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Author's Chapter Notes:
Thanks again to my betas KnifeEdge and Ryn. Huge thanks also to Puddinhead for all the encouragement recently. I've written more in the past two weeks than pretty much the whole past year. I still have two (and a half, as of now) chapters up my sleeve, so updates will continue.

Thanks to everyone for the great reviews! I'm so glad people are still interested in this story.

Banner by KnifeEdge
“Buffy.”

The lump on the bed twitched slightly and pulled the covers more firmly around itself. It made a small, indistinct noise before subsiding back into stillness.

Dawn edged closer to the bed and yanked on the blanket. “Buffy!” she said again. “I'm gonna be late for school.” She crossed her arms and eyed her sister's rumpled form. Buffy pulled a pillow over her head and mumbled something that sounded like “sleep good.”

“C'mon,” Dawn said. “Are you taking me to school or what?” She laughed a little. “And I can't believe I just woke you up to ask you to take me to school. What is wrong with me?”

Buffy rolled over and looked at the clock. “I'm taking you to school,” she croaked.

“You don't have to,” Dawn said hopefully. “I can call school and tell them I can't make it. You should go back to sleep.”

The impact of Buffy’s look-of-death was lessened somewhat by the way she was squinting through bloodshot eyes. Dawn shrugged innocently.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “You look a little, uh ...” Dawn was pretty sure there wasn't a polite way to say 'death warmed over,' so she stopped before she said anything that would make Buffy mad. “Um, you were out really late,” she added. She cringed inwardly at the needy tone in her voice.

Buffy sat up slowly; the expression on her face made it look like sitting up was equivalent to scaling a mountain. “I’m sorry,” she said. Then she went extra-pale and got all sweaty. She hurtled off the bed and past Dawn into the bathroom, where she just managed to make it to the toilet before throwing up.

Dawn screwed up her face. “Oh, yuck,” she muttered, and hurried to close the bathroom door. Muffling the sounds of Buffy being sick was a very good choice, unless Dawn wanted to be in there next to her. She stood outside the bathroom, shifting from foot to foot, until she heard the toilet flush. That was followed by the sound of running water. She opened the door just a crack. Buffy leaned over the sink, splashing water on her cheeks.

“I'll be ready in a minute,” Buffy said without looking at Dawn. “You can get your stuff and get in the car, okay?”

Dawn waited a second before clomping down the stairs as loudly as she could manage. She stopped in the kitchen for a quick rummage through the cupboards. She unearthed a bottle of Yoo-hoo at the back of the fridge and threw it, along with an apple, into her backpack. Buffy still hadn’t emerged from the bathroom by the time Dawn was standing on the front porch. She smiled to herself. With any luck, she’d miss math class. Not that she’d really planned on going in any case, but at least this way it wasn’t her fault.

Dawn made it almost to the driveway before she realized the Land Rover was nowhere to be seen. She rolled her eyes and wondered briefly how Buffy had made it home last night. She went back inside and stomped back upstairs. The bathroom door was closed again, and she could hear the water running. She knocked on the door. “Um, Buffy? Where’s the car?”

The water cut off abruptly. Buffy cursed quietly but clearly. Then there came a rhythmic thumping. It sounded a little like someone banging their head against a wall. After a minute, Buffy finally opened the door. “Will you call Xander and ask him for a ride?” she said, a little sheepishly.

Dawn sighed. “Whatever,” she said.

The door closed as Dawn made the trip downstairs again.

Fifteen minutes later, Dawn sat on the front steps waiting for Buffy to make her appearance. Her backpack sat between her feet. She had pulled out her English textbook to pass the time. Some of the poetry wasn’t so bad, especially since Spike had explained the metaphors to her.

Speaking of Spike ... Dawn’s head lifted at the unmistakable sound of punk rock accompanied by the throaty growl of a souped-up engine. She smiled brightly when Spike’s car roared down the street. Dawn met him at the sidewalk, textbook clutched to her chest. “Hi, Spike,” she greeted him as he emerged from his vehicle. Spike nodded and cut his eyes over her shoulder before looking back at her and smiling.

“Morning, Dawn,” he said.

