It was a beautiful night, not a demon in evidence, as they walked the shadowy streets of Sunnyhell, Buffy’s arm wrapped around Spike's. With her free hand, Buffy gestured to punctuate a story, interrupting her narrative to laugh, a light-hearted, musical sound that made Spike’s dead heart want to sing. But, much as he was enjoying himself, dread still grew in Spike’s gut as each step brought them closer to 1630 Revello Drive. He couldn’t forget what had happened a scant twenty-four hours earlier on the very porch they now approached.
When the house finally loomed ahead, his steps slowed and he braced himself for potential disappointment, again. Despite the apparent progress they had made in the last several hours, he couldn’t forget Buffy had turned on him, banishing him with bitter accusations born of nothing more than suspicion. He’d done nothing wrong then, and, except for getting piss drunk and falling down the ladder, he’d done nothing wrong now. But he still couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t suddenly question the rapport they had found. Would she reassess all that had passed between them and reassign it an evil interpretation? Would she push him away again, sending him back to his lonely crypt, now that much lonelier for having imagined something between them?
Spike’s pain from the rejection of the previous night had spiraled into despair. If he’d had the means to dust himself, he might have considered it. What was the point, after all, of an endless, friendless unlife? Because, much as it pained his evil undead self to admit it, the loss of Buffy’s friendship hurt even more than abandoning the lustful fantasies of possessing her physically. “Bloody hell!” he screamed silently at himself. “Could I be any more pussy whipped?”
But despite all the emotion boiling within, Spike appeared calm on the outside. He watched the animation in Buffy’s face as she chattered along, oblivious to the black cloud of apprehension that had descended on her companion. “Maybe this time she won’t kick me in the ribs,” he thought wistfully. “But, then again, just to be on the safe side, I think I’ll skedaddle on out of here. Can’t stop the weather from changing, but I can seek shelter before the storm hits.”
Resolved to say his goodnights and depart as quickly as he could, Spike untangled his arm from Buffy’s the moment their feet hit the porch. “Well, here we are,” he began, keeping his eyes cast down to avoid provoking anything. “I guess I’ll be saying good night then.”
Spike was surprised when he heard Buffy’s heart begin to race and her scent, which had mildly intoxicated him only moments before, got suddenly tangy. “What’s this then?” he wondered at her reaction. “She can’t be afraid I’ll leave? Well that’s a change in the climate, all right!”
The next thing he knew, Dawn was standing in the brightly lit doorway demanding an explanation from her sister. And before he had a chance to reconsider his plan to retreat, Buffy had pulled him over the threshold.
Confronted now with two Summers women insisting he stay, Spike decided he might as well take his chances. At least with Dawn’s presence he’d have a witness if Buffy went that mercurial again.
“Okay, Dawnie, what are you watching?” Buffy chirped as Spike blinked to adjust his eyes to the bright lights. Dawn, uncharacteristically silent, looked first at Buffy and then Spike, a small smile forming as both eyebrows cocked.
“Hey, you too look just like…” she began, but both Buffy and Spike interrupted her before she could finish.
“Don’t say it!” they said together.
“Say what?” she demanded, staring at Spike. “You can’t possibly know what I was going to say.”
Buffy and Spike exchanged a look before Buffy turned to Dawn and said, “Do you want to bet?”
“Yeah,” Dawn answered. “But I want to bet Spike, not you.”
“Okay, lil’ bit,” Spike drawled. “What will it be?”
“Huh?”
“The bet. What is it you want to wager?”
“What did you win off me last time we played poker?” Dawn asked, giving him a smirk that struck Buffy as oddly familiar.
“Seven dollars and twenty-five cents,” he replied, grinning.
“Okay, then, the bet is for seven dollars and twenty-five cents,” Dawn announced, with a smug smile. “What was I going to say?”
“Wait a minute,” Buffy interjected, her voice rising. “You two play poker? For money?”
Spike froze on the spot. Here it comes, he thought. However, Dawn brushed it off. “Yeah. Spike’s teaching me. He says you have to play for money to learn.” Then, turning her back on her sister, she again demanded of Spike, “What was I going to say?”
Spike shot a look at Buffy and was surprised to see Dawn’s tactic had worked. Buffy looked slightly dazed, but definitely not steaming mad. Reassured that he wasn’t about to be booted out on his arse, his attention snapped back to Dawn.
This time it was Spike’s turn to divert Dawn from her question. “Hold on, bit. How do I know you won’t just say I’m wrong, even if I get it right? You have to write it down and put the paper in a safe place first.”
Dawn huffed as she stomped over to the desk for a piece of paper and pen. “Here,” she said, scribbling onto the paper and pressing it into his hand after folding it in half, “you can hold it. Is that safe enough for you?”
“Most definitely,” he said, smiling. “Safe as houses.”
“So, what was I going to say?”
Spike screwed up his face in a bad imitation of someone thinking really hard. “Let’s see,” he said, “You were going to say that we look just like the Bobbsey Twins!”
Dawn screamed until Buffy clamped a hand over her mouth. “Shush, Dawn! Mom’s sleeping!”
Dawn mumbled an apology through Buffy’s hand, before she would withdraw it. “Sorry,” she said very softly. Then, turning again to Spike, she asked, “How the hell did you know that?”
“I told him,” Buffy answered.
Dawn looked at Buffy like she had two heads. “I think I better call Giles,” she said, backing toward the phone. “Something is so not right about this. I thought it was strange when you showed up at home with the evil undead here, the guy who is supposed to be your mortal enemy. But then I see that you’re dressed exactly like him, Buffy, and he knows about the whole Bobbsey Twins thing…”
“You know, bit, you’re right,” Spike said, in his most soothing voice. “This is all more than a tad odd. But your sister is right starved just now. Could we tell you the whole story over some grub? Please?”
