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Dinner lasted ten years.

Of this, Buffy was certain. It started with an argument between Xander and his mother-in-law, because he almost forgot to say grace after his lengthy "Thank you for coming" speech, and wasn't he just the lowliest of the low for that? Did he think his own voice was more important than showing appreciation to God?

After a back and forth tiff, ended once Xander fell into his chair in exhaustion and defeat, Emma said a thorough prayer. Everyone bowed their heads.

Afterward, the distribution of food should have been simple. A system of rotating dishes and plates turned hectic only once Cecily, sitting across from her, made a big to-do about everyone trying her homemade casserole. Buffy, wisely, said nothing, and just attempted to dissect the reasoning behind her current bad luck. She hated casseroles.

Her face remained impassive, though, as she locked eyes with the annoying woman here and there, while wedged between Spike and Roger. With these arrangements, the other half of the table guests seemed an entire galaxy away minus Emma's occasional barb thrown in at her son-in-law.

Soon enough, they were all engrossed by each other, and Buffy was locked into a tense conversation. Xander, who sat on Spike's right, kept telling knock-knock jokes to fill the silences that sprung up as often as dandelions weeds.

Guiding the conversation between her friend and her date, she was mildly relieved they were talking at all. The two men didn't butt heads, really, there was just very little they had in common.

"Do all British people like mushy peas?"

She resisted the urge to smack her forehead.

Spike frowned, as expected. "What?"

"Sorry," Xander chuckled. "It's just, well, I only know one other Brit, and he insists peas need to be mushy in order to taste good."

"Excuse me," Cecily interjected. "What am I, chopped liver?"

"Close to it," Buffy muttered. Spike smiled behind his drinking glass.

"What kind of peas do you like?"

"'Mushy', as you put it, are favored by those with refined palates."

"Thus, my point is strengthened," he replied.

"Very Giles-y word there, Xand," Buffy joked.

"Anya bought me word of the day toilet paper," he grinned. "So, William?"

Spike looked at the covered antique dish set beside his plate. It was pink and white and surely hand painted. Without surprise, upon lifting the lid he found a colossal heap of green peas. "Uh... can't speak for other folks with the accent, but I'd have to agree with Buffy's cousin and... Cecily."

Without a word, Buffy took the delicate dish away from him.

"Oh, so you know about Giles? Buffy, you told him about Giles?"

She nodded. "He came up."

"I think you'd like him," Harris said, all too happy about this new topic. "He's kind of rough around the edges sometimes, but he's mostly just tweed and dusty books."

Spike smiled uncertainly. A thick urge to look ahead and to the left nagged at him, but he ignored it. "Sounds charmin'."

"Buffy, you never mentioned why Giles wasn't coming into town."

She looked at Anya. "Oh, he's on a ski trip."

"A ski trip?!" Xander was horrified. "Tell me you're kidding. You're kidding, right?" Nervous laughter fairly belted from his lungs.

"Do shut up, Harris, you sound like a hyena," Emma reprimanded from the other side of the table.
"I made him promise me he wouldn't actually participate," Buffy explained. "He went because of some chess tournament or something."

Xander sighed with relief. "That's the Giles we all know and love."

"Buffy," Anya said, "can you pass the peas?"

"What does this Giles person do?" Roger asked abruptly.

"He teaches," Xander answered. "And he's Buffy's cousin."

"Your cousin lives in England, Buffy?"

"He moved back a year ago." She was barely looking at him.

"That must have been hard on you. Is he your only family?"

She tensed. "Blood related, yes."

"So," Spike cut in, boldly enough to end their conversation even if the utterance wasn't for either of them, "Buffy says you work in construction?"

"Yep!" Xander nodded before taking a large bite of turkey. "F schyou evler need sometin buil, jus-"

"Honey, chew your food."

Somewhere at the other end of the table a disapproving comment was uttered.

Xander paused, then swallowed. "If you ever need anything repaired or even built, come to me and I'll be happy to help."

"Thanks." Spike refrained from mentioning he wasn't a novice with a hammer, instead catching one of Buffy's smiles and sharing it with her.

