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AUTHOR'S NOTES: Yes I updated twice in one day. Read this chapter BEFORE chapter 16, please! :)
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Christ the car ride was awkward.

Spike flexed his hands around the steering wheel, throwing a gauging look at Jack. The bloke hadn't said a word since being asked what music he liked, and because Jack appeared to be fine with the rock station there was really no reason for Spike to argue. Or talk at all for that matter.

A sigh fell on his right. Jack was staring out the window at moving cornfields. They were about two minutes from town, but between there and Buffy's house lie acres of farmland. Spread after spread of corn, soybeans, and wheat. The scenery was nice, if you liked that sort of thing, but Spike had learned over the years it took a special kind of person to appreciate the Midwest.

He didn't know if he fell into the category, but the sunsets that made the fields glow gold certainly were a sight. Right now daylight was just finishing its ascension, painting the sky in pastels. No rain to come, but somehow the air in the car was brimming with gray clouds no one could see.

Jack was thoroughly, blissfully distracted. He jerked noticeably in his seat when Spike voiced the awkward question. "So, you're gettin' beat down lately, then?"

The boy delivered a glare shadowed by purple and blue.

*Great start.* Spike sighed again, pursing his lips together before turning a corner. Shops and fast food places were coming into view. "No chance you want to tell me who it is."

Silence.

"Know you won't. That'd be rattin', yeah?" Jack sent him a probing look, eyes squinting marginally. "Doesn't hardly matter if you're the bloke outnumbered three to one. M'sure you figure you've gotta play fair even when the opposing team ain't so rules oriented."

"Ever hear about pride?"

"Was never one of my strong suits." A smirk tipped his mouth. "Not sayin' you should be tellin' on 'em. Just sayin', f'you want to win, avoid comin' home with bruises m'sure aren't too much fun coverin' up, sometimes you have to fight dirty." Spike stole another sideways glance and found Jack staring at him, cornfields forgotten. "Play by their rules instead of somethin' as pointless as being noble."

"You think I get the crap kicked out of me for nobility?" he demanded. The boy pointed to his injured eye. "Look at me. I'm a joke. I'm not ratting because it'll just be one more reason for them to kick my face in. And believe me, I know that if being noble had any merit I wouldn't look like this."

Spike started tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. "Fair enough." Silence fell again, but not for long. "You get a kicking from more than one tosser on the regular or is your arse more of a free for all?"

Jack frowned. "No it's... it's usually two or three," he answered stubbornly. "Besides the usual bullshit I get into at school."

"Gettin' mouthy with bullies in the halls?"

"I never start this crap!" he shouted.

"Didn't say you did. But I understand how hard it is to keep your mouth shut, even when it's probably what's best for you. 'Course, I didn't learn I had a talent for mouthing off 'til I got a mite older."

He glanced down. "You've gone through this kind of thing a lot?"

"Yeah, when I was livin' in England." Jack lifted his head and stared attentively. "A while after that, once I'd been here a few years, started fightin' for fun. Wasn't exactly smart, but I learned a lot."

Jack paused. They were only about five minutes from Madison Street. "You know how to fight?"

Spike snorted, shamelessly arrogant. "Could say that."

"Like, well?"

"Well what?"

"You fight well?"

"Yeah." *I'm no boxing champion but put me in a street fight and I'll win without much doubt.*

Jack went quiet again. He released a deep breath before shutting the radio off and twisting his hands together. "How'd you get those bruises?"

Spike looked at the damage in question, and his jaw clenched. "Sometimes you gotta defend other people."

A moment went by where all Jack did was stare out the windshield. "What do you do if a guy is on your back, pushing your face into the ground?"

Spike nearly missed the stop sign in front of them. He turned to the kid with incredulity in his eyes and said, "You don't get into that position to begin with."

"Thanks. You're real helpful."

Spike rolled his eyes and muttered a curse. "If your hands are free, I'd say try wrappin' a leg around his for leverage and usin' your hips to get him off. If you know his face is close to your head, toss it back and break the bastard's nose."

Jack looked like he was cataloging the information. "What if your arms are held back while a third guy's punching you?"

"Seriously? You're getting the shit kicked out f'you like this and you've never told anyone?"

"Will you just answer the question?"

