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~*~

Buffy slipped into her house at five PM that day. The decorating men had come and gone, leaving only the walls to be painted—and leaving Buffy with no reason to stay at Spike’s house any longer. She knew that they both would have preferred to stick around in the bedroom for another hour or four, but she also knew that while Fred was lenient, she wasn’t going to allow Buffy to stay at Spike’s house for two nights in a row.

Fred was in the kitchen, searching through their phonebook. She smiled welcomingly at Buffy. “I need the number for a pizza place,” she said by way of explanation.

“There should be one on the fridge,” Buffy suggested.

“Thanks.” Fred began rifling through the papers on the refrigerator. “So, did you guys use protection?”

Buffy almost dropped the bookend she’d been playing with. “What?”

“Protection,” Fred repeated patiently. “I know your mother told me that you’re using oral birth control, but with someone like Spike you really can’t be too careful. The likelihood of getting pregnant is of course slim, but the Pill won’t protect against diseases.”

Buffy squeaked. A real, actual squeak. Humiliating, yes, but considering Fred’s question, she thought it was impressive that she was even semi-verbal.

“I—we didn’t—“

“It’s okay, Buffy,” Fred said calmly—even sweetly! “I saw how you guys were looking at each other.”

“So you just assumed that we—“

“Buffy.” The older woman’s mouth was quivering as she restrained laughter. “I didn’t assume anything. You were gone all night, remember?”

It was then that Buffy realized exactly what Fred had done for her. Instead of calling the cops and getting them to haul her home—or just calling Spike’s apartment—she’d let them be.

“Sorry.” It was reluctant and, even to Buffy’s ears, a bit sulky—but it was an apology. “I’m sort of…people have been difficult.”

“You’d better not let last night get out, then,” Fred warned. “Didn’t your classmates spread some nasty rumors?”

“They did worse than that.” Buffy told Fred about the fliers and the taunts, concluding with a grim, “It’s a good thing we’re both so stubborn, or we’d’ve quit already.”

Fred shook her head. “I can’t believe people would do that,” she said. “What did your parents say?”

Buffy’s lips quirked in a smile. “They told Spike that he had their support. Needless to say, the good people of Sunnyhell are a little disappointed.”

“Well, just think. Two more years and you get out of here.”

“Thank God.”

“Ever thought about what’ll happen after that?” Fred asked casually.

Buffy shrugged. “I’ll go to college, I guess. My grades are good enough so that I’ll be able to get into a decent school.” She narrowed her eyes at Fred; her cousin had the look on her face that said she was planning something. “Okay, spill.”

“What?” Fred asked innocently.

“I can see the wheels doing the spinny thing in your head,” Buffy said matter-of-factly.

“You can not,” the brunette argued.

“Can so! There’s a purple hamster running on the wheel, turning all the gears in your head,” Buffy teased.

Fred rolled her eyes. “You’re just the tiniest bit crazy.”

“We’ve covered that,” she said cheerfully. “Anyway, what were you thinking of?”

“Well, a friend of mine spent a year abroad,” Fred began hesitantly.

“How does that involve me?”

“Don’t get touchy,” Fred admonished.

“I’m not, really. Just spill. Why are you talking about—oh,” Buffy said slowly, suddenly understanding.

“Sixteen is the legal age of consent in England, and Spike’s a native. It would probably be easier for you guys over there.”

“I’m starting to think it won’t be easy no matter what,” Buffy grumbled.

“Probably not,” Fred agreed. Buffy scowled—she sounded way too cheerful. “But really, you should consider England.”

“I don’t know…a foreign country?”

“Not foreign,” Fred protested. “Just different. And a lot more liberal as far as the age thing goes.”

“Maybe,” Buffy allowed. Right now, she didn’t want to think that far ahead. High school and Spike was enough for her to handle right now.

“I’m gonna take a shower, if that’s okay,” she said, rotating her shoulder and grimacing. “I probably smell really bad.”

Fred laughed. “It’s fine—go ahead, take your time.”

Buffy all but ran up the stairs.

~*~

It felt weird, standing in the shower naked. She’d done it a million times before, of course, and it actually felt weirder simply because it felt weird in the first place.

The last time she’d been naked, he was there.

She rubbed soap over her body awkwardly. Why was it that her hands felt like they didn’t belong to her? Something here was fundamentally wrong, that much she was sure of.

Buffy finished her shower as quickly as possible and tossed on some clothes. It was a Sunday, so of course Spike was off work, but Buffy still had her job at the diner. Dad might be here, but if he got word that she was slacking off, she’d be dead meat.