"I mentioned the dining set to him, Buffy," Anya said quickly. "He's thinking of making it as an anniversary present."

"That'd be really nice."

"See!" Anya poked her husband in the arm so fast it barely registered to his witnesses. "She thinks it's a good idea."

Xander held back a sigh. "Thanks Buffy."

She said nothing because Anya was still going. "I don't see how it would be any harder than those lounge chairs you built for Howard. Or those windows you fixed for Mrs. Lang."

"Let's talk about this later, honey."

Anya pouted. "The ever surprising mantra," she muttered in Cecily's eager ear.

Xander drank from the beer bottle in front of him. "You work at the graveyard, William?"

Buffy dropped her fork, and in her peripheral noticed Roger turn his head. Spike froze in the middle of a mashed potato bite. She sent a helpless look in Anya's direction.

He realized he'd fouled something up, but it didn't erase the question.

"Uh." Spike swallowed his spoonful of potatoes and wiped his lips. "I-I work there some nights."

"How is it?"

"Yes," Roger chimed. "What does that kind of job entail?"

Buffy wrung her hands in her lap.

"Mostly watchin' the grounds." Spike's voice dropped in pitch. "Doin' passes, making sure nobody sneaks in."

"Well," Roger said, an unheard scoff behind it, "I can't imagine anyone would want to sneak into a cemetery. Surely, most people have better things to do."

"Oh, I don't know. I think you'd be surprised," Cecily cut in. "After all, William must spend quite a bit of his time there. One would think there to be a reason."

Spike's jaw had grown taught, and he appeared to be staring at the condensation coating his water glass. "It's mainly teenagers you've got to watch out for."

"He's right," Buffy said. All company faced her and she grew uncertain. "I mean, it's usually younger people who sneak in."

"I know I used to," Xander hurriedly interjected. "But it wasn't just when I was in high school." He nudged his wife and winked. She rolled her eyes. "Buffy, you used to go there with-"

"Yep." She paid immediate attention to her food.

Xander blinked in sudden shock at his own stupidity. "Damn. Sorry..." Then, to his wife, "Ow! Hey, don't kick me."

Anya smiled thinly. "Don't give me reasons to."

Cecily threw a joke in about Xander's deservingness for physical abuse, and the couple across from them were left in their own little bubble for the moment.

"Who d'you go to the cemetery with?" Spike asked quietly.

"Nothing. No one."

"Real convincing."

"I used to sneak in with my friends when I was a teenager, that's all," she whispered.

"So it wasn't all R rated movies, then?"

There was an edge to his voice that made chills curdle in Buffy's stomach. "Usually."

"Usually the movies, or the cemetery for some alone time?"

She finally looked at Spike, frowning. "We were just trying to explain how you were right."

"Clearly."

"You used to sneak into the cemetery, Buffy?" Roger asked for clarification, breaking into their conversation. "It doesn't seem like you. It sounds so juvenile."

She grit her teeth, but Xander beat her to the reply. "We all did it. Aiming rocks at headstones was a regular Friday night activity." He spoke with push, trying to convince not just Roger but also William of past events. The nervous laughter had started again.

"Sounds riveting," the former remarked.

"It wasn't," Buffy stressed.

"I hope your hobbies have changed pace a bit since your youth," Cecily commented.

"Of course they have," Anya insisted.

One of the women at the other end of the table, whose name Buffy had forgotten, said, "When I was young, we used to go skinny dipping in the pond on the south edge of town." She giggled into her husband's shoulder. "Those were some of the best times."

Spike was strained with imagining an old photo from a yearbook in his head.

"I think we all did things when we were younger that meant a lot at the time, but don't hold much importance anymore," Anya declared.

Xander sent his wife an impressed, gratified look. "Well said, honey."

She beamed. "Thank you!"

"Buffy, would you pass the Port?" Cecily asked suddenly.

Buffy grabbed the bottle without paying much attention. In consequence, the loud clanging of glasses tipping roused her focus, and she watched as the Port collided with the salad bowl, which in turn made contact with the pea dish.

A sharp gasp followed the noise. Anya jumped to check on the antique's condition. Emma shouted in dismay. A candle went out. Buffy's immediate attempt to set the wine on a flat portion of the table ended in her dropping it.

