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He still remembered the conversation word for word.

"Would you like to come to Thanksgiving dinner?"

It was the same day Joe Gregory paid a visit. After Spike helped close up the store, he followed Buffy home and they ordered a pizza. She let him stick around long past the time he should have, and when one AM rolled by she sleepily brought up the subject.

The entire thing, while speared by mundane casualness, threw him for a loop. They were lying on the couch. He was quickly starting to think of the short, worn in blue sofa as a second home. The cushions were more comfortable than his own bed, and he freely admitted this had everything to do with the woman resting beside him.

She was nearly dozing on his chest when the topic came up. Buffy asked the question against his chest before raising those big doe eyes. When she looked like he might let her down it provided a solid reason for his heartbeat to falter, and he felt a secondhand rush of fear.

Her fear.

She honestly thought he might say no.

"I'd love to, Buffy."

It wasn't until her face lit up with a smile and she kissed him that Spike realized what he'd done.

Intimidation wasn't something he was accustomed to feeling in regards to... well, anyone nowadays. Buffy was another story, but each moment they spent together softened the perils a bit. Spike would never have thought he could hold her hand, or kiss her for that matter and not wake up in the middle of a lonely bed. His new reality solidified every day, became less of a dream and more groundbreaking as the inadequacies that had kept him from seeking her out fell away.

When they were alone.

They had never spent time outside their own little bubble, around other people. The morning Buffy's chum brought Jack all black and blue to her front door didn't rightly count. Spike didn't mind this arrangement, but keeping it was impossible. He didn't see anyone outside of her, his janitorial coworker on occasion, and the kid.

The idea of attending a family dinner made him want to scrub his skin until the prickling stopped, and drink heavily. He hadn't celebrated a holiday since his mum passed away, and there was always a nice bottle of liquor to drown his sorrows on the worst ones. The last couple Christmases had been spent outside, in his car, watching Buffy entertain her friends and family with good ole JD by his side. He would stare at those glowing windows like they were begging him to come home, though he knew different so his feet remained firmly weighted.

Now, while still trying to grow accustomed to the freshest upheaval in his existence, she asked him to be her guest at Thanksgiving dinner. It was a common and yet monumental milestone. It meant more to Spike than it likely should. She was inviting him inside her social circle, suggesting that she was more than happy to acknowledge their relationship. She considered it important, real, and worthy.

It was the surest way to crumble the foundations he currently used for balance. Spike was doing his best to show Buffy without truly showing her just how much he cared. He tried to be better, he was working with Jack and helping in a way he never would have done just weeks ago. He relished being able to treat her like a man is supposed to treat the woman he loves. She repaid him in ways she would never know, with the simplest things he considered monumental.

Now he had a shot to prove himself capable of normal human interaction for her, by going to dinner; and if Spike got some sick thrill out of knowing the likely conclusion Xander Harris had drawn after seeing him at Buffy's house, without a shirt on and so early on a Saturday morning, then he couldn't really help it now could he?

If nothing else, this situation allowed Spike a different, primitive kind of satisfaction. Whenever he thought of Buffy bringing him to a family get-together he noted the interpretation; he was her date. No matter his insecurities, Spike could see that.

It meant she was aligning herself with him. It meant she wasn't ashamed, even if maybe she should be. His girl was claiming a place at his side. He'd never felt more accepted in his entire life.

Spike was certain he would manage to fuck it up.

On Tuesday night, having gotten off the phone with her hours ago, he sat by the window in his bedroom, staring out at the rain. Buffy was staying home, catching up on some sleep. She hadn't mentioned seeing him or wanting to, and he didn't want to push. She had to get up early to take in an order at the store. Anya Harris was supposed to meet her around six AM.

He considered driving by and checking on them. The town was fairly dead around that hour, and since Joe Gregory had paid his visit Spike didn't feel right about Buffy staying there alone, or closing up shop without stopping in to help.

He rarely watched from the shadows these days. He got to spend real time with her, hear her whisper in his ear, and that was more than his stalking habits could ever hope to keep up with. Only sometimes, if he was early for a date, he'd find himself waiting around and watching through distance. It was both a choice and a proclivity.

