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Author's Chapter Notes:
Previously: Buffy and Spike had a freak out and Buffy unwrapped a present, only to found crotchless panties of implied sexy times inside. No need to despair Buff, at least they weren't edible. (Spike got those. JK. Maybe.)

Beta'd by the very helpful All4Spike.

Disclaimer (just because I feel like drowning in self-pity): Buffy and Spike don't belong to me. If you listen closely, you can hear trumpets of sadness playing softly in the background.

Sorry, I'm done now. Proceed reading.
Chapter 7

Emma had been watching them all morning, quiet and solemn, and Buffy just knew she was onto them. It was this that forced her to break her oath of silence brought on by the kinky lingerie. Seriously though, was the other Buffy some kind of sex freak? She shuddered to think of the unholy, dirty, sweaty things their doppelgangers would have used the panties for.

The not-at-all-helpful visuals flooded her brain like an X-rated tsunami. “Stop it.”

“What was that?” Spike asked from where he was bent over with his hands on his knees, staring into the refrigerator. Don’t think I didn’t see you eat two bars of chocolate already. Pig.

“Nothing.” She contemplated kicking him in the butt hard enough for it to propel him forward so his head would get stuck inside. Then she’d promptly shove the refrigerator door closed. “She knows something.”

Spike scoffed. “She doesn’t know jack.”

Those words turned out to be as much of a jinx as every time Xander opened his mouth to give a positive prognosis. Cue a disaster comparable to being trampled by a horde of angry demons. An hour later, Emma approached her with a look in her eyes far too old for a five-year-old, clutching a brand new teddy bear with floppy limbs and said, “Don’t you love Daddy anymore?”

And before Buffy could reply, Emma’s eyes were wide and earnest and glossy as if she was holding back tears. “He can fix it, I promise! Remember when he ran over Mr. Cat? He fixed him too!”

Somehow, Buffy thought Mr. Cat had probably been replaced by an exact replica, but didn’t have the heart to say that out loud. Instead she crouched down to be at eye-level and asked, “Why would you say that?” even though she already kind of suspected.

“You don’t give him kisses anymore. You always give him kisses. And Daddy never sleeps alone because he said he likes to cuddle with you. Why does he sleep on the sofa?”

Buffy honestly didn’t know whether she should laugh or cry or both, her gaze catching Spike’s from across the room. Vampire hearing. Great.

Don’t cringe, Buffy. You can do this. You’re a liar extraordinaire. “Of course I… umm… love him. I’ve just been feeling a bit ill. Don’t want to pass on the germs, so no kisses for now.” She faked a cough. “Or cuddling.”

“Daddy kisses you even when you’re ill,” Emma said with a frown, and how was it that Buffy was losing an argument to a five-year-old?

“Uhh… well… medicine!” She nodded to herself. “Since we’re in the middle of nowhere and there are no doctors or pharmacies, it’s just… smarter to not spread the ickiness around.”

“But there’s lots of stores in the town. Medicine ones too.” Emma tilted her head and hello there déjà vu. It was like looking at a miniature, girl version of Spike, especially when Emma only stared and stared at her as if picking her apart and inspecting every piece of her insides under a metaphorical microscope. It was creepy as hell.

And wait… town?

“Oh. Well, I-I just… It’s a grown up thing, okay?” She hated herself the second those words left her mouth. She’d promised herself, promised, that she’d never treat her child as if they couldn’t understand, even if Emma wasn’t technically hers. But she was at her wits’ end and all the excuses got tangled up in her head like the empty lies they were.

Without another word, Emma silently left and tucked herself in the corner of the sofa, hugging the teddy bear to her chest. The cartoons were still on, and as an anvil flattened Tom the Cat to the ship’s deck all Emma did was look at it blankly in a way Buffy remembered all too well.

We’ll mess everything up. I already am.

Then Spike was there right behind her, silent as a shadow, whispering, “Good job, Slayer,” into her ear. She wanted to turn around and hurt him, but she remained rooted to the spot, her hands closed into fists.

“You’re not helping, you know.”

His voice was dark and smooth and she wanted to strangle it in his throat. “Maybe I don’t care.”