Dawn looked skeptical, but on the scale of strange things that happen on the Hellmouth the fact that her sister was dressed like the friendly neighborhood Master Vampire barely registered on the weird-o-meter. “Okay,” she agreed. But I don’t think there’s much to eat here.”
Buffy and Spike followed Dawn into the kitchen and commenced to forage for food. Buffy opened the refrigerator and started moving things around in search of something edible. “What happened to the macaroni and cheese I made last night?” she asked, her voice echoing slightly as she explored the shelves.
“I guess it’s all gone,” Dawn said.
“You ate all of it?” Buffy asked, whirling around to confront her sister, she stood up too fast. “Whoa,” she said, tottering a bit before catching her self on the island. “That was quite a head rush!”
Spike darted forward, putting his hands under Buffy’s upper arms from behind and guiding her to a chair at the kitchen table. “Sit,” he said firmly. “I’ll find something for you to eat.” Before she could protest, Spike put a tall glass of orange juice on the table in front of her. “You can drink this while you wait.”
Buffy sighed and sat back. Dawn looked at her. “This is only getting stranger. I can’t wait for the explanation!”
“Okay, bit,” Spike snorted. “But you’ll hear it after you help me find what I need to make your sis a snack, okay?” Dawn nodded. A boring evening at home had just taken a major turn toward the wiggy.
Fifteen minutes later, Spike served Buffy a fluffy cheese omelet with a side of whole wheat toast. Flashing him a grateful smile she dug in and didn’t stop eating until it was all gone. “Wow!” Buffy said, “That was incredible. Who knew you could cook?”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Slayer,” Spike answered.
“You mean Buffy, don’t you?” she said slyly.
Spike was speechless for a moment, absorbing that she’d insisted he use her given name in front of her sister. “The bit may be on to something,” he thought. “This is bloody strange. But not in a bad way.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Buffy,” he said finally.
She grinned at him as she finished her second glass of juice. “Thank you,” she said. “I feel a lot better.”
“Good. You ought to try to remember to eat now and then,” he said, basking in the warmth of her smile. “You’ll find it makes a world of difference.” Everything was going so much better than he'd feared, but Spike wasn’t one to tempt fate. While Buffy was tucking into her omelet, he’d decided to cut any potential losses by leaving the cozy domestic scene before things had a chance to go pear-shaped.
“Okay, you’ve eaten now, Buffy,” Dawn interjected. “Let’s have the explanation.”
“That’s a fine idea,” Spike responded as he stood up from his chair. “I’ll just go and you two can catch up.”
Despite her mild food coma, Buffy snapped to attention. “What? You just got here. I mean, you're going to watch TV with us. Right, Dawn?”
“Yeah, not so fast Spike,” Dawn said. “You promised to tell me what demonic forces led to the two of you dressing alike and the grand opening of William the Bloody's House of Omelets.”
“I promised you'd hear the story, nibblet,” he replied, grinning, “not that I'd tell it. Your sister can fill you in. Now that she's had some food and drink, you two can catch up. Have a chick flick and girl talk festival. You don't need me for that.”
Buffy, now in full pout, made her second attempt. “But you said you'd help me with my poetry class.”
Spike replied, tearing his eyes from the proffered lip, “And I will, but not tonight, love. Remember, you need some rest and a relaxing bath. I can't help you with either of those. Much as the idea of you in a bubble bath appeals to me...I mean…I need to nip by Willie's and see if he's got any O negative. I'm still at least a quart low, you know.”
Buffy dropped her eyes at this, feeling a major twinge of guilt.
“It’s alright,” Spike said, “I’ll see myself out. Goodnight.”
But Buffy followed him to the door. Obviously nervous, she twisted the hem of her T-shirt and barely looked at him. “So, will I see you tomorrow at the library, like we planned, only for tomorrow, instead of today, because today it already over?”
Spike laughed. “If I followed that correctly, I think the answer is yes. I can meet you there if you want to work on your poetry. Is that what you want?”
“Yeah, sure,” she replied, resigned.
“Good, then, until tomorrow,” he said. “Goodnight, Buffy.”
She looked up in time to see Spike’s boyish smile. “There it is again,” she thought. “That’s the man behind the demon. That’s what he is always working so hard to protect.” She wanted to grab him and kiss him, but she just shrugged, saying, “Goodnight, Spike. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Sighing as she watched him walk down the porch steps, Buffy made no move to close the door.
He suddenly stopped, “Hang on a bit,” he said, bounding back up the steps. "I forgot something.”
Buffy, sure he'd come back to kiss her, watched in disbelief as Spike reached into his back pocket and pulled out her tax form. "This is a bit the worse for wear,” he said, smoothing the wrinkled paper. “But you can still use it."
“Uh, thanks,” was all she could say.
“All right, then. Goodnight, Buffy.” he said as he stepped off the porch and walked off toward Willie's without looking back.
Buffy leaned against the door after closing it behind her, “Stupid vampire!”
When he was sure she couldn’t see him, Spike leapt into the air with a whoop. “I guess we’re back to Plan A now aren’t we, little Slayer,” he said aloud. “I’ll have to thank the bit someday for making that so easy.”
Tbc……..
A/N: Blame my son for changing his mind about what he wanted to be for Halloween at the last minute. I’ve been busy creating his costume instead of writing. I hope you like this chapter. Please leave reviews. I really like reviews!