“I have a huge favor to ask,” she said. “See, Buffy must’ve left her car at the Bronze last night, and I tried calling our friends but no one can come pick me up, and I’m gonna be late for school, and ... Can I have a ride? Please?” Dawn made her most pitiful ‘poor me’ face. Then she figured she’d better throw in a little bribery, just in case Spike wasn’t a sucker for puppy dog eyes. “I’ll, uh, I’ll do your dishes for a week!”

Spike laughed, leaned back against the car, and pulled out a cigarette. He paused in the motion of lighting it, hand cupped around the flame of his Zippo, and gave Dawn a strange look. He flipped the lighter shut and shook the cigarette in her direction. “You know these things are bad for you, right?”

“Duh,” Dawn said. “The real question is, do you know that? And geez, random much? So, how about a ride?”

Spike looked beyond Dawn again. “Think big sis might have something to say about that idea,” he said, nodding toward her house.

Dawn turned and saw Buffy coming toward them. She still looked really rough. Her hair was scraped back into a messy ponytail, and she wore a pair of baggy sweatpants and a faded UC Sunnydale t-shirt. Dawn rolled her eyes and turned back to Spike. “Whatever. She’s just cranky because she’s, like, hungover or something.”

“No, I’m ‘cranky’ because you can’t seem to do anything I ask,” Buffy said. “I thought I told you to call Xander.”

“I did,” Dawn replied. “Anya said he left for work already.”

“So why don’t you run inside and call Willow?” Buffy suggested in a tone that brooked no disobedience.

Dawn didn’t move. “I did that, too. No one was home. But Spike doesn’t mind taking me to school. Right, Spike?” She grinned at him and fluttered her eyelashes for good measure.

Spike’s shoulders relaxed into a soft, huffing laugh. He looked at Buffy. “Listen, pet,” he began.

“Don’t call me that,” Buffy snapped. She was obviously trying to pull off that thing where she made herself seem a lot more imposing than she actually was. Spike looked completely unimpressed.

“Buffy,” he said. “I don’t mind runnin’ Dawn to school. If that’s okay with you.”

Buffy glared at Spike. “Did you not listen to a word I said last night?”

Spike shook his head. Then, with a cold smile, he lit his cigarette. “Nope. Guess not,” he said. He took a long drag and exhaled in Buffy’s direction.

Dawn smacked Spike on the arm. “That was really rude!”

Spike pitched the cigarette into the street, earning himself another smack from Dawn. “Bloody hell,” he muttered. “All right, look, I’m sorry. And ... it’s kinda my fault you don’t have a car this morning, so I’ll take Dawn to school. Least I can do, right?”

Buffy gave Spike a long, considering look. “I don’t think so,” she said finally. “Come on, Dawn.” She turned to go back to the house.

“Buffy—” Dawn started.

Spike took a step forward and grabbed Buffy’s shoulder. “Oi! Unclench, sweetheart,” he said. “Tryin’ to be helpful here, you know?”

Buffy shrugged off his hand and spun around. “Helpful. Really. Is that what you were doing last night when you—” She stopped abruptly and turned an alarming shade of red.

Spike moved closer to her until they were practically nose to nose. “You mean when I didn’t let you drive your drunk self home? Yeah, that was me bein’ helpful. ‘S what neighbors are for, yeah? Maybe if you didn’t have that sodding stick rammed so far up your ass—”

Dawn had had enough. She stepped between the two so-called adults, fists planted on her hips. “Stop it!” she said. She was alarmed to feel tears of frustration welling up and tried to blink them back. Then she thought that maybe crying wasn’t the worst thing she could do in this situation and let the tears fall. “Can you please stop fighting already? Please?” Suddenly Dawn’s tears weren’t just a ploy; she felt uncomfortably like she had as a little girl when her parents would fight. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Dawnie,” she heard Buffy say.

“Hey, Dawn,” Spike said at the same time.

Then Buffy was hugging her tightly. Dawn wasn’t entirely sure, but she thought the pat on her back was courtesy of Spike. She burrowed her face into the crook of Buffy’s neck until she had herself back under control.

Dawn pulled away from Buffy finally and scrubbed at her damp cheeks with the heel of her hand. “I need to go wash my face,” she mumbled, not looking at either Buffy or Spike. Especially not at Spike, not after acting like a big, dumb baby in front of him.

