Spike leaned over the pool table, his eyes fixed on Buffy. ​​She was alone—a bubble of stillness and solitude, even surrounded by her friends. That desperately cheerful smile on her face might convince the casual observer that she didn't have a care in the world. Her friends should have recognized her detachment. Instead they chattered around her and never seemed to notice she wasn't engaged with them.

​He shook his head and gave his attention back to his game. "Nine at the side," he called, and neatly sunk his shot, as well as the next two. Dawn rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath, and Spike remembered he was meant to be teaching the girl how to play pool. He deliberately scratched on his next go.

"Gee, thanks," Dawn said, and bent down to retrieve the cue ball. She placed it carefully on the table and took aim at the two.

"Hang on, pidge." Spike moved to her side and pointed her cue at the four instead. "Try that. Real gentle on the cue ball, but remember to follow through." He watched as she lined up her shot, and then grinned when she excitedly squealed at sinking the ball.

"Did you see that?" Dawn was all smiles as she re-chalked the cue and circled the table, eyeing up her possibilities.

"Sure did." Spike leaned against the drink rail and fiddled with a cigarette. Stupid anti-smoking laws. He glanced up and just caught the quick movement of Buffy's head as she pulled her eyes away from him. He was reminded for a moment of the last time he'd been playing pool at the Bronze while she watched him. He'd been mindlessly flirting with that Harmony bird, but been cognizant of her gaze on him. And then, out in the alley ... Was that where it had started, this obsession with Buffy?

​He stepped outside into the warm night, as relieved to be away from the vapid blonde who'd attached herself to him as he was to be getting a nicotine fix. A crowd of teenagers spilled out of the Bronze's front door and wandered down the street in a jumble of excited voices; Spike moved away from their bustle, into the dark maw of the alley that backed the club. He smoked silently, unhurriedly.

The heavy metal door clanged behind him, and he turned to see who was in the alley with him. The figure was at first shrouded in shadow, but then she stepped under a light and leaned wearily against the brick wall. Buffy. She pressed her fingers against her eyes and sniffled once or twice. Spike watched her for a moment before feeling as if he were intruding on something private. He knew enough of his neighbor to feel sure she wouldn't welcome his presence right now. He pitched his cigarette butt away and slipped out of the alley and back into the Bronze through the main entrance.

He found himself searching the club for her later, his attention continually drawn back to her. After several minutes she came back in, all traces of whatever had been bothering her missing from her smiling face. It was only after her little friends left that she gave up the pretense of a good mood. Spike watched her as she drank her way through the rest of the night. He wasn't sure what it was that compelled him to step in when he saw her reach for her keys; he simply knew he couldn't let that girl find her own way home. He pushed Harmony's clinging hands away and made his way to Buffy's side.

She was doing it again, had been all day. Putting on a show for her friends, tamping down whatever demons she was struggling with so the people she loved wouldn't worry. Her eyes settled on him as he watched her, and he sent her a smile. Her lips curved up slowly, a small, secret smile that felt just for him. Spike's stupid heart stuttered for about the tenth time since she'd tendered an invitation for him to spend the day with her and Dawn—to be part of her family.

"Uh, Earth to Spike?" He tore his eyes away from Buffy's. Dawn held out the cue ball. "I scratched."

"Try it again, then," he said. He threw a glance over the table and set the ball down in a likely spot. "Here, you can make the six, easy as pie." Dawn scooted around the table, and he dropped a hand on hers to help her aim. When he stepped back to let her take the shot, his eyes gravitated to Buffy. She was watching him again, and Spike felt a rush of satisfaction that, for all she'd skittered away every time he'd tried to start a conversation with her, she couldn't take her eyes off him. He held her gaze for a moment, until Dawn's defeated groan distracted him.

"I'm never gonna get this," she complained.

"Sure you will. Just takes practice." Spike pushed Buffy to the back of his mind and focused his attention on the other girl in his life. "C'mere," he beckoned. "Don't even worry about stripes or solids, right? Take some shots and get the feel for it."

He coached her through clearing the table—with a little help—and then let her rack the balls for 'a real game.'

