Sun streamed in from the open window, waking Buffy. She groaned, rubbing her eyes. Her lashes were glued together by dried tears, and it took a few moments to pry her eyes open.
“Mornin’, B,” Faith greeted from the kitchen.
Feeling slightly self-conscious in just her bra and panties, Buffy yanked on a crumpled shirt and her jeans. She stood up and sniffed the air. “Smells good,” Buffy offered.
Faith snorted. “Yeah right. I’m trying to remember how my mom used to make her famous eggs, but I’m blanking.”
Buffy shook her head. “It’s not a big deal.”
Faith slammed the pan down on the counter. “Yes it is! Fuck!” She threw the eggs down the sink, and they broke open, oozing egg yolk.
Buffy jumped, startled by the brunette’s sudden explosion. “Faith?”
She rested her elbows on the counter, rubbing her head. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I’m just fuckin’ stressed out.”
Buffy’s heart broke a little more at the sight of her sister-in-law. Faith had been strong for the last week and a half for her, now it was Buffy’s turn to do the comforting.
She stepped forward and slowly wrapped her arms around the brunette. Buffy could feel Faith’s ragged breath against her neck and squeezed tighter.
In the past, they had never been particularly affectionate, they’d probably hugged once or twice, but other than that fateful night, they really hadn’t.
Finally Faith’s breathing eased, and Buffy pulled back. “You okay?”
Faith sniffled. “Five by five,” she told her and went to grab her jacket. “Hey, after work I can take you to your house. If you need anything.”
Buffy froze at the suggestion. “That’s okay, I’m good,” she replied, trying to keep a brave face. “Maybe later.”
Faith gave her a look that clearly said she doubted the blonde’s words, but shrugged. “’Kay, later, B.”
The door slammed shut, and Buffy sat down in a chair, staring at nothing.
She couldn’t do this, Buffy realized, blinking hard. It was too much like she was waiting for Angel to come home…like nothing had happened.
Suddenly restless, Buffy sprang to her feet and threw off her rumpled shirt and walked into Faith’s room. She flung the closet door open and thumbed through the various shirts.
Too skimpy, too low-cut, too thin…Buffy rejected almost half of Faith’s clothes in less than a minute. Finally, she settled on a tight, stretchy black long-sleeve shirt that looked like it’d only been worn once. Buffy toyed with the idea of borrowing a pair of Faith’s pants, but nixed it after spotting five pairs of tight, black leather pants.
There was a time she’d have worn them, Buffy remembered as she ran a brush through her curls. But since she’d been married to Angel, her clothes had turned to a more understated sexy elegance. Older. Not quite so college-party girl.
Her little black purse was right by the fold-out couch where she had left it, and Buffy picked it up, emptying out the contents.
Carefully, she applied a little cover-up and chapstick, trying to look halfway decent. She slipped her feet into her slip-ons and snatched the extra key as she walked out the door, locking it tightly.
The sun temporarily blinded her, and she had to shield her eyes. Nibbling slightly on her lower lip, Buffy vainly tried to remember where the Giles’ lived. She knew it was in one of the nice neighborhoods by the ocean, or on it in their case, but she wasn’t sure which road.
Buffy’s pace quickened as she neared the bus stop. She folded her arms around herself and settled against the thick pane surrounding the bus bench. According to the bus schedule, the next bus to Ocean View Heights, the Giles’ neighborhood, would arrive in seven minutes.
Twenty minutes later, Buffy was standing outside of the Giles’ home. Their mansion looked even more massive and impressive than it did the night before. Hesitantly, Buffy reached forward, pressing the elaborate doorbell. A moment passed before the heavy wooden door creaked open revealing Will.
Buffy blinked in surprise. “Oh…hi.” The words fell awkwardly from her mouth. “Is Mr. Giles here?” Even more awkward, she winced.
“Rupes? He’s at one of his shops,” Spike paused, studying her with a puzzled look. “Did you need somethin’?”
Buffy cleared her throat. “Um, not really…Mr. Giles offered to give me a tour of the house, but I can go if he’s not here…” she trailed off with a weak shrug.
Will peered behind her. “How’d you get here?”
“The bus,” Buffy answered honestly. “Faith has the car.”
Without a word, Will left the door wide open and walked away. Buffy stood there, dumbfounded.
Will turned around with a raised scarred brow. “You comin’?”
Buffy scrambled to open the screen door and stepped into the foyer, closing the wood door with loud noise. She followed Will down the hallway to a massive kitchen. Polished granite counters gleamed against dark wood and stainless steel.
“Pretty,” she commented softly, running her hands over the counter. The flecks of green entranced her and she sighed.