“Okay,” Buffy said gently. “Will you grab my purse on your way out? I’ll come with you guys. Spike can take me to get my car after we drop you off at school.”

Dawn glanced up then, just in time to catch the look—part surprise, part dismay—that Spike gave Buffy as her words sank in. Dawn smiled broadly, her tears mostly forgotten, and sprinted for the house.


***


Buffy closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Nope, that wasn’t any better. Her eyes popped open. She wasn’t sure where she should be looking to keep from getting carsick. Not that she was carsick, but still ... the road seemed bumpier than she remembered. Probably had something to do with driving around in an antique. Did they have suspension when this car had been built? The car went over another ridiculously large bump, and Buffy gulped, hoping she could hang on to the sparse contents of her stomach just a little bit longer. At least the vehicle was clean, if a little smoky-smelling. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting—a carpet of empty liquor bottles and overflowing ashtrays, maybe—but the interior was surprisingly spotless.

“How you doin’ back there, pet?” Spike asked. He was watching her in the rearview mirror, which for some reason was mounted right on the dashboard. Buffy wasn’t sure how he could see anything beyond the back seat.

“I’m fine,” she said shortly. Buffy looked around for something to distract her from the way her stomach was rolling. The way the houses and trees were whizzing by outside the window was definitely not helpful. She scrabbled for the window crank and let out a sigh of relief at the breeze that cooled her sweaty face.

“If you’re gonna heave, let me know so I can pull over,” Spike said. He turned halfway around in his seat, a look of real concern on his face. “Last thing I need is you puking all over my baby.” Too bad the concern was for the car, not the actual human sitting in the back seat.

“I’m not going to throw up in your car,” Buffy said with a touch more confidence than she felt.

“That’s right, you’re not,” Spike said. He stroked the dashboard like he was caressing a lover.

Great. Now she really was going to be sick. Buffy subsided into a sulky silence, which was easily filled by Dawn’s chattering. Her earlier mood had dissipated quickly, and she’d wasted no time in claiming the front seat as her rightful spot for the ride to school. Not that Buffy wanted to sit up front.

“Oh, Spike!” Dawn said excitedly. Buffy scoffed quietly. She’d lost track of how many times Dawn had said ‘Oh, Spike’ in that same tone over the past five minutes. She was going to sit her little sister down later and explain exactly why it wasn’t okay to be all googly-eyed over the annoying neighbor. As soon as her head didn’t feel like it was going to fall off. Or explode.

Then what Dawn was saying began to penetrate the fog surrounding her brain.

“Look, I got my paper back.” Dawn dug through her back pack and retrieved a crumpled wad of papers. She flipped through them and extracted the one she was looking for.

“‘S that the one on the sonnets?” Spike asked.

Sonnets? Buffy thought.

“Yeah,” Dawn said. “See, I got a B-plus.” She waved the paper in front of Spike’s face. “And the teacher wrote, ‘Excellent work.’”

“Good for you,” Spike said. He smiled warmly at her.

“Well, I couldn’t have done it without your help,” Dawn said modestly.

“Ah, you were doin’ fine,” Spike protested. “Just needed a little nudge in the right direction, is all.”

Buffy leaned forward, ignoring the objections her guts had about that move. “Wait. You’re—helping my sister with her homework?”

Dawn and Spike exchanged an amused glance. “Yeah, Spike’s really good at English and History,” Dawn said. “What’d you think? I was just hanging out at his house to watch True Blood?” She quailed a little at the look Buffy gave her. “Um, because I wasn’t. Watching True Blood. Because I know I’m not allowed.”

Spike laughed. “Right. And when you’re not allowed to do something, that stops you.” He gave Dawn a sidelong look. “Don’t think we’re not gonna have a talk about you forgettin’ to tell me what big sis’ rules are.”

Dawn blushed and gave Spike a look of such pure teenage hero-worship that Buffy felt embarrassed for her. “Sorry?” she squeaked. “But ... but it’s okay, right?” She looked over her shoulder at Buffy. “I can hang out with Spike sometimes, can’t I, Buffy?”

Buffy sighed and sat back. “We’ll talk about it later, Dawnie,” she said.

“But—”

“I said, later.” Sometime when he’s not looking at me with that stupid smirk. Serve him right if I did throw up all over his ‘baby.’

