Buffy was ripping open her seventh letter when Spike put a mug of black coffee in front of her.
“Don' know how you take your coffee,” he said sheepishly.
She looked up at him, giving him a grateful smile. “Thanks, Spike.” She sighed, then rubbed her temples. Her eyebrows had been climbing higher up her forehead all night. “Do any of these companies even know I'm dead?” She paused. “Well, was dead.”
He gave a dry chuckle. “Doesn' seem so.”
She glanced at him. “I had a funeral. Do I have a death certificate?”
He paused. “Your father took care of all o'that.”
Her voice broke. “Am I even going to be able to get a job, let alone find one?”
Spike smelled the tears before they even fell. “Luv--”
“Oh, god. I have to get Dawn to talk to Dad.”
“Sweetheart,” he cut in, cupping her face in his hands, “if you need a job, I can try to find you one. It won' be through completely legal means. There're demons – peaceful ones – who need to operate jus' as any other human does, an' they don' have the pleasure of bein' documented citizens. Before you freak out, let me try.”
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. After a moment, she nodded. “Okay.”
He sighed and grimaced. “An' if that fails... we could always try Angel. Truth be told, he has more connections to the demon world than I do right now.” He glanced at her. “How do you feel 'bout workin' alongside the demon persuasion, though?”
Buffy took another deep breath. “Right now it doesn't look like I have a choice. If they attack me, well--I kill them. That's just how it works.” She shrugged. “Can we go home?” She reddened. “I mean--Could we... Could we go back to your place? I just... I miss Margaret and...”
He couldn't help the grin that took over his face. “Whatever your heart desires, my love.”
She bowed her head. “Thank you, Spike, for helping me... Why didn't you tell me that you were paying the utilities?” She lowered her voice. “Do you-- Do you even feel comfortable doing that?”
“Luv, as long as Dawn is living under this roof m'comfortable spending any amount of money I can on this place.”
Her face screwed up into a frown. “But I don't understand. They've... The Scoobies... Have they even been nice to you? Willow and Tara have been living here, too. I just don't want you to stretch yourself thin--”
“Tara's been spottin' me some cash every now an' again, an' she helps with groceries. Xander is completely against me havin' any o'my fingers in yer fiscal business, but he's learned to shut up when 'e needs to. 'bout a month ago there was somethin' goin' on with your pipes and the Whelp's been on it, but the pipes are expensive so s'been goin' at a snail's pace.”
Buffy's face fell. “What—what's wrong with the piping?”
“Hasn' seen a speck of maintenance since the house was built.”
She paled. Spike gripped her hands when he noticed her spike in heart rate.
“Luv! Breathe.”
“I don't know if I can do this,” Buffy admitted, her voice small.
“We're goin' to stop talking 'bout this now, a'right?” he said slowly. “Jus' goin' to fold it away and put it off to the side. We'll focus right now on findin' you a place o'employment.”
She wasn't looking at him and her heart was still beating rapidly.
“Luv?” he chanced.
His reaction to catch her was purely instinctual when she passed out and fell out of her chair. Willow and Tara rushed into the kitchen at the sound of the bar stool clattering to the tile floor.
“What happened?” Willow demanded.
“She fainted,” Spike growled, flashing his eyes at her.
“Let's get her onto the couch,” Tara said. She bit her lip as she and Willow followed Spike into the living room, watching as he lowered her onto the furniture. She glanced at Willow before meeting the vampire's eyes. “Do you think we need to leave?” she asked quietly. “Us living here will cost her a lot more than she already owes.”
“I think that's a conversation that you need to have with 'er,” Spike replied. “Jus'... not right now.”
“Sh-She hasn't even been home,” Willow stammered.
“Can you blame 'er for not bein' comfortable here with you lot?” Spike snapped.
The redhead balled her fists. “And what makes it any different with you? Maybe I brought her back from the dead into a situation she'd rather not be in, but what about you? Pressing parenthood on her!” Her voice cracked, and she stood a little straighter. “You're manipulating her! She thinks she has a family with you! You've manipulated all of us!”
“Willow!” Tara gasped.
Tears spilled from the redheaded witch's eyes. “You have another thing coming if you think you can take her away from us.”
Tara pressed her lips together, her nostrils flaring. “Willow, s-stop.”
“Don't tell me he's got his claws hooked in you, too!”
“Willow, we have to go,” Tara ground out, taking her by the arm and directing her toward the door. “Goodnight, Spike,” she said quickly before closing the door behind them.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Spike snarled, sitting at Buffy's feet and digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. He heard footsteps on the staircase and glanced up to see Dawn rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
“Spike?” she inquired.
He waved it off. “Go back to sleep, 'Bit.”
“I don't believe it,” she said resolutely. When he lifted his head to look at her, she went on, “What Willow said. You haven't manipulated any of us.” She bit her lip. “A-At least, not me.”
He sighed and looked up at her. “Thanks,” he muttered. “You got Angel's number?”
Dawn raised her eyebrows. “It's on the caller ID. Why? What's up?”
“Buffy made a good point today. Even if the Council doesn' know that she's technically dead somehow, the registry does. Don' think she'll ever be able to find a job with that pesky death certificate on file. He could help her find one without havin' to go through all that fake ID mumbo jumbo.”
Spike went for the phone and pressed 'call' after searching through the caller ID.
The other line had not even rung twice before someone picked up and uttered, “Buffy?”
Spike twisted his mouth into a grimace. “Spike.”
“Where is she?” Angel demanded.
“Sleeping. Look, mate. 'F you got any connections to businesses here in Sunnydale that're hirin', you'll let Buffy know?”