Will stared at her for a moment. “Yeah.” His voice, Buffy noticed, was rougher than a minute ago.
She obediently followed him down a pair of steps into a beautiful dining room. Once again the dark wood contrasted with simple white plaster walls. She walked over to the wall, touching the framed picture.
In it Buffy identified Angel, Will, a blonde and a brunette. They were all huddled together, smiling—sort of. Will had his arms around the unfamiliar brunette, and his eyes were solely on her, while she smiled coquettishly into the camera. But Angel…his arms were wrapped around the blonde loosely, but that wasn’t what caught Buffy’s eye. It was the look on his face, younger than she’d ever seen him look.
“That was the summer after high school,” Will said, answering her unspoken question.
Buffy reached out and touched the picture lightly. “He doesn’t really look that different, but his…expression, that’s different.”
“Yeah, Angel was always more mature than the rest of us,” Will responded with a soft chuckle.
“Who’s the girl?” Buffy asked automatically. She watched a slight play of emotions cross over Will’s face.
“His old girlfriend from high school. Darla,” Will answered with a shrug. “Don’t know much ‘bout her now.”
“She’s pretty,” Buffy said quietly. She couldn’t remember if Angel had ever told her about a girl named Darla. She fished through her memories, trying to recall if they had ever spoken of their past loves.
“So, I, uh, can take you ‘round to the living room, an’ such,” Will’s voice sliced through her reverie.
“Oh, yeah,” Buffy startled to attention. “Thanks.”
For the next half hour, Will showed her each room of the house, giving a brief explanation if necessary. Buffy was surprisingly grateful for the impersonal tour, and let herself drift. She drank up the beautiful interior, the dark wood floor and smooth angled walls.
“…one of the guestrooms.”
Buffy tuned back in as they finished at the top of the stairs. “Sorry?”
Will glanced at her quickly. “M’ uncle said you’re planning on stayin’ for a bit, yeah?”
Clearing her throat, Buffy responded, “Um, yes. I mean, your uncle offered.” Suddenly, like a hammer to the face, she realized why he sounded so familiar. “You called.”
“What’s that?” Will asked, frowning as he started down the stairs.
Buffy continued with certainty. “You called that night. Before Angel…” she stopped and then finished, “you said you were Spike.”
“Yeah,” he exhaled. “Wasn’t sure if you’d remember that. It’s a nickname back from our school days. I didn’t really think I’d be meetin’ you like…this.”
“Does Faith call you ‘Spike’?” Buffy asked, following him down the steps.
“Sometimes,” he acknowledged, “’m not the same bloke I was then. It’s just a name now.”
“It’s interesting,” Buffy said slowly, trying the name, “Spike.”
“You’re welcome to use it,” he told her with a faint tinge of humor to his voice.
Buffy could feel herself relaxing, if only a little. “Thanks,” she replied dryly with a glance over her shoulder. “When will Mr. Giles be back?”
“Giles,” Spike corrected her. “Everyone just calls him by his last name. Or Rupes if you’re me. An’ he’ll be back soon. I gotta talk to him ‘bout headin’ back to the motherland.”
“Where do you live?” Buffy questioned conversationally.
“London, in a tiny flat,” Spike replied.
There was the deafening sound of the front door being shut and a young woman’s voice calling out, “Spike?”
“By the stairs, Bit!” Spike shouted back. Seconds later, Dawn barreled around the corner.
“Oh!” She started. “Hi.” Dawn looked nervous, glancing at Buffy with trepidation.
“How was your day?” Spike inquired, leaning against the wall.
Dawn rolled her eyes. “Same as usual. Margo the freak fainted. Again.”
“Frog?” Spike asked.
“No, fetal pig,” Dawn responded with a scrunch of her nose. She moved to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, glancing at Buffy again.
Spike took that as his cue. “You remember Buffy, yeah Dawn?”
The young woman nodded, looking a little hesitant. “Sure. Hi.”
“Hey,” Buffy replied, trying to smile kindly. It seemed to take an enormous effort to pull her lips upward.
“Are you…” Dawn trailed off, glancing between the two blondes. “Are you gonna stay here?”
Buffy was wondering that herself. “Well,” she fished around, thinking of something to encompass both options. “I think so.”
Big blue eyes peered at her almost cautiously. “Okay.”
Buffy turned to Spike. “Um, thank you, for the tour, I mean. I should probably get going.”
Spike frowned a little. “Didn’t you catch the bus?”
“Yeah,” Buffy nodded quickly. “The stop is just a couple of blocks from here—“
“Don’t worry,” Dawn piped up with a sudden grin. “Spike can take you back.”