Emma looked over at them from her spot on the sofa, nervous eyes peeking from behind her teddy bear and Spike’s arm slid around Buffy’s waist before pulling her against his chest, fingertips of his free hand rasping down her arm and stopping at the fist coiled so tightly with helpless anger, opening it up slowly. His lips tickled the shell of her ear when he whispered, “I don’t care,” almost too low for her to hear.

She hadn’t realised her eyes had closed until she opened them again and noticed Emma was no longer watching them.

She avoided him for the next two hours, blaming it all on girl bonding as she let Emma braid her hair and indulged in a colouring session that made her feel a bit like a child for the first in forever.

*******

It was a survival instinct, that was all, Spike thought as he searched through all the pockets of abandoned clothes folded up in the dresser and hung up in the closet, bored and restless. It would be so much easier to just give up and act the part of an evil soulless vampire, to move into all the right spots on the chess board. Only he’d never been one to follow the rules. So what if he cared a little? The Slayer didn’t need to know.

They could play the part of a happy couple until the White Hat Brigade noticed they were gone and mojo’d them back into Sunnydale. And they had to, because it felt a lot like this world was drained of magic and neither he nor the Slayer was equipped to fix it. There wasn’t any foe he could fight and defeat, besides the one in his head.

He could get through this, not let it get to him and twist everything around. It’s not like he’d ever want her.

Spike opened the last shelf of the dresser. Books. And it would be all fine and dandy if one of them didn’t have William Pratt imprinted on the cover.

He held it tightly, sat down and scooted against the wall, listening intently to make sure the Slayer was still busy downstairs before flipping it open and reading the inscription.

“To my wife; thank you for letting me share our story with the world.”

All right, going any further would probably be a colossal mistake because did he really want to know what had gone on between their alternate versions?

He stretched out his legs, kicked the feeling of unease far into his subconscious. Hell yes he did. He’d always been a nosy bastard. And yet, you shouldn’t be reading this. You don’t know what it will do to you.

It’s just a book.

It’s not as though he’d get a sudden impulse to follow in their footsteps, he told himself, and forged ahead.

He was a few chapters in, every word like a heavy stone in his gut. It was surreal to see all his mannerisms set down on the pages, to see the way he’d put everything on the line, made the same mistakes over and over again. To see that any version of him could feel this way about the Slayer, the way he’d felt for Drusilla. Maybe more, and that was a thought he didn’t want to contemplate in depth. Just like he didn’t want to admit he could see the other him falling into the trap of being attracted to Buffy. He’d always loved to reach for what was beyond his grasp, trip himself up chasing after a challenge.

“And even though her skin was warm as a summer day, it was like touching glass that wouldn’t break. Her mouth would breathe denials into my skin while her body fell into mine, pliant, every slip and slide saying ‘yes’. I wanted to grip her tighter and not let go, demand her to admit this was more than an illicit affair, but every time I would, she’d clam up even more, leave me alone and aching with just the scent of her perfume for company.”

“Spike?”

“Fuck!” The book fell to the floor with a rustle of pages and he wanted to curse again because he hadn’t got it bookmarked. And how come he hadn’t even heard her coming up? This place was messing with his senses. “What?”

“What are you doing? I yelled and yelled and nothing.” She was eyeing the book now, so he inconspicuously picked it up and flipped it cover-down.

“Just… killing time.”

“As long as you’re not killing the innocents.”

“Would if I could,” he said, mostly to aggravate her.

“You’re disgusting,” she said and yeah, this was good. Familiar. He could take the insults, the banter. Anything to distract him from the still vivid imagery of her naked golden flesh and needy gasps against his skin.

“Is that what you wanted or was there anything else?” He was starting to get a crick in his neck from looking up at her, so he stood up, put the book down on the nightstand and stretched his limbs.

“Oh. Umm… shops. Town. Emma said there is a town. I thought I’d go check it out. It can’t be far, right? Maybe I can find something helpful.”

He tugged the hem of his T-shirt down where it had slightly ridden up. “Doubt there’s a Magic Box here and even if there was, neither of us have the power or skills to pull off interdimensional travelling. We’d probably end up stuck in between or at the bottom of a fiery pit.”

