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Sunday morning came in fresh and easy, like lemon zest or a breath of rain scented air. Though it carried along threats of the real world, unaddressed concerns filtering in like bitter coffee grounds, it also brought the sort of comfort that came with settling in. Like couch cushions depressing under your weight after a long, hard day. A relaxing, comforting peace you find with intimacy in new things.

Knowing she didn't have to go to work tomorrow resembled the silent melody of a piano, joyful and delicate. The quiet creaks of Buffy's footsteps on the way downstairs reminded her that she was alone, and the house was warm and inviting, greeting her with proverbial open arms. The bedroom had remained a haven for quite some time, but Spike was still sleeping now and Darla had not come in until very late last night, so she was also dead to the world, leaving the first floor to be conquered by a well rested woman in need of some coffee.

Buffy leisurely descended the last few steps and took a deep breath, smiling at the emptiness in front of her. She looked up over her shoulder to where Spike slept, and though she always felt the desire to be near him, and the claim was already telling her to go back to bed, the quiet solitude of the first floor beckoned, too.

Besides, he would be awake soon. Once the demon stirred upon realizing she'd left, Spike would make his way downstairs to find her.

Buffy pulled her robe tighter around her body and padded into the kitchen. Warm air all around, the smell of freshly cut grass wafted inside when she opened up a window.

Buffy smiled, feeling a kind of peace she had never experienced before. Her heart beat steadily beneath her breastbone and the comforting scent of coffee grounds managed to clear her head when she started a fresh pot.

Trailing into the foyer and leaving the sunny kitchen behind, glancing up at the empty stairs once again, Buffy shook her head at herself. Claims were obviously deeply veined with impatience.

She opened the curtains in the living room and looked at the late morning sky. The sun was high and the grass as green as emeralds, the sky a ridiculously light blue dotted with fluffy white clouds. A perfect day, unblemished, divine weather and shoulders free of burdens. Days like this seldom appeared in Buffy's life.

Or lasted.

She turned her perusal of the front yard to the driveway, and the serene expression fell.

Right. The car. The car her evil, undead dad had helped fuck up. Her father who was dead, gone for good, and whose demise Buffy needed to report to her sister. The weightless feeling in her chest suddenly dispersed, replaced by lead.

Buffy didn't know how she'd forgotten. It was easy to live in the moment when she was with Spike, easy to let her happiness bloom and her worries drift away. There must be missed calls from Dawn. They had spoken on Friday, before the upheaval that was Hank Summers showing himself at Wingfield's Auction House, but Saturday had come and gone without sharing a word.

Buffy felt guilt settle in her belly like a cold brick. She went to check her answering machine, the one located on the counter below the kitchen telephone. Sure enough, there were messages lighting up the red, robotic looking number three, and Buffy had to take a deep breath before pressing play.

Dawn's voice, slightly anxious, echoed throughout the room. "Hey Buffy, I haven't heard from you today yet, and with you-know-who running around I just wanted to check up. You know, like we've been doing for days now... Please, give me a call, before I start really freaking out, okay?"

Holding her breath, Buffy waited for the next message to start, nearly jolting in surprise when Darla's familiar voice came out of the small speaker box. "I took a guess, and of course, I was right. Dawn was worried when I called her to explain you hadn't met up with... well, your father. She thinks you asked me to call her because you were stuck at the office helping Willow with something art related. Fortunately for me, and you since now you can edit the story however you choose, she didn't ask for details. If you don't call her until tomorrow, Sunday that is, I don't think she'll worry. Oh, and by the way, I'm making this call from Faith's cell phone. I believe she's going to use it to call you in a minute and leave a message of her own so, stay tuned."

Buffy released the breath she'd been keeping locked inside her lungs, sweet relief arriving like a wash of cool water, nearly making her laugh. God bless that vampire, and her major good thinking in relaying this news through a message that Buffy wouldn't miss.

Before she could consider what sort of jewelry to buy Darla, Faith's voice, vivacious and loud, blurted from the answering machine like a foghorn. "How is it that Darla and I are out, looking hot as hell as we draw in the guys like bees to honey, I'm holding a strong drink in my hand, and yet I'm jealous of your sleazy night in? Come on now! I mean congratulations on the new boy, B, but as soon as you're done breaking him in, I have to meet him. I want my friend back, even if she comes with a dude attached at the hip!"

Buffy snickered, shaking her head and walking away from the telephone to pour herself a cup of steaming hot coffee. The reality of how near she had come to upsetting her sister bothered her, but Faith and Darla's messages definitely carried lightness and reprieve with them.