Spike broke and with a loud clack​, the neat triangle of balls careened around the table. The two and the thirteen disappeared into pockets. He leaned over the table again and very carefully missed sinking the eleven. He'd left a nice, easy shot for Dawn, hopefully without making it too obvious that's what he was doing. "How're things at home?" he asked idly, as he stepped out of her way.

Dawn shrugged. "Fine, I guess." She looked up at him, a question on her face, and Spike pointed to the seven hovering near the corner pocket.

"You're managing to stay out of trouble, I hope. School's being attended and all that?"

She gave him a sharp look from the corner of her eye as she took aim at the ball he'd indicated, but ignored his question until after she'd taken her turn. She sighed as the seven caromed away from the pocket. "Stupid game," she muttered. Then: "Yes, I've been going to school. And doing my homework, thanks to Willow and Tara. Buffy doesn't let me have any unsupervised time anymore, so ..."
He squeezed her shoulder as he walked past her. "That's what you get when you screw up. Lots of adults telling you what to do."

Dawn shrugged again and leaned one hip against the table. "Yeah, whatever. I mean, I like hanging out with them, but ..." She gnawed on her lip before continuing. "Buffy's too busy with her stupid job to spend any time with me. I know she has to work so we have, like, food and stuff. I just wish—"

Whatever teenage desire she'd been about to divulge was destined to remain a mystery, as a floppy-haired, baggy-jeaned boy walked up to her. "Hi, Dawn," he said, and she turned bright red under the boy's attention.

"Uh, h-hi, Jason. Happy Thanksgiving."

"Are you busy? Do you want to dance with me?"

Dawn shot a look at Spike, who merely raised one eyebrow. "Well, um, I was playing pool, but ... You don't mind, do you, Spike?"

He held out his hand for her cue. "'Course not, pigeon. Off you go, now."

"Thanks!" Dawn gave him a quick hug. "Buffy's up in the balcony," she whispered in his ear before scampering off with the boy. Spike watched her go, bemused at her parting words. Leave it to the fourteen-year-old to either notice his interest in her sister or simply try her hand at matchmaking. Regardless, his eyes were drawn to the balcony, where Buffy stood at the railing, a drink in her hand. She stared out over the dance floor, that same distant look she'd sported at dinner firmly in residence on her face.

Spike placed his and Dawn's cues back in the wall rack, stopped at the bar, and then made his way up to the balcony. He lingered for a moment at the top of the stairs, taking in Buffy's figure against the strobing lights that illuminated the stage. She was dressed almost primly, with her buttoned-up-to-the-chin, long-sleeved blouse and a knee-length skirt. Her hair hung in soft curls around her shoulders, and Spike thought that he liked it best when it was down, all golden and shiny. He thought about pushing it aside and leaning in to kiss her just behind the ear. She'd smell of her shampoo, the light perfume she wore, her sweat. Then he tamped down his baser urges and noticed that her shoulders were drawn tight; tension radiated from every fiber of her body. The artifice was gone. With no one watching her, no audience to perform for, even a complete stranger would be able to tell she wasn't happy.

Buffy's attention was still fixed on the crowd of people before her, and she gave no indication of noticing him till he sidled up to the railing next to her. "Hullo, pet," he said. "Having a good time?"

He expected a quick, positive response from her; he was taken by surprise when she shook her head. "This used to be one of my favorite Thanksgiving traditions." She didn't look at him as she spoke. "After the family stuff, we always come here. It's this unspoken thing: all survivors of Sunnydale High will get extremely drunk together on turkey day. It's our chance to catch up and, you know, show off to each other. But I really don't want to play the 'so what have you been up to this year?' game anymore. It's kind of depressing to not have any news to share other than 'Oh, I dropped out of school and started working at the Doublemeat.' Do you have any idea how humiliating that is?"

"Think I can imagine," Spike said. "You had good reasons for what you did, though, yeah? I'm sure your friends understand that. You've got nothing to be ashamed of, Buffy."

"Nothing to be proud of, either." She tipped her head back and drained the rest of her drink.

"So it's a pity party, then, is it?" He handed her the drink he'd bought her; he'd taken a chance and ordered a fruity cocktail along with his beer.

Buffy took the drink with a glare in his direction. "You think I don't have a reason to feel sorry for myself?"

He tipped up his beer for a long swallow. "Didn't say that, love. Just ... not what I'd expect from you."