Spike rolled his eyes at the teen. “You can’t keep holdin’ that over me, Bit.” He pulled out a key chain from his pocket and twirled it around his finger.
Feeling heat burn its way up her neck, Buffy shook her head vehemently. “Oh, no, you totally don’t have to.”
“Of course he does,” Dawn chirped. “It’s my car he’s using, so I have final say.”
“Please, Nibblet, you don’t even have your bloody license,” Spike replied, and this time Buffy caught the lingering jest behind their banter.
She followed the pair to front door, watching the spectacle in front of her. Like bickering teen siblings, they preceded to argue the technicalities of the car.
“Dad bought it for me,” Dawn said with triumphant look, “so it’s mine. Just because I can’t legally drive it, doesn’t mean you can go all nuts with it. Besides I get my temps in a couple months.”
“Go do your homework,” Spike commanded with finality, “I’ll be back in a little while.”
Dawn flipped her long hair over her shoulder. “Whatever,” then shyly she added, “Bye, Buffy.”
Buffy gave her a small wave before trailing after Spike to a massive black car. It was clearly an old vehicle, too large to be in style anymore. “Wow,” she said, trying to hide her distaste.
Spike beamed. “I bloody love this car. A gorgeous classic, she is.”
Buffy just sank into the deep bucket seats. She felt like the whole car was trying to swallow her up, and she shifted uncomfortably.
They drove in a silence that wasn’t really awkward, but more like a skip in a song, odd and puzzling. She was staring out of the window when she noticed that they were headed towards the downtown which ran on Main Street. Heart pounding frantically, Buffy half-shouted, “Turn right!”
Spike swerved the car quickly, and glanced over at her with confusion, his scarred eyebrow shooting upward.
Buffy shrank back in her seat, tilting her face to the window. She should have explained herself but the words were stuck somewhere between her stomach and throat. Instead she asked, “So this is Dawn’s car?”
Spike laughed at that. “Rupes needed to bribe her with something to move here from New York. ‘m thinkin’ of buying it from him, and he’ll use the money to buy her a new one, something more girly and whatnot.”
“She seems…” Buffy trailed off, unable to find the right words.
“Bit’s been through a lot,” Spike told her and that seemed to explain the extraordinariness of his cousin.
“I like her,” she announced, “She’s sweet and…full of life, I guess.”
“Yeah, you think that now but then you live with the chit…” Spike grumbled, but Buffy could hear his love laced in his words.
“So how long are you staying?” Buffy questioned as she directed him into Faith’s neighborhood. She kept talking, hoping to fool herself into thinking everything was normal.
“I was thinkin’ ‘nother week or so. ‘S not like I’ve got a nine-to-five job I gotta report to, an’ my mate is lookin’ out for my flat. Rupes and Nibblet won’t mind me stayin’ for a while.”
It suddenly occurred to Buffy to ask, “How long have they lived here? I would think that Angel would’ve mentioned it. You guys all seem really…close.” Would’ve, she echoed in her mind shakily.
“Only a couple of months,” Spike answered casually, not looking over at her. “’Sides, it’s Angel. He liked doing things on his own. Think it’s always been a thorn in his side to admit he needed an adult to watch over him as a kiddie.”
It was so true, Buffy realized. Angel would always grumble when a senior associate corrected him at work, and he was the one fixing things up around the house. The memory of Angel dressed in one of his white undershirts and black sweatpants fixing the sink while talking to her about funny clients burned a hole in her gut. So much for distraction, she thought with a small choked sob.
“Will you tell me about him?” There was no question who “him” was.
“Not now,” Spike said quietly, “Later. Promise. Just not now.”
Buffy tried to nod understandingly. “Okay.” She gave him the address, and he parked on the side of the street. Kindly, he walked her into the building and up the stairs to Faith’s place.
Unlocking the door, Buffy was suspired to see Faith on the couch in sweats and a tank top. A bottle of tequila sat nestled in the crock of her arm like a lover.
“Hey B, Spike,” she slurred with a dazed grin. She held up the half empty bottle. “Join me?”
The second surprise came from Spike. “Soddin’ hell yes,” he said with evident relief and plopped down next to her, already unscrewing the bottle.
“B, come on,” Faith patted her other side. “We could all use this.”
But Spike gave her the ultimatum. “If ‘m gonna tell you about Peaches, it’d best be with a bottle of shitty tequila.”
Without further prompting, Buffy sat down and folded her feet underneath her. “Hand it over.” after a second’s pause, she added, “And who’s Peaches?”