"Can't get out of everything, mate. Half the fight is instinct." Spike had to hand it to the kid, he had a brain up there if he was so adamant on getting answers, he just didn't have the skills to put it to good use.

"And the other half?" Jack demanded.

"Experience. Skill."

"You have that."

"Right."

"Can you-" Suddenly, the boy stopped. He closed his mouth and swallowed his words, eyeing his shoes. "Never mind."

Spike frowned. "What?"

"Nothing."

"And I like hosting tea parties on Sunday. C'mon, spill."

Jack rubbed his fingers against his forehead, groaning quietly and sighing like a gust of wind. "It's not important. It was a stupid idea."

Spike braked at a red light. Madison was the next left turn. "There's often somethin' to be said for stupid ideas."

Jack's shoulders blended with the black leather of the car seat. "Not this one."

Spike watched from the corner of his eye until they turned onto Jack's street. They pulled up to a tall white house with shutter windows and concrete steps leading to the door. It had a picket fence surrounding the small front yard, and a smooth black metal mail box with the flag up at the gate.

The passenger side door opened with a creak. Spike caught Jack wincing as he got out and slid one supporting hand beneath his arm. He stood up slowly, palming his ribcage, swollen eye all the more severe on his white face.

Jack took a deep breath, and leaning on the roof of the car with his free hand said, "Thanks for the ride."

"You're welcome."

He nodded and shut the door. Spike watched him stroll diligently toward the house with dark windows and a locked up front door. The air was very still. If the aunt was home she was likely still asleep.

Jack got about as far as the front gate. Quickly rolling down the window, Spike leaned across the bench seat. "Hey!"

He turned around. "Yeah?"

"You want some pointers on fightin', you come to me."

Jack's eyes bugged, even the one that was swollen shut exhibited some movement. He took several steps closer. "Are you serious?"

"You wanna tell me who kicked your arse to start with, then yeah, m'serious."

His mouth firmed. "I don't-"

"You want to keep bein' pushed around, getting the snot kicked out of you, it's fine with me. But I can help, teach you some moves, what not to do and all that."

Unchecked interest showed itself, but Jack leashed it. He stuttered when he spoke. "How- I mean, how do you know you can help me?"

"Because I do. Now, if you're interested, you have to tell me who you got into it with."

Jack closed his eyes. It took a minute, but finally he relented. "Just some guys from school."

"Names."

His head fell and Spike could see the tension on his face. Jack groaned heartily before continuing. "Michael O'henry, Joe and Shaun Gregory. Joe is Shaun's older brother. He doesn't go to school anymore but he still hangs around. Guy can't seem to find anyone his own age to follow him around, I guess."

Spike frowned, a memory tickling his curiosity. "As in Larry Gregory?"

"Yeah, at the body shop. They're his sons."

Spike smirked nastily to himself and shook his head. "'Course." Larry wasn't a bad person, the bloke was just too old and hardworking to worry much about his sons' extracurricular activities. That Joe git was particularly irritating, what with his habit of offending the opposite sex, one woman in particular, and Spike's extreme desire to pound his face in.

Anyone who bothered Buffy with too many innuendos and barely there respect was just asking for a painful lesson. Joe had always been like a mosquito buzzing at the edge of Spike's vision, something worth swatting if only he'd been given the chance.

This was just one more reason to hate the wanker.

"Spike?"

He snapped back to attention, a burning aftertaste in his mouth and a need to head back to Buffy's immediately. "Yeah?"

"You can't tell anyone."

"M'gonna tell Buffy."

Jack's face fell. "No! If she-"

"She won't." The boy paused. "Trust me, she doesn't want you to get hurt anymore than you have. She wants to keep an eye on the students who're botherin' you, I'd wager."

*There's a long list,* he thought to himself. "Are you sure she won't say anything? I mean, she's nice. I appreciate the job she got me with her friend and everything, but earlier-"

"You don't have to worry about her sayin' a word. But if it makes you feel better, I'll talk to her."

Jack sighed again, nodding very reluctantly as tense seconds went by. He was mentally picturing the thousand ways his admission could get out and travel the hallways at school. That's all he needed added to his persona. Jack the Loser, Jack the Outcast, Jack the Emo, Jack the Nerd Who Liked Reciting Poetry in English Class, Jack the Rat.