“Aw, c’mon, Buffy,” Dawn whined. The sound grated against Buffy’s overly sensitive ears.

“You heard your sister,” Spike said firmly.

“Fine,” Dawn said with just the barest hint of a pout.

The remainder of the ride was spent in silence on Buffy’s part. She half-listened to Spike and Dawn’s rousing game of ‘bash each other’s musical taste.’ By the time they pulled up in front of Dawn’s school, she was ready to yank the stereo right out of the dash. Her head was throbbing in time to the latest musical travesty. At least now it was one of Dawn’s perky teen idols, which was marginally better than the punk rock Spike insisted on blaring way too loudly.

“Thanks for the ride, Spike,” Dawn said. She took her time getting out of the car; she looked almost disappointed that the first bell had rung already, and no one was around to witness her arrival.

“I’ll pick you up after school,” Buffy reminded her.

Dawn paused in the act of cramming her papers back into her back pack. “Um, no, I was gonna go to Janice’s again today. Science project, remember?”

Buffy nodded. Then she made a mental note to keep her head as still as possible for the foreseeable future. “Do you need a ride from her house later?”

“No, her brother can bring me home when we’re done.” Dawn’s cheeks flushed as she spoke.

“You and Janice are going to be at her house after school, right?” she asked suspiciously. “Actually doing homework?”

Dawn ignored the question, rather gracing Spike with one last smile before she got out of the car. “Bye,” she said. “Thanks again, Spike!” She slung her bag over one shoulder, tossed her long hair back, and hurried up the steps to the school.

The car felt oppressively still without Dawn’s bubbly presence. Spike clicked off the radio. The silence was almost a physical thing between them. Then he turned and looked at her, too-familiar smirk firmly in place.

“You planning to come up here, or you wanna stay back there and pretend I’m your chauffeur?” Buffy hesitated for a moment, and Spike let out an exaggerated sigh. “I don’t bite,” he said. Then, with a leer, he added, “‘Less you ask real nice.”

“You’re a pig, Spike.” There was little venom in her statement, however, and she slid out of the back seat to take the place vacated by Dawn.


***


“Uh, you know the Bronze is the other way, right?” Buffy said.

Spike shrugged. “How’re you feeling?”

She stared at him for a minute before answering. “I’m not going to throw up, if that’s what you mean,” she said finally. “You don’t have to worry about your precious car.”

“That’s not what I meant, but good to know.” Spike reached into his jacket pocket for his smokes. “You mind?” he asked, nodding toward the pack.

Buffy crinkled up her nose. She looked sort of adora—Spike halted that train of thought right in its tracks. Her twitchy nose was rabbity, not cute in the slightest. The fact she’d been on his mind last night didn’t mean a thing. Spike reminded himself of all the annoying things she’d done since she’d moved in next door, starting with punching him the first time they’d met. She might be looking all sorts of vulnerable this morning with the baggy clothes—and it wasn’t fair she should look that appealing with no makeup and her hair such a mess—but he knew that was just a cover. Underneath it all she was a cold-hearted little bitch.

Right.

Spike stuck a cigarette in his mouth and lit it, not waiting for approval from his passenger. It was his car, his rules. He’d smoke if he wanted to, and he couldn’t care less what she thought. He rolled down his window, though. Wouldn’t do to smoke her out on the off chance it’d make her sick.

“Where are we going?” Buffy’s screechy voice broke into Spike’s thoughts.

“We’re gonna get something to eat,” he said, and turned the car into a small parking lot in front of a dilapidated building. The neon sign in the window read “Dot’s.” The “o” was burnt out.

“What?” Buffy glared at him. “Okay, first of all, I don’t want to go out to eat with you. Second ... If you think I’m going to eat at this—this hole in the wall, you are so mistaken.” She eyed the diner doubtfully, taking in the peeling paint on the building and the grimy windows. “It looks totally gross.”

Spike flipped down the visor in front of her. “Yeah, well, you should fit right in,” he said, pointing at her reflection in the mirror. Buffy looked from the mirror to Spike. Her lip quivered slightly. Dammit, he was not going to apologize. He didn’t care how big and sad she made her eyes look. “Fuck,” he muttered when she wouldn’t stop looking at him like that. “Didn’t mean it like that, pet. You’re—” Nope, couldn’t do it. Wasn’t going to say sorry, certainly wasn’t going to tell her how much he wouldn’t mind peeling off those ratty sweats and shagging her rotten. Not like she’d appreciate the sentiment if he did. “Just get your arse out of the car and let me buy you breakfast.”