"What's that mean?"

Spike turned to face her full on, waiting until he had her attention before speaking. "You're the strongest person I've ever met, Buffy. Everything you've done since you lost your mum—moving out of your house, putting your dreams and plans on hold to raise your sister— Not many people I know would do what you've done. And from what I've seen, you do it without fanfare. Without asking anyone to notice how much you're giving up. So, yeah, maybe you've got a reason or six to justify a little self-pity. But it doesn't seem like your style."

Buffy stared at him for a long, breathless moment before turning away. Spike followed her gaze to where her friends danced together: two happy couples amongst the crush of people on the dance floor.

"It's not fair," she said, her voice so low he could barely hear her. "Everyone's all ... paired up and making plans and moving on with their lives. What am I doing? Look," she gestured at the writhing crowd, "even Dawn has someone to be with." She leaned over slightly and rested her wrists on the wooden railing, the drink nestled between her small hands. "What do I have? There's no one I even think I want to feel like that about, the way Xander and Anya ... They're getting married, Willow and Tara are going to move away for school, and I'll just be here. Stuck."

Spike swallowed hard and tamped down on his impulse to declare himself, to tell her all the feelings that swelled up inside him whenever he was around her. He stood silent next to her, the two of them alone together in the crowded club. The rhythms of the band swirled around them until Buffy suddenly turned to him.

"Dance with me?" There was no joy in her face as she turned to him; the invitation sounded stilted and awkward. But when she held out her hand, he took it without hesitation and led her down the stairs. They deposited their drinks—both mostly empty now—on the bar on their way to the dance floor. Spike pulled her into his arms and thanked whatever powers-that-be as Buffy molded her body against his.

Buffy wasn't sure what had possessed her to ask Spike to dance. Maybe it was being fed up with being the fifth wheel after spending the evening watching Xander and Anya make googly eyes at each other while Tara and Willow cuddled together. Or maybe it was the sting of Cordelia Chase's pseudo-sympathy when she'd gotten caught up to the non-events in Buffy's life over the past year.

Well, that wasn't fair. It wasn't Cordy's fault that everything out of her mouth sounded sarcastic.

Whatever had prompted her words, Buffy was glad he'd accepted her invitation. Spike held her close, and she let her eyes slip shut. Just for a few minutes, she wanted to pretend that her life had never gotten derailed. She ought to be a senior this year. Maybe she'd have been renting a house with Willow and Tara, rather than spending another year in the dorm.

She had the renting a house thing down, at least.

Buffy pushed the bitter thought away and tightened her hold on Spike's hand. He slipped an arm around her; his hand settled at the small of her back and traced random patterns there. Her skin felt almost too warm beneath his touch. She allowed herself to lean on him and for a moment let herself wish she had what she'd been envying all night.

It wasn't that she wanted a boyfriend—and she certainly wasn't thinking of Spike as potential boyfriend material, because can you say awkward? Buffy was pretty sure dating your neighbor was right up there with ... a really, really wrong thing. But he smelled incredible—leather and smoke and just the smell of him rising off his skin—and they fit together perfectly. And … She wondered if he really meant the things he'd said to her. He thought she was strong? That she was doing something … worthwhile. Buffy hadn't thought of it in those terms before. She just … did what had to be done. And most of the time she didn't think she was doing any of it very well. Maybe, though. It wasn't like Spike was her biggest fan; she knew she'd made an amazingly terrible first impression.

And second impression. And third … Buffy let out a sharp, quick laugh and relaxed against Spike as they swayed to the music. They circumscribed a tight circle in their corner of the dance floor, until she remembered the last time she'd been in his arms. When she'd kissed him.

She took a deep breath and pulled back a little. She looked up to see Spike looking down at her, an unreadable expression in his blue eyes. The silence between them suddenly became uncomfortable.

"So, William Williams?" she said. "Were your parents hoping you'd grow up to be a poet or what?"

Spike grinned stiffly and shook his head. "My birth name was William Henry Pratt." A muscle twitched in his jaw as he continued, "The Third."

She blinked. "Oh. Well. That sounds ... aristocratic."

"Maybe a bit less so than you'd imagine."

"Meaning?"

His eyes went hard for a second. Buffy found herself regretting the offhand question. She opened her mouth to tell him to forget it or maybe to change the subject, when he spoke.