He studied the ground and swallowed around a sour lump in his throat; heat lined his stomach.

Spike moved back, put his hands on the steering wheel. "I'll be expectin' you then?"

The mention of their plans jarred him. "Uh. Yeah. When should I-"

"After school. M'there Sunday through Thursday."

"The school?" Jack frowned. He thought that might be like hanging meat in front of a tiger, but then again there was a gym there, complete with mats and workout equipment.

Besides, Spike wasn't likely to invite some pathetic teenager over to his house anytime soon. Even if the school was a little bit risky, Jack wasn't sure he really cared. Anyone who would hang around after hours never went near the gym. And his eye needed more ice. "Okay."

Spike nodded cleanly and revved the engine. Jack quickly headed inside.

Some form of conscience, irritably tugging at Spike's mind once he pulled off the street, made him think diligently about everything. The Gregory boys, Jack, this new idea to teach the kid some fighting technique. It was barely eight in the morning for Christ's sake.

Spike switched the radio on again. If he could actually help Jack, make the kid's life easier, lessen the impact of these bullies he was dealing with, it would be worth all the effort put in.

Spike knew how badly getting picked on made a person want to crawl under a rock. Before leaving England he used to face hatred from his peers every day. Going to school was like facing the firing squad, only instead of bullets he was shot up with spitballs and badly rhymed insults. The teachers never did anything about it. He was a boy, and they simply expected him to toughen up.

As a child, William had been reserved and quiet. He never spoke out of turn or made jokes to hurt anybody else. He immediately found out such behavior was what made you a target for those who did. Toughening up didn't come for quite some time.

He must have thought of transferring every day, but he lived in a small town and commuting to another school would have cost a good amount of time. They always had money but his mother hated driving, and William never liked to ask more of her.

His mum knew the kids in town could be snobby, even cruel. She figured he didn't enjoy school because he simply didn't fit in, but she didn't know the full of it; as the years went on he told her less and less. His father had passed away when he was little, and being the man of the house fell on the son's shoulders. You couldn't be a man and cry when people were bullying you. After a while, William got better at hiding the evidence.

His late father's reputation never helped. It had sourced much amusement over the years. Except when harmless opinions turned into the weapons of uninformed kids, the hilarity and innocence stopped.

His father had been known as a slightly crazed historian, sometimes inventor, and eccentric author. One of the few memories Spike carried of him involved frayed hair and cracked bifocals from an electrical experiment gone awry. The man had been kind, if a bit moody, and his memory cemented in town as a person with several loose screws keeping his brain in place.

William spent years defending a ghost, but the most he ever got out of it was more experience with clumsy fists and toilet dunking. The day his mother chose to move them to America was probably one of the best days of William's life.

Jack couldn't move away. Even if that were an option, finding yourself ignored by everyone around you and living in solitude wasn't exactly any better. Sure, you didn't get saddled with the bruises and humiliation, but damn if you weren't lonely.

Spike shook his head. He turned the radio up a little louder. Jack was older than he'd been. He could learn how to fight, how to defend himself, and turn his life around.

If the plan didn't work, Spike assuaged any feelings of apprehension with the fact he could always find Joe Gregory and beat him into a brick wall. What a twenty-two year old was doing bullying a sixteen year old kid, Spike had no idea. It took a lot to sink that low and become that pathetic.

The only problem with coloring Gregory's face in scarlet was Jack might have to deal with the aftermath, and that, Spike wasn't sure he could risk.

Something told him Buffy wouldn't mind Joe visiting the hospital, but he wouldn't tell her. He wouldn't tell her about any of this. She didn't need to worry about it. Hell, judging by the way she'd stressed her sheriff friend's warning about not taking part in anymore physical altercations, Spike was half convinced the bird was concerned for his welfare.

The fact she could care at all made him feel like he was worth a bloody million. Just a few days ago he was all set to keep his distance, remain observant only when absolutely necessary for his own health. Now... Now, he couldn't separate himself for the world.

Being beside her, holding Buffy as she slept... It was better than anything he could've imagined. The pictures he took, the drawings, the poems he wrote, every daydream fell in comparison. He was filled with peace when she smiled at him. When she kissed him, opened herself up in that way, the hope in his heart burned brighter than any flame.