It was a close call, which left Buffy feeling less guilt ridden than she had only minutes before. Honestly, she should have realized something prevented Dawn from wigging out, otherwise she would have come kicking the door in before the sun went down on Saturday.

Buffy sighed, her forehead wrinkling. Not knowing exactly what to tell Dawn yet about Hank was a shadow nestled in the corner of Buffy's mind, chilling her every time she glanced its way.

Talking to her sister was unavoidable, and that ugly fact made her heart race. There were so many things to explain, so much to discuss and reveal, and Buffy had no idea where to start.

The truth was nothing as mundane or acceptably normal as any of the other tragedies they had faced in their lives. Talking about this, about their dad and the related vampire things, wasn't going to be simple in its shock or its sorrow.

Hank's death was so impossibly different from anything Dawn had ever heard of before. Different from the time she found out her first boyfriend was seeing another girl behind her back; it would lack such youthful disappointment. And it wouldn't compare to the time when "divorce" started echoing throughout the hallways. That news had been followed by ailing hope and endless questioning of why, why, why.

Hank's death, the first and the dusty one, would bring pain, of course; acute and difficult to understand. Buffy and Spike starting a life together, an eternal one at that, was too surreal, too dark and unknown to people who didn't understand it to conjure an emotional response one might be able to predict. This wouldn't feel to Dawn like it'd felt to Buffy when Xander had told her he was falling in love with her little sister.

Absolutely none of it would go over with a smile and a nod.

Buffy abandoned the promise of fresh, hot coffee, leaving the kitchen empty handed to have a second look at her damaged car. She was a glutton for punishment sometimes.

The damage really wasn't extensive, if you pulled your gaze away from that rear tire. There was a small dent on the corner of the hood, a shallow flaw to remind her that anything could be used as a weapon with enough incentive. Her trunk lock was broken, too, but if it'd been left slightly open she couldn't tell from this angle.

Her eyes clouded with memories. She didn't want to relive it all. There had been so much fear and desperation, disappointment and grief. Grief for her father's soul, and for the chances she never got; the ones he might have taken to ask for forgiveness. She would never know if he would have wanted it, more importantly, Dawn wouldn't know either. Her younger sister was supposed to have a baby soon, and maybe, just maybe, Hank might have shown up to meet the child. He could have seen his grandson or daughter, and felt remorse for leaving his family behind after the divorce. He could have made amends. Dawn would have forgiven him, even if it took some time.

Buffy didn't know if she could have ever recognized Hank as her dad again, didn't know if she could have accepted an apology laced with need to be let back into her life. A life that he had always been a huge part of before turning a blind eye to it, eventually throwing concern for Buffy away entirely.

There was always something sad and unchangeable about the burning of bridges. You didn't realize you might need them again should you turn back or travel in circles, not until you saw the ash filled waters rippling at your toes and had no means to cross without getting your feet wet.

No, Buffy really didn't think she could have forgiven Hank for neglecting his responsibilities, for turning them into a choice, something to give up. There was too much unsaid about abandonment, and it wasn't completely hers. Being tossed to the roadside hurt too much not to feel a twinge when grazing over the long aged scar, yet hers was a pain secondary to knowing Dawn and Joyce had suffered. Buffy was certain she could never have pardoned her father for that.

Unfortunately, she had also lost the ability to find out if he would have ever tried. Dawn had no way of seeing him again, and even though Buffy knew she herself hadn't turned Hank into a vampire, and who was to say whether the man would've ever realized his mistakes and try and right them, it hurt to remember that any semblance of possibility was now gone. Her dad was dead.

That mental reiteration of the facts almost numbed her from the inside out, but not quite. Buffy didn't notice she was crying until a droplet fell on her hand. She uncrossed her arms and blinked rapidly while wiping at her eyes. A fresh, burning sensation of guilt melted on her tongue, tightening her throat as it slid lower and went to gather in her stomach like tar. There was a presence behind her then, a familiar one that immediately brought comfort and relief with it.

She tried to hold back her tears and breathed deeply as Spike's hands brushed over her shoulders. They smoothed down her arms and tugged her into a shadow, and Buffy heard him say, "I'm sorry I had to do it."

She spun around and looked him in the eyes; they were full of nameless fears and regret. A deepening pit was imbedding itself at the base of her spine, hollowing her out. Spike's uncertainty and thick fears were shoveling him into the ground, and Buffy could feel it.

She lifted dampened fingers to his cheek. "I know you are." Her voice, soft and soaked in honesty, soothed the lines on his forehead.