“I know that,” she said, lips pursed. “But I can’t just do nothing. We can’t just sit here and expect to be saved. That’s not my style.”

He took a step closer, could see she was getting worked up, fought the impulse to grab her shoulder. “It’s not mine either. All I’m saying is; don’t get your hopes up. There’s something up with this place. It’s almost like magic doesn’t exist here, yeah? I reckon that’s the only reason all my senses are glitching.”

“Even if you’re right, I’ve just… I’ve got to. I need to try, I need to look, see if I can find someone.”

“Yeah, all right. Hope you do. The sooner we get out of here, the better.” And then it occurred to him, that crucial issue only she could resolve. “Buffy?”

She paused and turned back around from where she was just about to leave, a strange expression on her face.

“Buy marshmallows, will you? We ran out.”

“But there was a full bag in the cupboard this morning.”

He shrugged. “I got bored. Ate them all.”

She sighed. “I swear to God… And how am I supposed to pay for them anyway? It’s not like I have any money on me.”

Well, he did, but he sure as hell wasn’t about to waste his hard-stolen dosh. Good thing there was a wallet full of cash. Convenient is what it was. He took it out of the drawer and handed it to her. “Here, use this.”

“I told you we wouldn’t tak—”

“Listen, you’ve got two choices. One, be a bloody goody two shoes and starve to death, or two, buy some food. We’ve got enough for now but we ought to stock up just in case, and since you’re going—”

“You don’t even need food,” she hissed, the artery popping up on her neck. Oh, how he wanted to lick it and taste it and sink his teeth in.

“Oh come on, Slayer. Don’t be such a Grinch.”

“I’m only buying the stuff we really need and I should probably stop by at the butcher’s. You know, since you’re on a special liquid diet.”

Right. Food for him. Funny how she’d thought of that before he did, funny how it made him feel.

“But I’m paying them back,” she added, as though he was claiming otherwise. “Somehow.”

“If that eases your conscience,” he said sullenly, willing himself not to say thank you. It was easier to feel put out because she wouldn’t get him the marshmallows than dwell on the other thing. Besides, there was only so much estrogen a man could take without some sugar in his blood. “Wouldn’t worry about it too much anyway. If they can afford to rent this cabin, I doubt they’re hard up for money.”

“Whatever. I’m going. Look after her while I’m gone.” She stopped herself, her hands nervously fluttering around her thighs before she added a soft-spoken, “Please.”

Fine. If she could play nice, so could he. At least for now. “Good luck.”

*******

Buffy was miserable and cold and her feet hurt. This had been a total bust. It had taken her an hour to realise she was walking in circles before she figured out that she should try going up the hill. She’d found the road then and even managed to flag down a ride from a man who luckily hadn’t turned out to be a homicidal maniac. She’d have preferred that, actually. Anything would have been better than maintaining awkward small talk for ten minutes that had felt a lot more like ten hours.

Buffy’s guide to social interactions. Chapter one: How to converse instead of stabbing things to death, she thought dryly, lugging four bags of groceries and hoping she wouldn’t roll down the hill to top off the perfect day.

She skidded down carefully, following the track she’d made earlier, trying to think of all the positives of the otherwise sucky situation.

It was a good thing she’d gone alone, for one. If Spike had witnessed her suffer a mental breakdown while standing in the frozen foods aisle, holding the peas of doom, he’d never let her hear the end of it. To make it worse, an elderly lady had come up to her, probably drawn in by the aura of distress and loud sniffling, and said, “They have other brands as well, dear, if you don’t like this one.”

Buffy had just nodded and thanked her and clutched the peas of doom to her chest. She wasn’t crazy. It was just the feeling of being an utter failure, drawing strange looks from people she’d not-so-subtly tried to ask about any resident witches, and standing in the middle of a small unfamiliar grocery store that had made her realise they might have to actually use those peas. They might be stuck here for days and neither of them could do anything to fix it.

The last straw had been her stop at the butcher’s where she’d stuttered through her half-assed explanation when she’d requested blood they’d ended up not having. ‘Come back later,’ they’d said and she should have been glad they hadn’t called her out on acting like some kind of sociopath too fixed on making blood sausages, but it still felt a lot like another failure on an increasingly long list.