The periods Spike used to spend feeling nerve-racked and sick to his stomach at the idea of talking to her had lessened over the weeks. Now, he usually capped off the pacing after three, sometimes two hours.

He wasn't going to stop by the store today, because Anya would be there. He also knew that Joe worked on Wednesdays, and Buffy might notice a black DeSoto hanging around the area in broad daylight. He couldn't go over to simply say hello, because the woman knew he was practically a bat when it came to his sleep schedule. Just another thing Buffy didn't judged him for, despite all reason.

Spike sighed, fogging the window. He propped one arm up to pinch the skin between his eyes. Yes, Buffy was coming to know the worst parts of him, and yet she failed to turn away. He knew his violent streak bothered her, but she still accepted it. She allowed him to get close, and didn't pull back when he wanted to hold her after Gregory had... Spike clenched his right hand, breathing deep.

She understood he had been almost as shaken as she.

Buffy didn't know he loved her, but Spike was half convinced that if she found out she wouldn't balk or laugh either.

When she found out, he ought to say. Because at this rate the admission was going to bleed like a ripped vein sooner or later. They'd been together for almost two months. If he didn't say it, those three little words were going to spring up like a jack-in-the-box at some useless moment and tear his world apart.

Spike snorted derisively. He considered getting a beer to dull this over-thinking before it kicked into high gear. He was already on the track to a host of imagined tragedies caused by professed love, and buggered up Thanksgiving dinner scenarios.

Obviously there was no telling the disasters a meal of turkey and sociability might present. While he was both amazed and grateful Buffy wanted him there, Spike knew going to that dinner could prove a huge mistake.

He was afraid of saying something idiotic, afraid her friends would notice what made him so very inadequate. Attention could be drawn to flaws Buffy wouldn't have noticed or minded so much without their pointing fingers. He'd only just gotten close to her. If Spike lost her now, there was no telling if there would be anything left of him.

Gritting his teeth, Spike squeezed his eyes shut on the rain. Agitated, exhausted in his mind, he thought, *So much for not over-thinking it.*

He stood up and ran a hand down his face, leaving the bedroom. He began a familiar journey down the hall, footfalls squeaky in the sheet draped tunnel with red carpeting and wood floors. Recently uncovered furniture, paintings coated in dust and dim lighting cast from ancient chandeliers marked the way. Shadows were like stepping stones.

He walked past the stairs, made it to the door always kept locked, and fished the keys out of his back pocket. In a moment Spike had the room opened to the not so fresh air and switched the overhead light on.

He headed straight for the table against the far left wall, a surface of polished wood laden with books and crinkled papers. He found the thin yearbook with ease. Spike spent a moment flipping stiff pages until reaching the one he had dog-eared long ago.

In the middle, amidst dozens of other faces, was Buffy Summers at age eighteen. The high school kept copies of their yearbooks and Spike had gotten his hands on this one some months back. Every time he looked at it, he found little blips inside that made him yearn. Seeing pictures from when he hadn't known her made him want to be a part of the past in ways historic journals and newspapers failed miserably.

Spike knew no other faces in the book. Buffy hadn't been much of a group participant from what he could tell. The only other clear image he found was one of a parent-teacher night, hosted by the girl in question. Spike couldn't guess she'd done that of her own free will, but it was still her past. She might have been a very different person back then.

It was the definition of bittersweet, knowing that. Spike scanned the pages as he searched for that second picture, and on the way something caught his eye, much like a shiny penny sitting at the bottom of a fountain.

Liam "Angel" Conroy, dark hair and eyes, big forehead. Spike recognized him almost immediately as a sickening knot formed in his stomach.

A scene from mere weeks ago resurfaced, when he'd spotted the man for the first time standing in front of Buffy's house. A giant beside her, inspiring the kind of stiff, raw reaction only ex lover's could.

