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~*~

It hadn’t always been this way.

Spike could distantly remember a time, long ago, when he’d thought of Buffy as just a friend. His kid sister, even. So, so long ago, that was all she’d been.

Well, okay, it had actually been more like a year ago. But still, it felt like a fucking eternity.

Spike shifted uncomfortably and resumed his staring at her house.

Despite what Peaches thought, he wasn’t a pedophile. This whole damn thing had started when she was almost sixteen. He’d started noticing little things—how pretty she looked in a certain outfit, or how beautiful her smile was. At first he’d attributed it to a sort of brotherly pride in how she was growing up. That had lasted for all of a month.

He remembered the day his illusions had been shattered almost painfully vividly. It had been winter, about two months before her sixteenth birthday. They’d been ice skating in LA, a special treat from her dad because of all the work they did at the diner. Buffy hadn’t dressed warmly enough for the ice rink—she’d been so cold she was practically trembling.

Spike had tried to help her, had in fact been worried about her because she was so cold her lips were turning blue, but she’d stubbornly refused his assistance, claiming that she could handle herself. Unfortunately she’d been wrong—she’d fallen and bruised herself badly.

After that he hadn’t paid any attention to her protests. He’d gathered her in his arms and carried her over to one of the benches on the side of the rink.

”You okay, pet?” Spike asked anxiously, rubbing her back. Buffy was shivering and clearly trying to hold back tears. Her lips were rosy red from her biting them.

She nodded, hiccupping. “It’s just a little bruise,” she sniffled, rubbing her leg. “I was being dumb is all.”

“You couldn’t help it that you fell down, sweet,” Spike protested, rubbing her arms, trying to warm her.

She snuggled into his embrace. “Yeah, but I was all shaky and stuff and I wouldn’t sit down. That makes it my fault.”

Spike snorted. “Teenager logic.”

“Hey!” She pushed him away from her, her eyes sparkling with mock indignation. “That’s so unfair!”

“Life’s unfair,” Spike informed her with a smirk. “Best get used to it.”

She pouted—and Spike felt like he’d been hit by an anvil. “I don’t wanna,” she grumbled, before arching her back and stretching. “Okay,” she said, standing up on her skates only a little unsteadily, “Ready to skate again?”

Then she smiled. That wonderful, bright, beautiful smile that he loved so much. And he was lost.

That had been the end of the buggering line as far as he was concerned. It wasn’t at all brotherly to want to shag a girl into the ground when she pouted.

Well, it wasn’t all his fault. Buffy had a bloody gorgeous smile, after all. Any man who wasn’t a poofter noticed it.

But he’d spent months feeling so damn twisted. She wasn’t even sixteen! He was almost ten years older than she was, and he was lusting after her like some kind of dirty old man. He ought to be ashamed. He sure as hell hated himself enough.

Problem was, when he was with her, he didn’t feel dirty or old. He just felt like himself—Spike. And she was Buffy. And somehow, despite the age difference, despite a million other things, it felt right. Beautiful.

Beautiful, and just as tragic as a sodding play. Spike wasn’t a stupid man. He knew damn good and well that the chances of Buffy ever thinking of him as anything but an elder brother were virtually nothing. Oh, when she was younger she’d had a schoolgirl crush on him, but that was nothing and Spike knew it. Girls that age, they had crushes on any and every male they came in contact with. He could tell, since then her feelings had changed into something entirely platonic.

He sighed. When he’d started falling for her was a definite date, but to be honest, he didn’t remember when he’d started following her. Standing outside her house like some sort of pathetic wanker.

Whenever he’d started, though, he was embroiled in it now. Every time he saw her, even if it was just while she was working at the diner—every time he saw her, it was like a blow directly to his heart. She was beautiful, fun, young and yet so old for her age. She wasn’t even seventeen, yet she’d touched his heart like no one his own age had.

Spike took a deep drag on his cigarette, thinking darkly, wonder what kind of rotten bloke that makes me?

He knew. He was a sick, dirty bastard who was probably going to burn in hell forever, and if he had any common sense or self-preservation he’d leave now. In fact, he should just turn around and—

What the fuck was that tosser Peaches doing sneaking across her front lawn?

Spike expression darkened. Buffy’s ex—and damned if he didn’t inwardly rejoice every time he thought that—was walking across the grass, not even really bothering to keep himself hidden. Stupid bloke prob’ly thought wearing black would hide him, or some idiot tripe like that.