Spike stomped on the gas pedal and traveled the familiar roads, speeding back to the place he'd left, back home.

***

Buffy made breakfast while he was gone.

She whipped up a small batch of pancakes and added sugar to the defrosted blueberries. She set the table with silverware, napkins, teapot, coffee, butter, maple syrup, and toast to finish off. She covered the plates with pan lids to keep them warm. By the time Spike returned she was buttering her own bread and searching for jelly.

He knocked, which made her smile. Even with her concerns regarding Jack, somehow the fact Spike had talked to the boy eased her mind.

She opened the door and graced him with a bright smile, leaning in to grab his hands and pull him through the entryway. Buffy gave him a fast kiss which appeared to surprise him, but she quickly got to the questions before he could do anything about it.

"Did you talk to him?"

Spike shut the door and followed her. His nose twitched the same instant he saw the spread on the kitchen table. Sweet, bready, coffee and sugar scents made his taste buds tingle. Absently he noted Tabitha rubbing against his booted ankle. "Yeah, I did."

Buffy pulled out a chair for him to sit down. "What did he say?" she asked fretfully. "Did he tell you who's been bullying him?"

Spike ignored the chair, pulling out the other and gesturing for her to sit. He didn't speak until she did. "Couple blokes at school. Another who's older and doesn't go there anymore."

Buffy frowned thoughtfully as he took off his coat and sat across from her. "I can't think of anybody like that who would bully a teenager."

Spike clenched his jaw. He reached for the coffeepot and filled her mug half full. "Joe Gregory?"

Buffy's eyes grew noticeably rounder. "Are you serious?"

"S'what he told me"

"He's in his twenties!"

"I know, love." Spike took a moment to really look at the view in front of him. His girl, who had cooked breakfast, sitting across the table in this little kitchen and taking a sip from the coffee he'd just poured her. Shock was spearing his nerves. He'd thought greeting Buffy in her robe last night had him faltering, but this was different. This was inviting, intimate, and reminded him how lovely it would be to spend the rest of the morning loving her.

Simply put, it was enough to melt his heart. "Thank you."

She was distracted. "What?"

"For the meal. It smells delicious."

"Oh." Buffy acted like she had forgotten the food completely. "No problem," she said with a bashful grin. "You drove Jack home. This is the least I could do."

He hoped she hadn't done it out of gratitude, but the picture of sharing breakfast with her softened the painful edge of probability. Spike lifted a lid off his plate and stood to put it on the counter, then hers.

"Did he mention anyone else?"

"Joe's brother, Shaun, goes to school with him. And another kid, name of O'henry."

Buffy sighed, nodding gratefully when he passed the jelly. She started working on her forgotten toast once again. "Michael. I know him. He's kind of a bully to everyone. I saw him shove a girl into the side of a parked car once outside my shop."

Spike tensed. That day was months old, but he remembered it. Buffy had run out of her shop with fire blazing in her eyes. She'd given Michael a scathing speech capable of making anyone's ears bleed before taking the shaken girl inside. Spike waited on the sidelines from start to long after the finish, ready to spring into action if the bulky young man tried pushing anyone else around.

He hated bullies too much to be discriminatory. Spike didn't care if Michael was a teenager, he would have gladly strangled fear right into him if he'd so much as touched Buffy or the other girl again.

Buffy nibbled off a bite of toast, wiping strawberry jelly from her lips. "Do you think they'll go after Jack again?"

He shook his mind of Michael O'henry and took note of her phrasing. She didn't call the fight just "boys being boys." She saw the assault on one of her students as what it was.

Even so, he couldn't rightly lie and say no, despite the desire to comfort her. He couldn't bring up working with Jack either. "I don't know."

"Well," she spoke thoughtfully, "maybe I should talk to their parents. I mean, it is kind of my job after all."

"I wouldn't."

"Why not?"

Spike filled his cup with tea and bit off a huge chunk of pancake. He made sure to swallow before answering. "He'll look like a rat. It'd make things worse."

Buffy rolled her eyes and hung her head. A hefty sigh flew past her lips. "I hate that I can't do anything," she admitted. "I just want to storm over to Larry's and give him a piece of my mind."