The day went by much too slowly. Buffy felt like she was moving in a fog, one that was unsettlingly miserable and happy at the same time. Was this some kind of whacky penance for losing her virginity?

Finally at six o’clock customer flow slowed enough that she was free. Buffy threw down her apron triumphantly and all but bounded out the door. Spike would probably be out—he hated being cooped up on the weekends—but she knew he’d leave her key in its usual place.

Sure enough, the key was in its little pouch on the far side of the banister—but as it turned out, she didn’t need it. Buffy turned the open doorknob and went inside, grinning at the knowledge that he was already there.

“I honestly think Dad’s trying to kill me,” she announced, stepping into the newly carpeted living room.

Anya glanced up from Spike’s couch. “That’s nice,” she said absently before continuing her perusal of Playboy.

Buffy blinked at the older woman’s choice of magazine before asking, “Where’s Spike, anyway?”

“He’s in there, primping,” Anya said. She waved her hand towards the closed door, smirking.

“I am not primping, you bloody insane bird!”

“Go open the door,” Anya told Buffy cheerfully. “He’s primping.”

Buffy grinned and poked her head into the bathroom. Spike was combing gel into his hair with a fine-toothed comb.

“Come on, pretty boy,” she said. “I’m off work and I wanna go somewhere.”

“Oh, no you don’t!” Anya called from her spot in the living room. “I am not going to housesit for another two hours. There is no way.”

“Housesit?” Buffy frowned in confusion—then raised her eyebrows when Spike all but jumped a mile in the air. “Spike, what—“

She was interrupted by an ear-splitting shriek. Anya barreled into the bathroom, followed by a tiny, yapping puppy that seemed intent on biting her ankle.

“Get that heinous little monster away from me!” she shrieked, standing on the toilet. Spike burst out laughing.

“Um. Is there an explanation for this?” Buffy asked.

“Well, it was s’posed to be a present—but yeah. She’s yours,” Spike explained, nodding to the puppy.

“I had to watch the little beast for four straight hours,” Anya snapped, “while he went and shopping for dog-type stuff. Do you have any idea how much money I could have made in that amount of time?”

“I paid you to stay here,” Spike pointed out, bending over and picking up the yapping puppy.

“Not nearly enough,” Anya informed him, trying to step off the toilet with dignity and failing utterly.

Buffy, for her part, was entranced with the squirming bundle Spike had squashed to his chest. “Hi there,” she said softly, offering the dog her hand. “Have you had a rough day with the crazy lady?”

“Hey! I am not crazy!”

“Rrraaf!” the dog barked happily.

“He agrees,” Buffy informed a fuming Anya.

“Easy there, pet.” Spike was obviously struggling to hold in laughter. “Gonna get me fired.”

“Yeah, whatever.” She held out her arms. “Let me hold her, please?”

Spike’s smirk softened into a smile as he deposited the puppy in her arms. “Right beauty, isn’t she?”

“She really is.” The dog looked to be a mutt, with a black-speckled brown coat and huge, floppy ears. Her face was sort of smushed, like she was part pug, and her frantically waving tail was stubby.

She was, without a doubt, one of the cutest things Buffy had ever seen. “So I guess we’re staying in tonight?” she asked as Anya huffed out of the bathroom and started gathering her things.

The guilt on Spike’s face had her hastily adding, “I mean—it’s fine, I want to. We need to keep an eye on her.” The last bit was punctuated with coos and a kiss to the puppy’s head.

“Sounds good. I rented movies while I was out.”

The grimace on his face told her all she needed to know. “So, what did the clerk say?”

“I think his exact statement was, ‘you are so whipped, dude’.”

Buffy giggled at his horrible imitation of the surfer accent. “Are you saying you’re not? You got me a puppy!”

“That doesn’t make me whipped!” he pushed her out of the bathroom and lead them to the living room. “The dog’s cute!”

“And has the potential to ruin your carpet.” Buffy treated him to his own smirk. “Whipped!”

The puppy barked in delight when the ball of crumpled-up newspaper hit Buffy square in the nose.

~*~

They named the dog Whip, and at first things were good. They had a relationship built on trust, Buffy loved the dog, Spike loved her, her parents loved them both—it was a fucking fairy tale relationship if you left out the sneering denizens of Sunnydale.

So he really shouldn’t have been surprised when the shit hit the fan. Life sucks, get a helmet, he remembered Buffy saying.

He just wished that it could have hit some way other than him walking in on her sucking face with Angel.

~*~

A/N: Whee, I’m evil.





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