“I suppose this is you trying to be ‘neighborly’ again?” Buffy ground out between gritted teeth. “Anyone ever tell you your manners need some work?”

“Somethin’ we’ve got in common, isn’t it, love?”

They stared at each other, neither one willing to budge.

“Suit yourself,” Spike said finally. “You can sulk in the car if you want, but I’m gonna get some grub. Just thought we could talk, all civilized-like, now you’re not drunk. ‘Sides, you’ll feel better with food in your belly,” he promised. He killed the engine and hopped out of the car. He was halfway to the door before he realized Buffy hadn’t moved from her seat. He turned back to the vehicle and opened the passenger door.

“C’mon, princess.”

Buffy didn’t respond beyond giving him a dirty look, but she did deign to get out of the car. Spike watched as she trudged toward the diner. He considered the miserable slump of her shoulders for the barest second before reaching back into the car and retrieving his flask from the glove box.  

“Well, hey, Spike,” the pretty brunette waitress greeted him when they entered. “Haven’t seen you for awhile.”

“‘Lo, Janie,” Spike answered with a smile. He took Buffy’s elbow, ignoring the look she gave him, and steered her toward his favorite booth in the back corner of the diner. Janie trailed them to the table and looked expectantly at Spike as he sat down.

“The usual?” she asked.

“Yeah, and the same for the lady,” he said. Buffy opened her mouth, anger coloring her cheeks, but Spike rolled on over her objections. “Oh, and the makings for a Red Eye.”

Janie took his order, an amused grin on her lips. “Be right back, sweetie,” she said, and walked away from the table. Spike watched her go, appreciatively eyeing the sway of her hips beneath her peach rayon skirt.

“What the hell was that?” Buffy demanded once the waitress was out of earshot.

“What?” Spike said, feigning innocence. “Told you, I’m buying you breakfast.”

“So you get to tell me what I’m going to eat?” Buffy folded her arms across her chest and scowled at him. “You’re a jerk, you know that?”

“Yeah, think you mentioned something about that last night.” He smirked at her. “Wanna talk about anything else you said last night?”

Buffy opened her mouth for what he was sure was going to be some bitchy remark, but just then a waitress sailed by with a tray full of food. Buffy turned a little green as the aroma of sausage and eggs wafted across their table, and she quickly clamped her mouth shut.

Spike chuckled quietly. “You okay, kitten?”

“I have a name,” Buffy said.

“Yeah, I know. Just happens to be a silly one.” Then, though he knew he shouldn’t, he added, “Bitsy.”

Buffy slammed her hands on the table hard enough to rattle the silverware. She winced and looked like she deeply regretted the move. “That’s it,” she snarled. “This is— Why I thought you could act like an adult—” She slid to the edge of the booth.

Spike stopped her with a hand on her forearm. “Hey. Sit down.” He could see the tension in the set of her jaw; he could practically hear her grinding her teeth. “What’re you gonna do?” he said, lowering his voice. “Walk out of here and slog the three miles to get your car because you can’t take a joke?”

Buffy looked at him, then down to where his hand curled around her arm. It was only then Spike realized he was tracing a gentle circle against her wrist. He could feel the steady thrum of her pulse beneath his thumb. Buffy raised her eyes to his, and a charge went through him.

The moment was broken when Janie appeared at their booth, a tray balanced on one hand and a black plastic coffee carafe in the other. She set the carafe on the table between them, and Spike drew his hand away from Buffy’s arm.

Janie chattered familiarly as she set coffee mugs in front of them, followed by a jar of Tabasco sauce, a large glass filled about quarter way with orange juice, and an egg. “Your breakfast’ll be ready in a few minutes,” she said.

Spike swore she put a little extra swing in her step as he watched her walk away this time.

He looked back to find Buffy glaring at him. Again.

“What?”

“I can take a joke,” Buffy said.

“Sure you can,” he said, concentrating on the ingredients in front of him.