Spike swallowed, forcing the taste of bile down his throat. An old boyfriend of hers. He'd known it without knowing the man's name before, despite the past being something Spike couldn't reach. Buffy told him about the fun and painful things that made up her life, but exes remained a shut topic. These circumstances left him thankful. He didn't like to think of other men touching her, then or now. He lived in the real world on occasion and knew Buffy's beauty didn't go unappreciated. He understood any red blooded male with half a brain would want her, but since Spike had found her, there had been no one else.

No boyfriend, no one night stands, not even a date for the past two years. Spike never realized just how severely he relished that kind of good fortune until now.

This Liam prick had obviously let Buffy down. The way she regarded him made it clear, all grown up with that expensive car and idiotic hairstyle wasn't enough to keep her from turning away. The oaf got close, felt her love, her body, and her loyalty before Spike ever knew she existed.

And the wanker bollixed it up because he didn't know what he'd had.

Spike flipped the pages again, furiously searching for her face in that single square amidst a collage of unimpressive strangers. He paused on bright eyes and a youthful smile. The girl looked carefree and happy, vulnerable because of it. She was a shining light even in a pale photograph, but there had been changes since then.

Spike swallowed thickly, tracing the picture with his thumb. He memorized her image like a habit before shutting the book and dropping it back on the table. He turned and headed out the way he came, eyes focused on the door, then the keyhole, then the carpeted floor as he strode down the hall.

He wouldn't change anything about Buffy. Not for the world. But he would pay a fortune to go back in time, and take away the hurt. He loved her unconditionally. The fact someone else had touched her heart and squeezed until it broke made Spike want to tear that man apart.

He settled for pounding down the stairs to get a beer out of the fridge. The rest of the evening, he spent his abundance of time trying to focus and wash imagined pictures from his head like bad stains.

While the hours ticked by Spike found himself praying for a guarantee, hoping to God and anyone who might listen that ex loves remained fixed in the past, if not for Buffy's sanity then for his own.

***

Buffy yawned and slammed her alarm clock quiet with one effective smack. She blinked several times in a row before rubbing her eyes and tossing blankets off her body with borrowed strength. It took five full minutes to move again, even with chilly morning air caressing her skin like a goading mother.

She sat up in bed, half asleep and dreaming of coffee. She turned to see Tabitha curled in a quiet, dozing ball on the other pillow, jealousy following a swell of tenderness in her heart.

Rising on unsteady bare feet, Buffy wandered into the kitchen, going slow so she didn't acquire a migraine. She chose to spare her weary eyes the pain of bright light and got ready in the soft shadows of dawn. A pair of jeans and three shirts for warmth were wiggled into, the first a faded cotton T, the second a fleece sweater, and the third a bulky hoodie from the county fair.

It took thirty minutes in total to find her way out of the house, hair combed, teeth brushed, and a thermos of caffeine in her hands. Buffy drove through familiar streets dotted with rainbow puddles, passing sidewalks barely unrolled for the day. Farmers and school teachers normally rose about this time, but no one was hitting the roads yet. The high school, she knew, was out until Sunday for Thanksgiving break.

Soon, she was parked in front of her store, appreciating the sunrise before killing the engine. It peeked out from behind a line of buildings much like a puppet. The sky was still blue and black in most places while just one edge turned blush pink before her eyes.

She quickly left the warmth of her Jeep for the damp, morning cold. A car door slamming caught her attention and she spotted Anya trotting down the street. They met in front as Buffy got to work unlocking the storefront.

Once inside, she immediately went to the thermostat to turn up the heat.

"The coldest morning of the year and they couldn't make this delivery a little later?"

She rolled her eyes at Anya's comment but didn't say anything. Buffy wished the delivery could have been changed, too, but the truck driver insisted on sticking to his route. The only way she was going to get this dining room set was if she accepted the fate of waking up at six AM.

She wasn't looking forward to the exhaustion she'd be facing later on, once her "overtired" energy took a nosedive. Maybe she could sneak a nap in, but since she was already here, the concept of going home for only an hour or two, then coming back to reopen didn't make much sense.

She'd let Anya leave whenever she wished, because once the truck was unloaded Buffy didn't need anymore help today. Then, like a responsible shopkeeper, she would remain here until five, and that was as late as it would go.