"Meaning my father was a berk who thought he was something because he'd had a run of luck in the stock exchange. He'd have done well enough to have left off with the airs and skipped the establishing a dynasty gig." He sighed, and the anger faded from his expression. "And that's enough about my family. Now, you, pet—"

"What about me?"

Spike smiled down at her as he spun her around in time to the music. "Yeah. What are you gonna do?"

"Do? I don't—"

He pulled her in close to him and snugged their clasped hands up to his chest. "You don't want to work at that grease factory forever."

Buffy dropped her gaze to their entwined hands. Spike's forefinger, clad in a plain silver band and chipped black nail polish, stroked along her thumb. She felt as if her entire being were focused on that one tiny point of contact. Silly when she was pressed against him from chest to knee, but that light touch did more to rattle her nerves than the warmth of him up and down her body.

"Buffy?" He let go of her hand and tipped her chin up. Whatever he saw on her face made him frown. "I apologize. I didn't mean to, um, interfere."

"No, I mean, you're right. But it's what I have to do right now."

"Why?"

"You're kidding, right?" She shook her head and laughed bitterly. The hurt that clanged through her took her by surprise; why had she been so sure Spike would understand? "You've met my sister, the human garbage disposal. What part of this equation don't you get?"

He blinked at her sharp words. "You don't belong there, Buffy. You're something—You're better than that."

She shrugged, made uncomfortable under his scrutiny and his good opinion of her. "I don't see a lot of options," she said finally. "I don't know what else to do."

"Don't have to figure it out on your own, do you? Your friends are there for you. Seems they've really stepped up since …" He fell silent, and just like that the awkward was back in their conversation.

Buffy struggled for something to say that wouldn't sound stupid or dismissive. She knew she'd been childish about the whole thing. It was just a kiss, right? Only, as she snuck a look up at him, it didn't seem like such a simple thing. "I'm sorry," she blurted out.

"Sorry? For what?"

"I've been avoiding you, and you've been so … so helpful and good to me. And I just … I shouldn't have done that." Then, before she could stop herself: "I missed you."

"Did you, now?" The self-satisfied smirk on Spike's face made Buffy want to recall her impetuous words. Then the sharp angles of his face and the sharp look in his eyes melted into something softer, warmer. He stroked her cheek with his fingers before slipping his hand through her hair to curl at the nape of her neck. "I missed you, too, kitten."

Buffy stared at Spike. Mutual missage. What did that mean? Just that they were ... friends. Who missed each other. Only what she was feeling right now was so far from friendship. Even with her ex-boyfriends, she'd never felt this irresistible pull to another person.

His thumb stroked along her neck just behind her ear. She shivered pleasantly at the caress. The song ended, and Buffy was distantly aware that they were no longer swaying to the music. Spike's arm tightened around her waist, and he leaned in toward her and spoke her name.

"Buffy!"

And that was a different voice altogether. She turned her head slowly, caught in Spike's gaze like a fly in sap. Dawn's grinning face made her move hastily two feet to the right. "Dawn. Hi. We're dancing." Stupid brain. Her sister's grin only widened.

"Okay, whatever, weirdo. Is it all right if I go home with Willow and Tara? Please, please, please?"

Buffy scrambled to switch gears and focus on Dawn. She couldn't shake her awareness of Spike; he glowed like neon next to her. "Uh, where's Willow? I'd like to talk to her before—"

"She's getting her coat. She said it's fine. Can I go?" Dawn bounced on her toes, nearly burbling over. She made her eyes go wide and put a pout on her face. She'd obviously forgotten who'd patented that look.

Buffy scanned the crowd looking for Willow. She was just getting seriously annoyed at the tall boy with the exceedingly puffy hair who kept getting in her line of vision when her friend's voice sounded in her ear.

"Hey, sweetie, we're taking off. Am I taking Dawnie with me?"

"Are you sure it's okay?" Buffy twisted her fingers together and tried not to feel guilty about her overwhelming desire to not be responsible for her sister tonight.

Willow laughed and wrapped an arm around Dawn's shoulders. "It's no bother. We love this kid."