Wrapping her wrist in a gentle hold, Buffy molded her hand along the side of his face and looked into his shimmering eyes. A blue she could never find anywhere else. A shade lined with love and prayers for acceptance, gazing at her in adoring hope. She'd never been looked at by another person before, the way Spike looked at her.

Buffy swallowed down her constricted throat. "I don't hate you for it, Spike. I- You know that."

Valiant, overflowing gaze, two tiny blue lakes with unreachable bottoms staring, trying so hard to believe what she said. What Spike could feel through a connection that didn't lie, could only be misunderstood. He opened his mouth, jaw slackening as words surged out like an antsy river. "I know it. I can sense it. There's more to this than a feeling, though." He squeezed her wrist in his hand, soft and strong at once. "I did what had to be done, took care of it, yeah? But it hurt you, and logic doesn't exactly stand out bright an forgiving-like in the circumstances, now does it?"

She couldn't disagree, that was true, but she didn't need to. Her heart and head had sorted themselves out sometime between two zealous nights and a summer day. She knew exactly what she felt. "Spike, I..." Her hand drifted downward to cover the bite mark on his neck, and a soft rumble tickled her palm. She smiled tenderly. "I don't blame you. I... I didn't hate him, and I know I didn't want him dead. But the vampire... what he became, I needed dead. And may- maybe a part of me wanted that."

Spike pulled her hand away, squeezing it gently when she broke eye contact and looked down. He lifted her chin and said, "Buffy, you've got more kindness in your heart than anyone I've ever seen on this bloody planet. And I'm an old bugger, met quite a few faces." Her soft puff of laughter was a welcome comfort. "I'm not the best example when it comes to morals, but whatever you feel, I reckon it's normal. Just wish that..." He clenched his jaw. "Wish I could've found another way. Prevented it or..."

Buffy squeezed his hand and said, "If I had never met you, Spike, he would've killed me and Dawn." She sighed when his eyes widened, blue color alighting with objection. "That same part of me that needed to protect her, needed him dead. And I'll never hold it against you for protecting my sister. Protecting us."

His jaw did its clenching while his eyes sparkled with that wonderful, overwhelming look of awe and admiration. Buffy could hardly believe she was on the receiving end of it, no matter how many times he looked at her that way. Just like she would never get used to the way his hands held on, like she was indestructible splendor but he'd never touch her with anything short of loving fingers.

Spike stepped as close as he could, her chin framed by his thumbs. "You're not helpless, Buffy."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, duh. But vampire versus human just doesn't sound like a chance I'd want to take."

Spike's lips curved into a soft, almost-there kind of smile. "You're not entirely human now." Gently, his bruised hand trailed down her arm. "Would imagine you could pack quite a punch if you were so inclined."

Buffy glanced down at their linked fingers, then smiled, green eyes glittering with a teasing light. "You want to test it out?" she asked, reaching up to trail a fingertip down the middle of his nose. He slipped into demon face and nipped playfully at the tickling digit, before yanking her forward and kissing Buffy on the lips.
She moaned, pleasure rippling down as Buffy lost herself in his taste. Spike suddenly pulled back and said, "I would, actually."

She was panting. "Would what?"

He smirked, slipping back into human visage. "Test it out. Your strength, sweetheart."

Buffy frowned. "What? How?"

"Going to teach you how to fight."

She nearly balked. "You're what?"

He pressed forward, smirk still very much present as he leaned towards her throat. "C'mon Buffy. I want to see how long it'll take until you can kick my ass clear across a room."

Her eyes crossed as he licked a cold path up her neck. "Think I'm already capable, Spike, but if you insist..." She sighed when he started nibbling her lobe. "I'll let you help me perfect my kicking abilities."

He snorted quietly, mocking laughter whispering into her ear. "Mmmm, high kicks. Tell me you'll wear a mini-skirt."

She swatted his chest. "Perv."

Another nip at her earlobe. "Didn't hear you complaining last night."

She clenched her hand in his T-shirt. "I'm a good girlfriend that way. I only complain when you're being pervy and we aren't in the bedroom."

Spike's lips left her skin and Buffy stifled a moan of complaint. His blue eyes appeared in her vision and her heart sped up in reaction to his feelings. Spike hid it alright, but for the first time, Buffy's body reacted in tune to a jump of excited giddiness that was definitely not hers. She blinked in surprise before glancing down at his quiet chest, then back up to Spike's sharp eyes. "Girlfriend then?" he said.

"Yes." She tapped her chest. "I felt that."

"What?"