Buffy watched with a look of growing horror as Spike cracked the egg into the glass of orange juice, then topped it off with coffee, a healthy splash of hot sauce, and some pepper. He pulled out his flask and added a shot of whiskey before stirring the mixture well. “Eww,” she said. “Please tell me you’re not really going to drink that.”

“‘Course not,” Spike said. He pushed it across the table toward her. “You are.”

“Oh, so many shades of no.” Buffy pushed it back towards him.

“You’ll feel better,” he said. “Trust me.”

“Really, really don’t,” Buffy said. “And I’m not drinking your disgusting concoction.”

Spike shrugged. “Suit yourself. Just thought I’d—”

“Be helpful?” Buffy suggested. “Yeah, I got the memo. Maybe I don’t like your brand of helpful. Speaking of which, what is up with Dawn and her homework? Why do you want a fourteen year old girl hanging around your house, anyway?”

“I’m not— Look, she’s home alone every afternoon. She’s a good kid, but she seems a little lonely.” Spike poured a cup of coffee for himself. “Want some?” he asked. Buffy nodded, and he filled her mug as well. He watched as she proceeded to dump three creamers and four packets of sugar into the coffee. “If you don’t want me having her over, I won’t. But you can’t expect me to just know what your rules are if you don’t talk to me.”

“I shouldn’t have to talk to you. We’re neighbors; we happen to live next to each other—we’re not friends. You’re not Dawn’s babysitter or big brother or whatever. We’re not going to be buddies.”

“‘Good fences make good neighbors,’” Spike murmured. “Fine, that’s the way you want it, pet, that’s the way it’ll be.”

“Good,” Buffy said. “And just so you know, Dawn’s grounded until further notice. She needs ... She has to have boundaries. She can’t lie to me and go behind my back and still get to do whatever she feels like.” She sighed. “Maybe this way she’ll get her chores done for a change.”

Spike took a drink of his coffee and considered Buffy over the rim of the mug. She had a thousand-yard stare and looked tired in a way that had nothing to do with being hungover. He wondered what she’d look like without that frown on her face. Not that he was likely to be getting smiles from her anytime soon. Spike set his mug down and cleared his throat. “You know, Dawn said— That first day, she said you don’t know where your father is. That true?”

“Dawn talks too much,” Buffy said shortly. Her hands curled into tight little fists.

“Hey, not tryin’ to pry into your business,” Spike said. “Just— She’s alone a lot, yeah? You work most afternoons. If you need someone to keep an eye on her, make sure she’s not getting into trouble—”

Buffy let out a snort of laughter. “No. You can just keep your eyes off my sister.”

Spike clenched his jaw and nodded. “Right.” Was for the best, really. Last thing he needed was some little girl with an inappropriate crush hanging about making moon eyes at him. They sat in awkward silence for the next few minutes, until Janie approached their table again with a tray full of food. Spike watched with amusement as Buffy’s eyes widened at the sight of the breakfast platter in front of her—short stack of pancakes, mushroom and cheese omelet, hash browns, and bacon. She was looking a little green around the gills again.

Buffy swallowed hard and raised her eyes to Spike’s. “Will that, uh, really help?” she asked, gesturing to the hangover cure.

“Scout’s honor,” he said, and took a large bite of omelet.

Buffy reached for the glass. “It’s not gonna kill me?”

“I’ve tried it myself—more than once—and I’m still here.”

“Too bad,” Buffy said. She raised the glass and took a tentative sip. “Oh, eww!”

Spike laughed at her expression. “Hold your breath and swallow,” Spike advised. ”It’ll be over before you know it.”

Buffy took a deep breath before tipping the glass back. Spike watched the muscles in her throat as she downed half the glass in one swallow. Then he jerked his gaze away. “Now, how’d I know you’d have that trick down pat?”

Buffy sputtered a little at that. “I really, really hate you,” she said when she caught her breath.

“Mutual, pet,” Spike said. He reached for the Tabasco jar and liberally coated his eggs and potatoes with hot sauce. “Now eat up, and let’s get you home.”


***


Buffy slammed the glass down on the table. She wasn’t about to tell Spike so, but the huge glass of disgusting-ness was actually settling her stomach.