Actually, he was difficult to see, but since Spike had been standing in the same spot for almost an hour, he spotted the teen immediately. At first he considered just leaving and letting the teen get caught—but then Angel started trying to scale the tree that led to Buffy’s room.

Spike wanted to rip his head off.

He settled for ripping him out of the tree, grabbing one foot just before it disappeared into the branches and yanking hard. Angel fell like a rock.

“What the bloody hell,” Spike hissed quietly, “do you think you’re doing, Peaches?”

Angel leapt to his feet, straightening his jacket (and what kind of nancy-boy wears leather like that, anyway?) and sticking his chin out. “I was going in to talk to Buffy,” he said.

Spike had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Idiot makes it sound as important as the Second Comin’. “Sorry, mate, but I don’t think you’ll be doing that tonight.”

“What are you, her guardian?” Angel sneered at him.

Spike sighed and flexed his hand, deliberately drawing attention to his knuckles—and the fact that Angel’s nose still looked like a squashed tomato. “We’ve already been over this, but given that you’re dumb ‘s a post, I’ll repeat it. ‘m her friend. Which gives me the right to protect her. You’re her ex, which—“

“Which gives me the right to talk to her!” Angel finished angrily.

“No.” Spike’s voice was flat. Could he make smashing the little brat’s head in look like an accident? “It gives you the right to fuck off.”

“You bastard, I’m gonna—“

“Go home before your mum misses you.” Spike cut in again, smirking. One good thing about being ten years older than the chit he was in love with—her sorry boyfriend didn’t have a chance.

Unfortunately, Angel didn’t seem to understand that. The poor boy must’ve had fewer brains than Spike gave him credit for—because Angel’s next move was to launch himself at the blonde.

Spike sighed and, almost lazily, dealt Angel a crushing blow to his already-swollen nose.

“Auugh!” As abruptly as he’d attacked Spike, the brunette reeled back. “You bastard!”

“Should’ve learned the first time, I don’t screw ‘round with wankers like you,” Spike said coldly. “Now get the hell offa my girl’s property.”

To his surprise, Angel scampered away quickly. Gave up pretty quick…stupid git, Spike thought smugly. He glanced up at Buffy’s window, saying a silent goodbye, before setting off down the street.

It was a long time before he realized what he’d done wrong—why Angel had run off so quickly. High schoolers loved gossiping…

And he’d told Angel to get the hell offa my girl’s property.

Shit. Spike had a sudden vision of what her dad’s diner would be like the next day. School might be out, but that didn’t mean a juicy little tidbit like the one he’d just tossed to Angel wouldn’t make the rounds. Her day was going to be hell.

For a second he thought about going back—but no. He knew his girl; she’d just worry and not get enough sleep. Feeling guilt curl up in his stomach, Spike continued to walk home.

First thing in the morning he’d go back and wake her up, tell her what was wrong. Hopefully she wouldn’t toss him out the window headfirst. Once or twice in the past, she’d tried…

It was with those unsettling thoughts that Spike went home, stripped, and fell asleep.

~*~

“Well, he’s gone.” Joyce put the curtains back in place. “Not his best time, is it?”

Hank glanced at the clock. “Only an hour,” he remarked with surprise. “Think he’s getting better?”

“Judging by the state Angel was in when he ran off, he’s getting worse.” Joyce sighed and sat down. “Hank, what are we going to do?”

He looked at her levelly over his newspaper. “We’re not going to do anything, dear. You know that.”

“She’s just a baby, and he’s—“

“I know! Joyce, you think I haven’t thought about this? She’s my daughter, for Christ’s sake! But she has no idea what’s going on—I’m not even sure if he really does. And if I tried to separate them, they’d both tear me—or you, so don’t get any ideas—apart.”

She sighed. Hank was right. She hated it when that happened. “Okay, fine,” she acquiesced gracelessly. “But when this comes back to blow up in our faces, don’t look at me.”

Hank didn’t bother to glance up this time. “I never do.”

Their was a faint smile on his face when the crumpled-up napkin hit it.

~*~

A/N: Sooo? What did you think? ;) I hope I’m still living up to you guys’ expectations—I’ve gotten so many reviews and comments telling me how much you like this story. Thank you!! They mean so much to me—it’s incredibly awesome to know everyone is enjoying this =D And I am aware that no sane girl’s parents would put up with a ten years older semi-stalker in real life…but this is fanfic ;)





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