And so she may have cried a little, but she was fine now and nobody would have to know.

Wow, I suck at positive thinking.

She knew life was tough when the only good thing she could recall was seeing that ivory sliver of flesh right above the waistband of Spike’s jeans when he’d stretched, riding low enough on his narrow hips to give her a glimpse of a happy trail and oh my God, maybe I am going crazy.

She had a… she had a boyfriend! Riley. Finn. With his big muscular arms and kind eyes and affinity for picnics and aimless driving around in his truck. All normal and safe, all the things Spike was not. Which was good, because if there was one thing she despised it was stupid accents and cockiness and an ability to provoke blood-boiling rage using only words.

Just think of Riley. Who is your boyfriend. And who you need to think about more often because he’s the only stable thing in your life.

She didn’t need dangerous and volatile and hot in an outdated retro kind of way. She needed safe and easy. Dependable.

Just as she was about to put the bags down so she could knock, the door swung open right in front of her face and… Well.

“Help,” Spike actually whimpered, his cheeks covered in bright pink, red lipstick smeared over his lips and so much make-up on his eyes he looked as if he’d gone several rounds with a Fyarl.

“Wh-what—” She bit down on her lip and tried not to let it get to her. She really did. And failed.

“Stop laughing! Look what you’ve done to me. This is your fault.” He pointed at her, nostrils flaring. “You left me at the mercy of that little demon in there and I can’t even see myself in the mirror to get it all off properly. And I think it’s waterproof.”

She had to lean on the doorjamb with her shoulder, laughing so much and so loudly she ended up snorting.

“You didn’t tell me giving her sugar would make her hyper! Stop laughing, Slayer.” And then he pouted.

“Oh God, I’m sorry! I’m sorry,” she said and tried to mean it. “You’re just… wow. Drag really suits you.”

He scowled and yanked the bags out of her arms before stalking inside.

And okay, maybe he’d been right about the demon thing because it looked as if a bomb had gone off in the middle of the living room. Suddenly, she was far less amused. Emma was currently running around wielding a cushion and letting out a war cry as she tried to tackle Spike.

“What happened here? Clean it up this instant!” And she sounded so stern and parent-like she even shocked herself.

Emma stopped with her pillow mid-air and blinked up at Buffy with faux-innocent Bambi eyes, her own lips clumsily painted. “We had a pillow fight. And then we played at beauty salon.”

“Okay. That’s nice. But when you play you have to clean up after yourself, okay?”

“But Daddy made a mess too!”

“Then he’ll have to help,” Buffy said, ignoring Spike glaring in her direction.

“How was I supposed to know the pillow would tear?” he complained as he unpacked the bags. Which, not good. She didn’t need him to know she’d caved in and bought the marshmallows in a moment of self-pitying weakness. She’d kind of planned on stashing them in the back of the cupboard and feigning obliviousness once he inevitably found them.

She strode over and slapped his hand away. “I’ll do it.”

“I’ve got it, you slave driver.”

“No, I’ll—”

“Let me—”

“Spike—”

He turned his back on her, huddling the bag to his chest, probably just to annoy her rather than out of any real eagerness to help. “Oh.”

“Look, it’s—”

“You bought them,” he said, facing her now, looking more than ridiculous with all that make-up on and hey, had his eyes always been this stupidly blue? “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” She looked away. “I mean it.”

“Mo-om, do I have to clean it? I’m tired.” Emma turned to Spike then, obviously trying to coerce him into taking her side.

“Yeah, get to it, Bit. Come on, I’ll help you out.”

As they went around picking up all the scattered toys and make-up and feathers, Buffy felt a strange kind of shift. Like maybe he’d have her back, like they could form a united front and make this work without being driven insane past the point of no return.

“Oi, pet! Move your arse and close the door, would you? You’re letting the cold in.”

At least he was still obnoxious. Some things would never change.

TBC


Chapter End Notes:
I'm here to annoy you again. Let me know if you liked the chapter! Or don't. But please do.



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