"My heart skipped. Like it was supposed to be your heart, though."

He tilted his head. "Not surprised. Read sometimes that happens. And my ticker ain't exactly been ticking as of late."

"So I feel it- Or, felt it. I felt your heart skip because... because you liked me calling myself your 'girlfriend.' "

He shuffled his feet, looking down and hiding his eyes. Buffy suddenly felt her cheeks warm. "Oh my God," she gasped, "You'd so be blushing right now if you could."

His head snapped up. "I don't blush."

"Then how do you explain this?!" She pointed at her cheeks, red as beets.

"Think it could be you, Goldilocks?" he asked dryly. "Considering you go all rosy at the mere mention of-"

"You're adorable." She perked up even further, ignoring his fierce glower as the embarrassed and lovesick, boyish side of him bloomed right before her eyes, sourcing the flipping sensations in her stomach.

"I'm not a bloody rabbit, you irritating-"

"I love this. I'm your girlfriend," she stated once again, very proud of his reaction. "And just because some of your body parts are of the deader variety, I get to feel how hearing that would make your tummy flip if it could. Why didn't this claim-y bonus kick in sooner?"

"Still receiving the benefits, I guess," he grumbled.

"Have you always felt this way when I say something like that?"

He refused to answer.

Buffy smiled wider. She'd never noticed just how much Spike could look like a shy young man, but here he was, barely able to meet her dancing eyes and her face burning with borrowed embarrassment. Pouting sympathetically, Buffy moved closer. He had stepped away to gain distance from her teasing.

She gently wrapped her arms around his waist. Her head fell to his shoulder, and Spike's hands found her hips despite the stiffness in his spine. "You're more than welcome to be adorable around me, Spike. I won't judge you."

She must have said something that he liked, because her cheeks were finally simmering down as his arms came up to fully envelope her body. The drumming of her heart played against his solid chest. A chest that carried more inside than even she had first realized. Buffy hugged him tighter, and said, "I want to see all of you, and if that means I blush more than normal, then I say bring it on."

He chuckled very softly, then planted a kiss in her hair. He didn't raise his head right away, instead keeping his nose and lips down and breathing her in. "You're more than I ever wished for, you know that?"

Buffy leaned up to kiss him. After a good thirty seconds of ardent lip locking, she pulled back to say, "I want to know the man I'm basically married to. And, I love you. Do you know that?"

He nodded with a sparkle like that of rain on a city sidewalk in his eyes, magical, and a matching smile on his face. "I love you, too, kitten."

"And," she said brightly, grabbing his hand to lead him into the living room, "now that we're a couple, all claimage and bond-y stuff out of the way, I think we should do some couple-y things."

So did Spike, but he guessed she wasn't talking about that right now. "Like?"

She waltzed over to the TV, turning it on along with the old VCR that sat in the cabinet beneath. "Maybe cuddle on the couch..." She stood up and graced him with another exultant grin. "Makeout while a horror movie plays in the background. You know, couple-y stuff."

He grinned boyishly, and her heart turned over. "I think you know you've got your own monster right here, love."

"Yeah, but I can't kiss movie monsters. They're just for effect."

"So's that all I am to you now, a set of lips?"

"And fangs," she agreed perkily.

Spike smirked again and tugged her into his arms. "Cheeky."

Buffy laughed. "C'mon, I have a lot of good old horror flicks Dawn and I used to scare ourselves with. It'd be fun to watch them again with a real vampire on my arm, don't you think?"

Spike stared into Buffy's bright, shining eyes, his heart feeling lighter than it ever had before. She was an angel for a sinner, a golden light in the midst of this godforsaken world, something worth more than blood. Seeing her so damned happy was more than he could ask for, and knowing he was the cause for such a glow in her eyes splattered peace and utter satisfaction across his soulless self like paint. The demon within was as content as a sleeping puppy, and Spike could deny Buffy nothing when she was smiling at him with love seeping from every laugh line. "Pop one in, then. Let's get the telly on."

She shoved him to the couch and headed for the TV cabinet, swiftly rummaging through movie titles. Buffy prattled on about each one, her anecdotes skirting the edges of ruining the plots, waiting for his opinion a mere second before describing the next film Her voice cadenced between serious and animated. Breathless and expectant by the end, Buffy stared at him, and Spike hadn't heard a word she'd said.

"So, what one?"

Bloody hell, his girl was beautiful.

***

They fell asleep. Again.