Amazingly, the bottle landed straight, but Cecily's glass was knocked over and coated the tablecloth in red. Buffy's eyes grew huge as chairs skidded backward with the group's effort to clean up the mess, damage control in a great pile of napkins.

"Is the dish okay?" Buffy asked once the stain was snubbed.

"Yes, thankfully," Anya replied. Her sigh was filled with palpable relief, the pink and white bowl protected in her hands. She smiled at her mother who was busy fanning herself.

"I'm so sorry," Buffy said.

"Ahn, why don't you put the dish away before something actually happens to it?" Xander chuckled.

"Good idea."

Everyone returned to their original positions, some tension relieved only due to all the abrupt excitement. Buffy fell gratefully into her chair, and Spike wrapped his arm around the back of it.

"Jumpy, love?"

"Apparently." She shook her head, speaking low and practically into his shoulder. "About what Xander said-"

"I know. It's okay," he murmured. "It was my fault."

She looked up, caught his blue eyes and realized, that no, it wasn't okay. Not because Spike wasn't being honest, or because she needed to feel guilty over having a past, having old flames, but because she realized she didn't want him to be hurt by them. Not now, while they both tried desperately to keep the evening from falling into total chaos. Not ever, because he so obviously gave a crap.

He'd no sooner been picked on by Roger and started to talk friendly-like with Xander that Spike had to hoist his guards up. It wasn't fair, and Buffy wanted to end the night for the both of them.

But she couldn't.

All she could do was grasp Spike's hand, squeeze it, and pray for simple peace.

Of course, when had peace ever been so easily gained?

***

Dinner had ended about fifteen minutes ago, and now dessert was up. Everyone was unbuttoning their pants, sipping coffee, tea or spirits, nibbling on homemade pumpkin pie and pastries. Emma was busy telling a story for the two couples on her end of the table, entertaining them as if she were the head of that little group. Anya and Xander were talking in turns about something to do with a monkey and a stolen banana at the zoo; this had gained nearly everyone's attention.

Except for hers. Buffy was too busy. She had gathered a host of questions she dare not ask, but no one said she couldn't stew over them.

Spike was holding onto her thigh beneath the table, and that was probably the only thing keeping her quiet and visibly calm.

She glared through her fourth glass of wine at the moronic Hoe-bag sitting across from them. That's right, Cecily had elevated from Bitch to Major Bitch, then followed by the grand Hoe-bag title. Maybe Anya could make up a little sign for her.

Buffy sipped her drink. She knew that some of this irritation could be attributed to her own mistake. After all, she had been the one to leave the room.

Such a stupid decision. She'd had to use the bathroom. Anya and Cecily were gathering coffee and sweets while Mrs. Benning picked up the few remaining dishes scattered across the table.

It seemed like the safest time to leave. Roger was stuck in a conversation with Emma at that point, and Xander had silently promised to entertain William for the thirty seconds Buffy was planning to be gone.

She succeeded in regards to her own time limit, but success was to be short lived.

Cecily and Roger had both returned during her absence. They were like two cackling vultures pecking at her date's nerves. While Roger boasted to Xander about his important duties for Robin Wood, Cecily was sitting in Buffy's chair next to Spike and talking about something she undoubtedly had no business bringing up.

The woman had made it crystal clear she held little, if any, respect for William. Seeing him again obviously hadn't helped enlighten her to the idea that maybe the boy she used to tease had grown into a strong, intelligent man.

The last thing Buffy expected was to catch the woman flirting with him. At least, that was what it looked like. For all Buffy knew about her, Cecily could have been trying to rekindle old memories and tempt William with what he couldn't have, what she thought he still wanted.

Her giggles, soft and forced, fell into the new glass of Port underlining her lips. Her free hand was on Spike's arm, but he shifted away and looked as comfortable about the whole situation as would a person being circled by a bumblebee.

So yes, Hoe-bag. With a capital H. Major.

It took Buffy all of three seconds to stride over to them, claim she held reserve on the very seat beneath Cecily's ass, and deliver a sweet smile easily equated with bitter lemonade.