Buffy nodded. "Thanks, Willow." She reached for her sister and pulled her into a hug. "Happy Thanksgiving, Dawn," she whispered in the younger girl's ear. Then she forced out the words she wished came more naturally to her: "I love you."

Dawn squeezed her tight before stepping back. In that moment, the absence of their mother was a physical pain that shook Buffy to the core. She doubted, from the smile on Dawn's face, that her sister felt the same keen loss as she herself did. She had to wonder at the timing; surely when she was trying to remember the exact proportion of spices for the apple pie would have been a better instant to need her mother. But it was there nonetheless, a sucking chest wound that she'd somehow forgotten.

Spike's hand pressed warm at the small of her back, and Buffy pushed the pain away. She caught Dawn's uncertain expression and smiled warmly. "What time should I pick you up tomorrow?" she said.

"Oh, um, I can … can I just call when I'm ready?"

Buffy nodded again. "That's perfect, Dawn. Have fun, okay?" They said their goodbyes, and then she was alone with Spike. She turned to him. "How about another dance?" She forced a bright smile onto her face, though of everyone she knew, he seemed the least likely to be fooled by her act.

"My pleasure." Spike fixed his eyes on hers as he pulled her back into his arms. She went willingly, and they moved slowly to the music. Buffy tucked her head beneath his chin; she could hear the steady lub-dub of his heart under her ear. It was easier to be away from his piercing gaze. She felt herself relax again as the immediacy of her sudden longing for her mother began to fade.

The band tore into a new tune with a more upbeat tempo. Spike surprised her by turning her around so her back was to his chest. His hands on her hips urged her to move in time to the music. Buffy felt her cheeks grow warm at the intimate contact, but then she tamped down on her embarrassment and lost herself in the physicality of the dance.

She let her head fall back as they danced, their bodies close enough that she could feel Spike's ... could feel HIM pressing into her buttocks. She gave in to the sudden need to press her hips against him. He took a deep breath, and his left hand slid around her abdomen to hold her firmly in place. His other hand reached up, pulled her loose curls back from her left shoulder. He leaned forward, rested his chin in the curve of her shoulder as his fingers dragged slowly through her hair and continued down her arm.

"Buffy," he said. The movement of his lips near her ear sent a chill skating along her nerves. She thought of kissing him: the taste of him, his mouth beneath hers, thought of how his arms had felt clutched in her hands, his skin warm over clenched muscles. His free hand curled up her side, stopping only when his thumb brushed against the swell of her breast. He spoke again—"Buffy"—and just the way he pronounced her name made her know that she could have anything she wanted from him tonight.

That thought spiraled around her brain, gaining import as she moved in unison with him. His mouth trailed along her throat; he dragged his teeth against her skin, but so gently and politely that it felt like a kiss. Buffy reached up with both arms and twined them around his neck. Her eyes slipped closed as they danced, and he continued to ply her with soft lips and warm breath. She was sure there was a reason she should put an end to this, but there was nothing in the world she wanted to do less than make Spike stop touching her. The music swirled over her, and she shimmied her hips to the rhythm.

Just for tonight, she thought, I can do anything I want.

Dawn hopped out of the car with a quick goodbye and scurried up the sidewalk to the house. She could hear the thumping bass of some generic pop song from the street; a clamor of voices rose an octave above the blur of music. She turned the doorknob and cracked the door open. Awash in the spill of party noise, Dawn turned and waved to Willow and Tara. A sigh of relief escaped her when they waved back and drove off. She'd been worried for about half a second when Willow had come up to talk to Buffy. Luckily her sister was too googly-eyed over Spike to pay too much attention. Dawn was half-surprised she hadn't broken up a snogfest when she interrupted them. She saw the way they'd been, like, looking at each other.

She stepped into the house, instantly too warm in her red woolen coat. She stripped it off and scanned the crowded living room she found herself in. A keg held place of honor in one corner, and Dawn moved that way. Navigating a party where she knew next to nobody might be easier with a beer in her stomach. She filled a plastic glass and took a nervous sip before glancing around again. Okay, so she recognized almost everyone in the room, but there was certainly no one she would call a friend—or dare strike up a conversation with. Then a pair of blue eyes beneath a shock of dark hair caught her gaze. A smile curved her lips, and the rest of the party faded away as Jason moved toward her.

She was going to have so much fun tonight.