It wasn't long before Anya and her had cleared an adequate space for the table and six chairs. When the delivery finally arrived, about thirty minutes late, they helped unload.

Buffy was happy to learn Anya was no weakling. With the driver's help they managed to finish quick and without issue. It was nice that the truck had a lift, and there was a big garage door at the back of the store amply wide enough to accommodate an eight by eight foot table.

Buffy experienced quiet satisfaction over the delivery man's shock as he watched two petite blonde women with manicured fingernails lift the table minus his burly assistance. A couple signatures and one thank you later, Buffy was cleaning the chestnut pieces one by one while Anya bickered with her about the price.

"It could go for a thousand."

"I was planning on eight hundred."

"I thought you said it was from the 1940s."

"Yes, and eight hundred is the best I can get for it."

"But-"

Buffy sighed, shaking her head. "Do you want to tag it a thousand and see if you can sell it?"

Anya smiled.

Buffy finished polishing the table with orange oil before wiping the chairs down again. Each seat was upholstered with embroidered velvet, gorgeous fabric, and hardly any scuffs or scratches marred the wood. Perhaps a thousand wasn't completely unreasonable after all, but Buffy knew this town and her customers well enough to tag merchandise appropriately. "If it's not gone in a month we lower the price."

Anya rolled her eyes but nodded. She happily made a little sign out of folded paper before setting it in the middle of the shining tabletop. "I wish we had something like this at home," she said. "Our dining set is so boring."

Buffy shrugged. "Maybe you and Xander could buy this one as like, a self given Christmas present."

Anya shook her head. "Oh no. I'd never purchase something from the place where I work. That's just bad business sense."

Buffy bit her lip to keep from laughing. Anya slipped behind the counter again. "Maybe I'll ask him to try and make one."

"Won't that take a while?" Buffy asked.

"Yes, but like I said, we have a dining set already. I can be patient."

Buffy nodded. She watched Anya set her purse and coat on the counter, taking out a thin file to check her nails.

"Thanks for coming in so early again. I know getting up at six AM isn't fun."

"It's okay. You're paying me."

Buffy closed her eyes, masking amusement. "Yes, I am."

Anya tucked the nail file away and looked up. "Do you need me to stick around any longer?" she asked.

"No, that's okay. You can go. I've got it from here."

"Okay." She slipped into her coat and headed towards the front door. Her boots clicked against the floor. "So, we'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, six right?"

"Yep. Don't forget the rolls."

"I won't. You like Pillsbury?"

"As long as they taste good."

"Very."

"Are you bringing that guy?"

Buffy blinked. "Um, yeah. If that's still okay."

"Of course. The more the merrier," Anya said, facing her. "I just wanted to make sure so I can tell Xander. He's scared he'll say something stupid and embarrass you."

Buffy frowned. "Like what?"

"Like call him your 'boyfriend' if he isn't, or call him your 'friend' if he's more than that." Anya nodded proudly before she said, "I told him I'd find out the details so he wouldn't stick his foot in his big mouth."

Buffy's own mouth fell open and didn't shut again for a solid four seconds.

Why was it her most recent concerns appeared to be everyone else's, too? She wished she could say she was surprised, but after Xander met Spike on that abrupt Saturday morning, the former shirtless and sleepy eyed, the insinuations had been hard to ignore.

She tried explaining to Xander it looked more red handed than it really was, but she hadn't known whether or not he believed her. Now, Buffy was getting her answer.

"Spike- William is not my boyfriend," she tried awkwardly to explain. "At least, not officially. But we're more than friends."

"Oh. Okay." Anya's frown was contemplative and a little confused, but non-judgmental. "I thought you two slept together?"

"No! We really haven't. It might've looked that way when Xander saw him at my place, but we-"

Anya tilted her head of long blonde hair and shook it. "Why not?"

She sounded so perplexed, almost looked like a curious owl trying to understand its surroundings, that Buffy had to pause. "What?"

"Why haven't you slept with him yet? Is his penis misshapen?"

Her eyes grew wide. "What?!"