There was a long pause. “I'll call you back,” he said, understanding. He hung up before Spike did.
~~
Buffy groaned, holding her head in her hands as it pulsed painfully. A glass of water seemed to materialize under her nose and she glanced up gratefully, grasping it between both hands and taking a long sip. “What time is it?” she croaked.
“After two,” Spike replied.
She sat up. “I should really patrol,” she said, leaning over to put the glass on the coffee table.
“Did already,” he said, his eyes meeting hers.
Tears came unbidden. “Spike, you're already doing so much,” she whimpered.
“Let yourself get back on your feet,” he said softly. “Then you can go back to bein' the stubborn Slayer we all know an' love.” He smiled at her and took her hand. “We should probably check on Anya. Or did you want to stay here?”
Buffy gave an enthusiastic shake of her head. “A world of no.” She glanced around. “Is everyone asleep?”
He nodded. “Tara an' Willow had to step out for a little while this evening, but they came back and went to bed 'bout an hour ago. Dawn's been asleep for a while.”
She nodded. “I'm gonna come back here later and talk to Dawn. I really need to figure out all of this death certificate stuff.”
“I called Angel,” Spike said. At her surprised look, he scowled. “I tol' you he might be able to find you a job. He's workin' on it and he'll give you a call soon.”
She sighed. “Okay.”
“Let's check on our girl an' get you back into bed,” Spike suggested.
Buffy wordlessly nodded. She looked up at him shyly as he weaved his fingers through hers. He smiled and nudged her with his shoulder as they began their short walk to Clem's apartment building.
When they arrived, they found Anya to be fast asleep with Margaret's bassinet parked close to the pullout bed.
“She's really gettin' too big for that bassinet already,” Spike said sourly.
Buffy came up from behind him and rested her chin on his shoulder. “She's gotta grow sometime,” she teased.
“Not if I can help it,” he said, smiling back. He turned around and pressed his lips to hers. “Love you,” he breathed.
“It scares me just how much,” she admitted.
Spike took her hand and led her to their bedroom. “Let me hold you, luv?”
She smiled shyly. “Of course,” she murmured, settling down beside him. She leaned into his side, both of them sinking into the mattress.
Spike watched her close her eyes, her breaths deepening seconds later.
~~
“Thanks for watching Margaret for us,” Buffy said, enveloping Anya in a tight hug.
“Are you sure you don' want any compensation?” Spike asked.
Anya shook her head, removing the paper from a medium-sized chocolate chip muffin that Clem had brought earlier that morning. “No. You've already done enough letting me crash here for two days.” She shrugged. “Plus, I should be heading back home. Xander doesn't know the number here and he ought to be worried.” She smiled at the baby sitting in her high chair. “Margaret was very good company for someone with no vocabulary.”
Spike laughed. “That she is.” The phone began to ring in the living room. The bleach blond frowned. “Who the bloody...” He picked up the receiver. “'lo?”
“I found Buffy a job,” Angel said on the other line. “Can I speak to her?”
“Luv, it's the great poof,” Spike muttered, handing her the phone.
“Hello?” Buffy said, putting the phone to her ear.
“Hey,” Angel said. “How are you?”
“You have no idea,” she laughed, then sighed. “Please tell me something good.”
“I found you a security job at a pretty high profile apartment building.”
Buffy raised her eyebrows. “Huh. What's the catch?”
“Most of the residents are nocturnal and, uh, demonic. They've suffered some day looting very recently. Guess someone's figured out their sleeping patterns.”
Her eyebrows climbed higher. “Really? That's it?”
“And I'd like for you to have dinner with me,” Angel said quickly. “No pressure. I just want to talk.”
Buffy seemed to physically deflate. Across the room, Spike growled. “Angel...” she trailed off.
He cleared his throat on the other line. “I didn't think it was asking too much.”
She took a deep breath, anxiety filling her. “When?”
~~
A week later, Buffy was sliding into a booth at a diner close to Restfield Cemetery. Angel was across from her, his hands folded on the table.
“This doesn't seem very fair, you know,” Buffy remarked. When he opened his mouth to reply, she went on, “Why does this even matter to you?”
“Buffy, five months ago you were dead,” he deadpanned.
“I'm the Slayer. Death is pretty much established in my job description,” she replied, just as deadpan. “Why is this your business? Why do you think you're obligated to ask me how I am? What will it matter if I told you that the mortgage is eight hundred dollars a month or that for the first time ever I find myself incapable of trusting my friends but find myself completely at ease around two soulless demons? Or that Margaret wants Spike more than me when she's upset and it feels like absolute shit? Tell me. What does it matter?” She took a deep breath, raising her eyebrows and upturning her palms. “Got any sage advice? Or are you gonna get up and will yourself out of my life again because that's what you see fit?”
He looked uncomfortable. “Buffy--”
She sighed. “Thanks for the job, Angel. But I really don't have anything to say to you. Not anything that you feel you'd be able to fix, anyway.” She blew a strand of hair out of her face, glanced at the menu, and then at him. “Does this still come with dinner?”
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Margaret is actually based off of a little girl that I used to nanny for. She is the one in pink. I love and miss her so much (non, nothing has happened to her -- I just had to move away ):). If you want to see what she looks like, the link to the image is below:
http://i46.photobucket.com/albums/f145/Erica_Marie_Diaz_Toledo/555773_10202637531682823_324214549_n_zps192f3ebc.jpg
http://i46.photobucket.com/albums/f145/Erica_Marie_Diaz_Toledo/555773_10202637531682823_324214549_n_zps192f3ebc.jpg
Chapter End Notes:
TBC