She watched Cecily stand elegant and slow. The brunette walked with her curly head held high to the other side of the table, and from that point on, Buffy remained at Spike's side.

Her dislike for the other woman hadn't just grown, it skyrocketed.

"Thank bloody God," Spike said once she sat down, tugging Buffy's faraway chair close to his own.

"Did you two have a nice chat?"

"You can never go to the bathroom again."

She smirked. "High demands."

"If you do, I'll make my excuses and wait outside," he grunted.

"What was she talking about?"

"Her career," Spike muttered. "Bimbo managed to become a lawyer."

"Fitting. Aren't they like, always evil?"

He had laughed, a lighthearted, welcome sound in the middle of an evening designed to test anyone's sanity. It was only a wonder Buffy's suspicions hadn't swirled to life earlier, even the implausible ones.

Like why had Cecily asked for the wine bottle when her glass had only been half empty, anyway? Did she hope Buffy would get in touch with her inner klutz, thereby staining Anya's tablecloth and almost destroying antique dinnerware?

Perhaps Cecily was devising a plan of action after that snit in the kitchen; the snit having been had by her, of course. Buffy merely started it with a slightly gaudy comment, which had been totally justified.

Then again, maybe that was exactly what had peaked Cecily's interests in William. It made sense. Once you mention your hot boyfriend has a six pack hiding beneath his clothes to a witch, she's bound to try out a spell or two.

That, or she was hoping to tease him. Unfortunately for her, Buffy knew damn well Spike wasn't interested. He'd made it plain that bullies were easy to hate and so, so hard to like after they made your life a living hell.

That left her wondering again. Just how badly had Spike been treated by Cecily in his youth? Did others pick on him so horribly, too? Sooner or later, at a different place and time, Buffy would like to find out.

At the moment, Anya was taking over the conversation as Xander cleared away empty plates. She was talking quite animatedly about the online work she had begun for a high end lingerie company, and this was when Buffy realized the pumpkin pie on her plate wasn't down a single bite.

She set her wineglass aside with paranoid care, and quickly realized her fork had gone missing.

"I think Xander took it by mistake."

Buffy looked up to Roger's helpful expression. He offered her his own shiny utensil. "Thanks," she mumbled.

"You're welcome." She felt his eyes on her with the first mouthful of pumpkin-y sweetness. "So, how has your work at the school been going?"

Buffy swallowed both her dessert and a lump. "Good. It's good." She smiled politely.

"Great! I knew Robin needed to find someone like you for that job."

"Like me?"

"Yeah, someone younger, but not too young to be a college freshman either. They never have enough experience."

"Um..." In truth, sometimes Buffy felt being younger might actually help her understand the students a little more, but she couldn't find another reason to naysay the compliment. "I guess. Thanks."

She turned away, and found Spike preoccupied with a confession from Anya. "You're afraid of rabbits?" He sounded baffled.

"Haven't you seen their beady little eyes? They're terrifying creatures." She shuddered.

"Rabbits," he repeated, slower now. "Those fuzzy lil' things that hop around and eat carrots?"

"Great! Thank you for describing them. I'm sure I can look forward to nightmares now." Anya shook her head emphatically. "Honestly, what kind of animal needs all those carrots, anyway? And the hopping is the worst part, if you ask me."

Roger spoke to Buffy softly. "Do you enjoy the work?"

"Huh?" She shook her head and faced him. "Oh. Yes, I do."

"It's kind of ironic, isn't it? This thing with you and Pratt."

She frowned, her eye catching the two empty glasses and one forgotten beer bottle near his hand. The man was a fan of Heineken, she'd learned. "No, I don't think it's ironic."

Cecily's laughter cut in. "William, you'll never understand her fear. Most of us have given up trying."

"It's a perfectly reasonable fear. Have you even looked at their ears?!" Anya exclaimed. Xander walked back into the room. "Honey, tell them rabbits are terrifying."

"Those beady eyed rodents are nothin' but trouble, I've been saying it from the beginning."