"Because if it is, that doesn't always mean the sex will be bad." Anya spoke matter-of-factly as she readjusted the purse strap on her shoulder. "Before I met Xander I dated many guys with crooked penises. Sometimes it actually makes it easier to have an orgasm, if he knows how to use it."

Every ounce of embarrassment displayed itself on her face. Buffy was sure she looked like an over-rouged clown. Her words were a mutter. "I don't think it matters-"

"Xander's is actually quite straight, though. And he's the best I've ever had so it probably just depends on the man."

Buffy held up her hands, desperate now. "Please don't talk about your husband's private... anything, in front of me. Please."

"Xander has very nice private parts," the wife defended.

"And they are all his and yours. I don't need to know about them."

Anya huffed delicately. "I just don't see why you haven't slept with your new man-friend, Buffy. Whether his penis is straight or not, I would think-"

"His- It's fine!" Dear God, not even she thought a person could stammer this much. It was a known fact Anya could be blunt, but Buffy hadn't known the woman well enough to understand the width of that definition until now. "Shape has nothing to do with us not- With me not..." She made a rolling hand gesture to finish her broken sentence.

Pity entered Anya's eyes, and strangely, Buffy almost felt like they carried a mother's concern. "So he isn't your boyfriend or your sex buddy. What do you two do?"

A quick moment's pause. Buffy released a breath and it took that hefty sigh to realize she had quit breathing completely. "We talk," she answered softly.

"Tell me there's at least some oral action."

Back to blushing like a nun. "More like touchy action," she murmured, smiling despite herself.

Now Anya was looking at her like she was a nun. Buffy crossed her arms and stared at the floor. "Well, for your sake I do hope you allow this man to give you orgasms soon, in one capacity or another. You would be much more relaxed."

Buffy pouted involuntarily. "I'm relaxed."

Anya said nothing. She strolled towards the front door again. "Orgasms are very healthful. I read it online, and in Cosmo."

"Trust me, Anya, I'm... healthy."

The other woman beamed. "Good. And don't worry, I'll talk to Xander. Obviously you don't need him saying something dumb to scare your man-friend away before the good stuff happens."

"I appreciate that. I think."

"No problem." She waved genially, the door closing soundlessly behind her.

Anya's departure incited a deep breath, held for five seconds, then released as slowly as molasses. Buffy plunked down on a stool in the far corner. She started counting her reasons, many of which stood up misleadingly well despite missing legs.

It wasn't as if she was against sex. Buffy freely admitted she was a fan of it, but her past experiences had always started out sweet and exciting, only to dwindle to pure tedium. She hadn't put much thought into a sexual relationship with Spike, only because she had to focus very hard on avoiding the topic altogether.

It was impossible to deny the passion between them, or the stubborn attraction and resistance she felt every time their hands explored each other's clothing. Holding back felt similar to rubbing sandpaper across her skin. Buffy was convinced, if two people could ignite real sparks between themselves, her house would have gone up in flames weeks ago.

It started at the library, that day he found her snooping. That kiss had been the equivalent of striking a match to start a wildfire. Spike's protective instincts added to the attraction. Even if Buffy was the last woman to need defending, she could admit that being cared about like that had its appeal. Spike's tendency towards violent action bothered her, of course, but his obvious concern for her safety softened the edge.

She wanted to be closer to him, feel him holding her, touching her, but something said it wasn't quite time yet. Some instinct, whether centered in her heart or her gut, urged Buffy to wait. She wouldn't mind so much if she wasn't stuck with this uncertainty regarding their relationship. Rather, if she understood that, there wouldn't be any reason to hold back.

She wasn't sure if it was the reason, but Buffy knew deep down what was coming. She'd been in love before and this dating game wasn't clouding her emotions with a sense of triviality. She was racing towards that cliff, that fall, and God help her but if Spike didn't get there, too, there was no telling what she would do.

Tomorrow they were sharing dinner with her friends. It was important only because he was coming along. If things went well, if he seemed comfortable, maybe then she would get an answer. She could learn whether those heart clenching looks Spike lent were real or just a matter of time stamped affection.

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END NOTES: Please review if you can, but thanks for reading either way! Hope everyone enjoyed this chapter!





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