It must be something about the couch, Buffy thought as she blinked her eyes open. She turned her head to look up at the relaxed vampire holding her. Her hair spilled over his lap, Buffy's shoulders covered by Spike's right arm while the fingers on his left hand pressed into her nape as gently as they might flip the pages of a book. When she saw his head was relaxed in sleepy abandon against the back of the sofa, she nearly giggled.

As Buffy sat up, she noticed drool was starting to trail down his chin. She couldn't be grossed out if she tried; he was just too cute. Absently rubbing her temple, Buffy remembered how they'd managed to get through one movie before she rallied the troupes of her courage and called Dawn.

A quiet yet tangible support roped through her body during the length of their conversation, Spike remaining at Buffy's side the entire time. She told her sister that their dad was no longer around, carefully answering Dawn's following questions with half truths and vague misleads Buffy knew she'd get a kick in the shin for later. A flat out lie about work was sufficient enough for the calmer inquiries concerning the brief interlude into their recent string of daily phone calls.

Now they could go back to not fearing for the other's safety so acutely, as Hank Summers was long gone.

After hanging up, Buffy felt sick. It was a wonder she hadn't fallen asleep immediately following Spike's neck rub and gentle kisses upon her eyelids. He knew how to calm a girl down nearly as good as he could rile her up, and that, Buffy found, was an endearing combination of qualities.

She shut off the blinking TV with the remote lying on the other side of Spike's lap. She pulled the edge of a curtain back so she could see out the window, and found that the sun was still high in the sky. Buffy glared a little bit at the sudden appearance of a man turning on his lawnmower across the street, knowing that despite the faraway sound, the machine may just wake her sleeping vampire.

Buffy dropped her hand and let the curtain fall closed once again. She glanced at Spike with his open jaw and curly hair, feeling a familiar warmth spread through her chest. He looked absolutely boyish, carefree, as young as one could hope to be when living an eternal life. Time held no meaning anymore, but that special beauty Buffy saw in Spike and the peace on his face right now spoke of so many significant things.

Tenderly stroking his cheek, even knowing he might wake at her touch, Buffy smiled and noticed his skin lacked the evidence of forgetting to shave. She should have realized it before, after all, she'd never seen Spike with a razor in his hand. It was odd, though, as he had hair that grew in other places and she could even see the very beginning of dark roots showing from beneath bleached curls.

Another vampire trait, apparently. Maybe whatever hair they had when they died as humans was what remained after they rose as undead, but none grew where they had before been bare. If that wasn't it, Buffy was out of guesses.

She smiled again as Spike smacked his lips and leaned into her caressing touch. She covered his sharp cheekbone and looked again at his hair, twisted into short tangles. Hers was no doubt also in need of conditioner, and suddenly, Buffy was hit with the notion of taking a shower.

A brilliant idea, as she acknowledged the fact she and Spike had been wrapped up in each other and seemingly unending pleasure since Friday evening now. They had completely forgotten about the world, for the most part, and that included beautiful inventions such as indoor plumbing and shower heads.

Wake him, or let him sleep? Hmm...

If she left, he would rouse sooner or later, probably before she even finished in the shower. If she woke him up, the shower would take twice as long. While the idea of getting all soapy and sudsy with Spike was definitely of the good, Buffy had the most awful affectionate instinct to let him sleep in peace.

Just as she was about stomp down her lustful urges and tear herself away for a record breaking fast cleanup, Spike's eyelids lifted. Twin blue orbs stared at her in fond familiarity, and her heart jumped.

His cold fingers reached up and tickled her wrist, then hand, and she sighed. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Didn't," he said. "Wouldn't mind if you had, though. What's been running through your head?"

"You know something's been running through my head?"

He smiled in that sinful way, the one where her toes curled without her permission and heat spread through her womb in both remembrance and anticipation. Spike touched the soft spot beneath her chin, goose bumps rising at his command. "Always do, sweetheart."

She grinned brightly and dove right in. "Feel like a shower?"

Immediately, his pupils expanded like pooling ink blots. "Prefer a shower over a bath, then?"

"Whichever."

He smiled iridescently, and even more wickedly than before. "Can't find fault with either, really."

"Then we'll decide when we get there." She rose and reached out a hand. The couple walked to the stairs, lost in quiet whispering conversation before their eagerness had them scaling the steps with gleeful impatience.

The bath water turned cold long before they were done.

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END NOTES: Alrighty, there are only four chapters left! I hope you enjoyed this latest one, and please leave a review! And thank you guys so much for reading! This story has really be a ton of fun to write and I can't thank you guys enough for your reviews and for putting up with late updates and stuff. *BIG hugs!* :)





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