Willow watched in silence as Buffy frowned in her sleep, her mouth twitching down into a tight pout. The redhead laid a tender hand on the pale skin of the young woman’s forehead, murmuring soothingly under her breath until the restless teen’s bad dreams faded and she was peaceful once more. The Wicca wondered how it was that such a delicate body could hold such a strong soul. Then again, Buffy seemed like an oxymoron; sometimes she was so steely that Willow thought even a hurricane couldn’t blow her over, and sometimes she was so fragile that a puff of air would snap her in two.
Shaking her head as she looked at the clock, the redhead quietly rose. It was nearing the time that she’d have to put the lasagne on for Dru and her boyfriend. She hadn’t heard the cruel girl return from her shopping trip, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t be back in time for lunch. Willow didn’t want to take a chance that could result in Buffy’s further suffering. It had been a while since she’d left Spike. Spike? She thought, where did he get that one from? A blush stained her cheeks as, unbidden, an image of him naked filled her mind. Oh, wait. Never mind.
Sighing, she stroked Buffy’s hair one last time before exiting the room. Quickly switching on the oven, she slammed the door shut; she’d learned from a disastrous attempt during a cookie-baking spree that if the door wasn’t smashed shut, it bounced back and hit the user in the knees. And it had damn sharp edges, too. Taking the lasagne from the fridge, she busied herself with the mindless task of peeling off the various layers of Clingfilm Buffy had wrapped it with, trying not to let the pieces stick together. Finally, she lifted the dish and pulled open the oven door again. Just about to slide it in, a voice came from behind her.
“Afternoon.”
The Wicca yelped, almost dropping the lasagne as she jumped. It swayed precariously in her grasp for a moment before a larger pair of hands steadied it. They slid it into the oven and reached to close the door. About to call out a warning, Willow only had time to jump back as the stubborn door leaped back and cracked into Spike’s legs. He cursed loudly, hopping away and trying to rub his knees at the same time. The redhead giggled, slamming the door shut with a satisfying bang.
When he finally stood still again, she spoke. This time, her voice was the softer, girlish tone he would have expected from her. “Sorry. I guess I should have warned you about that, huh?”
Glad to accept the olive branch she was offering him, he smiled easily. “S’ok. My fault, I shouldn’t have startled you like that.”
She eyed him for a moment, then returned his smile with a somewhat less certain one of her own. She clicked the timer on the oven, remembering to set the time a little lower than she would have done at home; she also remembered the darn thing’s habit of nuking anything and everything you tried to cook in it. Settling back on Buffy’s chair, she waited. She knew Spike had seen them earlier, had felt his eyes on her back as she closed the door to Buffy’s room. She wondered how much she could tell him without giving it all away.
She was still pondering the privacy issue when he spoke. “So, you want to tell me what’s going on around here?”
She hesitated, taking a moment to listen to what her heart was telling her to do. Opening her eyes, she put on her resolve face. Getting up, she closed the back door and slid home the deadbolt, then gently shutting the door into the hallway. This wasn’t something she wanted Dru or Dawnie walking in on, though she was less bothered about the elder Summers girl. She didn’t want to scare Dawn by letting on the full extent of the stress Buffy was under. Finally satisfied, she returned to her seat. After a moment to gather her thoughts, she began to speak.
“Hank left them, abandoned his whole family, when Buffy was only eight. Joyce had always had a drinking problem, but when he left it was the final straw. It was like she died inside. She became so lost in alcohol that she couldn’t take care of the girls, so they looked out for each other.” She paused, carefully editing what she was about to say before letting the words slowly drop from her lips.
“Dru always blamed Buffy for Hank leaving. She and Buffy never got along, but that resentment opened a rift between them. They’ll never see eye to eye, they’re too different, but Dru stopped caring for anyone but herself.” She paused, remembering the bruises littering Buffy’s body after each ‘disagreement’ with her sister. Pushing away her anger, she took a deep breath before carrying on.
“That left Buffy to look after herself, her mother and Dawn, who was only four. We help out where we can, but… You saw her earlier. It’s not that she doesn’t want to eat. She just gets so tired that she forgets, or she’s so busy looking after others that she doesn’t have time. It’s not like she’s anorexic. She knows that she’s too thin, she just can’t do anything about it. Dawn does her best, but she’s too young to make time for Buffy to eat. She’s still only a kid, really.”
Closing her eyes, the redhead smiled sadly. “Buffy doesn’t sleep well, either, because she’s up all hours of the night looking after Mrs Summers. Dawnie wouldn’t stay awake at school if she had to be up sometimes during the night, too. And Dru-” Willow stopped there; she wasn’t sure she trusted Spike enough to tell him anything more. The timer shrieked, making them both jump. Willow got up to remove the lasagne, but was stopped by his gentle but firm hand on her arm.