Spike paused. "You can help, pet."

She lifted her eyes, meeting his. A question rested between them.

"By being there," he said. "You give Jack support, be there if he needs somethin'. You're already doin' more than enough."

"I just feel like it's not enough. I want to... I want to protect him."

"You got him a job. That'll give him a way to earn some dosh, along with keepin' him busy."

Her left eyebrow went up. "I haven't heard that one before."

"Means money," he said with a little grin. "Now eat up, your cakes are gettin' cold."

Buffy gave a half laugh, half sigh. She started cutting and poking at her food with a fork, but she only took three bites before dropping it. "What if it happens again? What if he comes to school with a black eye and bruises?"

"Reckon he'll have that already come Monday, pet." Her face fell and Spike immediately regretted his words. "He'll be fine. The boy's young, it'll take no more than a couple days to get rid of the bruises."

"That won't stop it from happening again."

He wanted to tell her she could let him take care of it, rely on him, but Spike knew such promises were off limits. They were too likely to get broken. He wasn't in control here. "Jack will be all right, Buffy. I know it. Kid's tough."

She sighed again, taking a large gulp or two of coffee. Her chin rested in her hand and she noticed he'd stopped eating. "You're not chewing."

Spike shrugged. "Not gonna start 'til you do, sweetheart."

That encouraged a reluctant smile. Buffy leaned back and started working on her pancakes again. After a moment or two of silence except for silverware clinking against plates, she said, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Everything. Talking to Jack. Being good with him when I couldn't be. Taking him home. I just..." Her gaze filled with sweet appreciation. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it. M'always here."

"I like that."

"Me... being here?"

"Yeah. I like it." *You make me feel supported. I'm quickly understanding how much that matters.*

Buffy never realized dependency could make a person feel something other than weak. She always used to think she needed to stand alone, the perception taking root when she was very young. After her mother passed away the concept only solidified, even before Giles moved back to England. It seemed the older she got the less people there were around her, and the fewer reasons she had to depend on those who stayed. The idea she could depend on a man without feeling like he was trying to coddle her was astounding, yet Spike was doing it. He was flipping her world upside down like a pancake.

There was something like loyalty in his eyes, something that eased all fears. Spike would probably keep surprising her, and that was just one more thing that made her feel like she could trust him.

He was staring at her in this awestruck way that made her feel thoroughly exposed, but Buffy kept her eyes level. It took several seconds before she could no longer take it and looked down at her plate of half eaten food. She heard him whisper something, and it sounded like, "Thank you."

Little did she realize what three words were balancing on the tip of his tongue.

***

"All done."

Buffy smiled after he slammed the hood of her car. "You have no idea how much I appreciate this."

He looked away bashfully, which surprised and delighted her. "It was no problem."

She walked forward. The sun was striking the front of her Jeep, lending it a cherry gleam. There were sounds of swaying grass and squawking geese as they flew in a V shape high above.

The air was chilly, so she wore a big sweater over her tank top and blue jeans, while Spike stood in nothing but Levis and a T-shirt. He seemed unbothered by the cold. "At least let me pay you for the parts."

Spike looked at her and shook his head, wiping his hands on his pants self consciously. "Not takin' your money, pet."

"But it's not fair. You did the work and you bought the stuff. I'm getting everything out of it and you're getting nothing."

*I'm getting to be near you.* Spike was half hoping something else would go wrong with her car. Enough mechanical problems and he'd never have to leave. "You made me breakfast."

"You made me dinner. We're even on the food scale."

He chuckled. "Love, if there's one thing I don't mind it's helping you with body work."

She smiled in shock and Spike nearly tore out his own tongue. The innuendo was what it was, and Buffy knew it, but she didn't balk or scold. No, instead she sidled up closer and said, "Well, I still plan on repaying you. One way or another."

Heat spread through his body like a whirlwind, shame forgotten. Spike found himself staring at her lips. "I'm curious to know what you have in mind."

"You'll just have to wait and see."

That was a loaded statement. Suddenly, Spike couldn't reign himself in. He took a step forward to bring them nose to nose, placing his fingers gently on her hip. "Promise?" he asked with a brow waggle.

Buffy's answer was a kiss.
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END NOTES: Thanks so much for reading!





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