“Why do you always have to be such a—”

“Jerk? Pig? Billy Idol wannabe?” Spike filled in for her. Buffy avoided his too-direct gaze; he looked amused—as much as he had the night before, at least. She shifted uncomfortably on the bench seat as the things she had said last night ran through her mind. “I dunno, love. Why d’you have to be such a bitch?”

“I’m ... I’m not!” she said. She hated the guilt that niggled at her. God, she really was a bitch, with the slapping and the nipple-ring tugging. Color bloomed in her cheeks. I am never drinking again, Buffy vowed silently, eyes fixed firmly on her plate. “I was drunk last night. I said a lot of things I didn’t ... I mean, I wouldn’t ever say those things if—”

“If you’d been sober, right. Doesn’t mean you’re not thinking ‘em, though, does it? Just means you didn’t have the guts to say ‘em without a little Dutch courage. Though, gotta say, considering what you’ve said to me sober, I’m surprised you’d need to get a little drink in you before spouting off.”

“Well, why’d you kiss me?” Buffy demanded. The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. Why, oh why, did she have to bring that up? Her only consolation was that Spike looked just as uncomfortable at the question as she felt asking it.

“Shut you up, didn’t it?” he said, after a long, awkward moment.

Buffy sighed and took a tentative bite of her hash browns. When that stayed down, she took another bite and then started on the omelet. “So that wasn’t because you— I mean, you don’t— you don’t, like, like me or anything. Right?”

Spike coughed. “No,” he said. “No, no, I don’t .... no.”

“Okay,” Buffy said. “I get it. Don’t give yourself a coronary.” Not that she wanted him to like her, but he didn’t have to be so ... emphatic about it. They ate in silence for a few minutes. Finally curiosity got the better of her again. “It’s just ... you, um, you didn’t have to drive me home last night, and then you—”  Buffy bit her tongue before she could bring up the kiss again. Because thinking about him kissing her led to thinking of other things he had done last night, and she absolutely was not thinking about those things. “I mean, if I were you, I would not have taken my sister to school this morning, and I wouldn’t be taking me out to breakfast and ... and making really disgusting hangover remedies. And now I’m not sure if that was you being nice to me or getting back at me for slapping you.”

Spike chuckled. “You feel better, don’t you?” he asked. He nodded towards her plate. Buffy glanced down and realized with surprise she’d demolished half her omelet without even noticing.

“Uh, yeah, guess I do,” Buffy admitted reluctantly. “That was you being nice, huh?”

Spike shrugged one shoulder. “If you say so.”

Buffy poured syrup over her pancakes. “What is it you do, anyway?” she asked. “I mean, do you have a job?”

“I’m a writer,” Spike said.

“Oh.” That was not what she’d expected. Bartender, maybe, or lead singer in some punk rock band—and her brain helpfully supplied her with an image of a shirtless Spike in tight leather pants screaming into a microphone. She shook her head to clear it of that vision. “Uh, what … what have you written?”

He looked at her, amusement plain on his face. “Nothin’ you’ve read, I’m sure,” he said. “Unless you like graphic novels?”

Buffy shook her head. “No, not really.” She was sure if she told him her reading habits ran more towards magazines, he’d have some smart-ass remark. “Um, but Xander would. Probably. Those are comic books, right?”

Spike made a face like he’d just bitten into a lemon. “Not exactly,” he said. “But don’t worry about it.”

Something about the way he said that made Buffy bristle—most likely the implied ‘you silly little girl’ at the end of his statement. She stabbed her fork violently into her omelet and scowled at her plate. Then another question occurred to her. “What’s your name?” she asked.

Spike stared at her. “Are you daft?”

Buffy sighed. “Your real name,” she clarified. “You know, what it says on your driver’s license?”

“Spike.”

Buffy laid her silverware down and folded her arms across her chest. “Really.”

“Yeah, really.”

“You’re telling me your mother looked at a helpless baby and said, ‘I’m going to name him Spike’?”

“That’s a different question altogether, pet,” Spike said with a slow smile. “You asked what it says on my driver’s license, and that’s ‘Spike Williams.’ As for what my mum named me, well, that’s none of your business. We’re not friends, remember?”

“Fine. I don’t wanna know anyway.” Buffy slumped back in her seat and picked idly at the remains of her breakfast. She was determined to get through the rest of this meal and then never, ever talk to her neighbor again.





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