“I’ll get it. You go look after Buffy.” Startled by the fierce protectiveness that momentarily flashed in his eyes, the redhead nodded and vanished upstairs, leaving him to mull over what she’d told him. As she slipped back into Buffy’s room, she wondered about the burning anger in his eyes and what it could mean for her friend.
*****
Spike, setting aside a portion of the food for Dru, heaped his own plate full and sat at the table. He shovelled two forkfuls into his mouth, savouring the explosion of rich flavour on his tongue, before freezing. It took a lot of willpower to gulp down his mouthful, which suddenly tasted like ashes. He looked down at the steaming, deliciously succulent mass on his plate and felt a little ill. How long had Buffy taken to prepare this, knowing she wouldn’t eat any but slaving to make it as good as possible anyway? And, more importantly, why?
He knew there was something the redhead wasn’t telling him, and he had a feeling that there was a big piece of the puzzle that she could fill in. A large part of his job was going with his gut instinct; it was what made him good at figuring people out and knowing how to help them. Something still felt odd here, and though Willow had cleared up a little, the general situation still seemed a little too desperate for just the aftermath of a normal divorce. He dealt with that kind of fallout regularly, and he knew that wasn’t what was going on here.
Frustrated, he ate in silence. He was reluctant to eat something prepared by a girl who was starving to death but he knew that not eating it would be offensive to her. Sighing, he scraped his plate to get the last few scraps, (Buffy was a fantastic cook) and settled down to think hard about how he could help. There was some part of him, his ‘inner-William’, that drove him to help those in need. He couldn’t deny that it was satisfying to see the results of his work in a patient’s smile or hear it in their laughter. In the past, he’d always been able to figure out what someone needed and give it to them.
The Summers family had him stumped. He was drawn to Buffy, even more so than he was drawn to Dru, though he was loathe to admit it. Something in her made him want to spirit her away from the rest of the world, hide her tiny body in the cradle of his arms and tell her that everything would be alright. He pushed that fantasy firmly out of his head. It was impossible; she hardly knew him, and she had responsibilities here, to her family and her friends.
Feeling his temper and frustration rising rapidly, he stalked to the phone and did what he always did when he was in need of someone to help him calm down. Dialling the number he’d memorised long ago, he waited patiently. Finally, on the seventh ring, the familiar drawl impatiently filled his ear. “What?”
“Hey, pet. How are you?” He smiled when he heard her gasp delightedly.
“Hey bro, how’s it hangin’? And how’s the bangin’ down there in Sunnyhell?”
Spike groaned, grimacing. “Faith, I love you dearly but you’re my stepsister. That was a little disgusting.”
She laughed, a rich, throaty sound that eased the tension in his shoulders. “Loosen up, I was only messin’ you around.”
They made idle chatter for a few minutes before she cut him off in the middle of his rambling about his plans for the DeSoto. “What’s wrong, Spike? You only call me when you’re pissed off, need help or just plain pissed. And let me tell you, that ain’t pretty.”
He sighed and smiled wryly. She knew him far too well. With a few brief words he summed up his feelings, his two short, and in one case one-sided, conversations with Buffy and what Willow had told him about the family history. She was silent for a long moment before she answered, her usually cheeky voice for once serious and thoughtful.
“It sounds to me like she’s afraid of something. You’ll have to do a little digging. But Spike, be careful. There are some things that are better left in the past, right?”
He agreed, then spent another ten minutes or so in light conversation with her. Although Faith presented the world with a hard-as-nails, tough-girl persona, she was a sensitive young woman with a kind heart. He’d first met her when his father had married her mother, and the two had formed a close, affectionate friendship that had grown into a deep and loyal love. She was the sister he’d never had, he the brother and father-figure combination she’d never been offered.
They reluctantly parted ways after he heard the front door opening and closing softly. Quiet footsteps in the hallway made him leave Faith’s conversation with a hasty promise to keep in touch during his holiday. Turning, he wandered into the kitchen, seeing the small, cherubic girl he’d met briefly earlier. She turned to him with wide, frightened eyes and he smiled reassuringly. She hesitantly smiled in return and he gave her a cheery wink.
Remembering earlier, he stressed his British accent as he spoke. “’ello Niblet. How was your morning?”
He was pleased when she giggled in response, blinking huge eyes up at him. “It was good, thank you. Why do you talk funny? What’s a Niblet, or whatever you called me. And why’s your hair white? That’s for old people.”
Spike grinned. After the stressful, more adult conversations of earlier, her childish innocence was refreshing as well as entertaining. This could be the start of a beautiful friendship.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
I'm thinking about turning this into a shorter, maximum 10-chapter story. Wht do you all think? Should I go with that idea, or have it about the same length as Living On The Edge? Input would be much appreciated! ^^