responds in kind by nipping lightly at my lips and then pressing them down over mine to erase the smile.



He breaks away so that air barely rushes between us. He doesn’t even bother to disguise the arrogance in his voice, “So, love, wanna go somewhere private or shall we shag here for the social wankers?”



Spike really needs to learn when to open his big mouth.



I shove him backward, harder than I intend, and he slams into the doorframe. “Shut up.” I push past him, deliberately hitting his arm with my shoulder. “I need to shower.”



The mask of pride melts off his face, and he steps toward me. “Pet, wait. . .”



“No waiting, Spike. I’m just doing this for practical purposes.”



He scoffs. “*Practical* purposes. Whatev. . .”



I whirl on him, holding an index finger up. “No, not *whatever*. *Practical purposes.*”



“Gee, and I thought you enjoyed sleeping with me.”



“I don’t,” I lie.



“So, I don’t even get brownie points for the way I dealt with Dawn?”



Ignoring the hurt in Spike’s tone, I slam and lock the bathroom door and lean against the sink. I just need some time to myself. Nothing untoward is happening between Spike and me.



I think I’ve convinced my brain. . . now I just have to convince my. . . body.



Yeah, right, my body.



I just hope I haven’t messed everything up by throwing that little temper tantrum for the cameras.



* * *



My body is warm, and my muscles are heavy from soaking away their tenseness in the bathtub. I turn the doorknob with confidence, intending to send Spike to sleep on the couch.



As soon as I open the door, a very sheepish appearing vampire greets me. “Hey,” he says with such a shy smile that I soften.



“Hey.”



“You have a nice bath?” He’s being surprisingly meek. What’s up with that?



“Yeah.” Gotta keep things short, or my resolve will break.



“Love, I’m sorry.”



Oh, crap. My resolve’s just been smashed to smithereens. “It’s okay. I-I’m on edge about the whole social worker slash camera fiasco.” I study my feet. I’m a little uncomfortable being nice to Spike. I can do civil but not nice. . . not with Spike.



“If you want, I’ll sleep on the couch downstairs.” His head is bowed, too, when I look up at him.



Something twists in my stomach. “No.”



“No?” he asks, confused.



“No. I want. . . . I mean, you can sleep with me.”



“You sure?”



I nod with a surety I don’t feel. “Yes.”



Another genuine smile breaks over his face, and for some reason I can’t fathom, I feel the tiniest twinge of guilt.



I’m just doing this for the cameras. . . yep, for the cameras.





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