"William here cannot seem to wrap his mind around the idea." Cecily was blissfully unaware, or uncaring, of how much using his given name nagged the girl in front of her. "To Anyanka, he's just as simpleminded as the rest of us."

Even if it wasn't a particularly pointed insult, Spike still looked down to conceal the thick swallow going down his throat.

"I'm still trying to figure it out," Buffy quickly added.

"There's a surprise," Cecily said to her lap.

No one else caught the comment. Anya had started talking about her aversion to Easter. Buffy's eyes narrowed and she opened her mouth-

-but Roger cut her off. He draped one checkered print arm around the back of her chair. Somehow, Spike's wasn't there anymore. "Isn't Pratt... what, ten years your senior?" he whispered. "I'd think you'd want somebody younger."

The man's eyes were foggier than Buffy remembered. "Are you like, totally hammered?"

Roger offered a goofy grin unbefitting his character. "Slightly. I always get a bit inebriated on Thanksgiving."

"It must be a great distraction from being you."

"You hit the nail on the head there," he laughed, then suddenly straightened in his seat. "I hope I'm not offending you."

"Gee, what gave you that idea?" she muttered.

Roger frowned, blinking deeply. "I just thought... Never mind. You're a smart woman."

Sometimes, alcohol made people more likeable; others, it made more confusing. Roger was one example. "I think we should ask Xander to make you some fresh coffee," she said.

"It's all gone."

"Hence the 'more' word."

He spun the aforementioned beer bottle around in front of him like a game, frowning dejectedly.

"Everything okay, love?"

The hum of Spike's voice was a welcome tickle against her ear. Buffy sighed, then found he was glaring heavily at the space behind her neck, where Roger's arm rested. "Fine," she said, then hissed, "He's drunk."

She felt a shift of movement. The man to her left was holding his hands together in his lap again. His face was droopy and unconcerned. William scooted closer to Buffy until he was practically on top of her.

Then, in the midst of Anya rattling off the types of pets she would allow near her person, and Xander being scolded once again by Emma on something to do with drink coasters, Roger spun his beer bottle just a little too hard and the leftover contents splattered across his shirt. A collision between glass and more glass resounded, quieting the room except for the noise of sloshing and crashing.

A teacup was lost. Pretty pink alcohol from Buffy's wineglass coated her from waist to knees. She stood up in a rush, as did Spike and Roger respectively, the latter knocking his chair into Buffy's leg before it fell over. Xander rushed to her aid, Spike's hand fell to her back and pulled backwards, guarding her against further injury as she rubbed her knee.

Anya and Emma began chattering about spot treatments for her clothes. "Take those pants off immediately," the mother shouted.

Roger was offering a hectic apology. Buffy sighed over it. "It's okay," she lied through the embarrassment. "These are jeans, and they're dark. This is not a fashion emergency... just a wet one."

"Are you okay, sweetheart?"

The panic in those words was surprising for the current situation But when she saw Spike's face, all fraught and anxious, she forgot about her own pain.

It was clear. The angrier and more upset she became right now would directly affect his emotions, too. Hell, it would ruin the remainder of the evening with little effort. No, she had to smile, at least while they were in front of an audience.

"I'm fine." Buffy took her hand off her knee, tugging at her wet sweater. Xander was asking his wife if she might have any extra clothes. "Look, it's not a big deal. It's getting late anyway-"

"I have something you can wear," Anya said.

Buffy paused.

"There's this skirt in my closet that would look great on you, and a shirt to match, I'm sure. Please, don't leave yet."

She sounded so sincere and determined pesky guilt arrived to ruin Buffy's escape. She shared a lost look with Spike, and knew he would follow her lead.

Xander asked her to stay again, though he leaned in and spoke very quietly when he did. "Roger just snuck away. He's feelin' lousy. I should have mentioned he can get weird when he drinks sometimes, and there was some sort of falling out with his brother, I guess. He feels bad."

"He should."

Xander looked up, surprised as she was, to meet with William's unforgiving expression. "It was an accident," Xander replied.

"Wouldn't have happened if he wasn't all over her."

"All over her?" Xander frowned and look to Buffy for confirmation. "Buff, was he-"

"No. No, he was just drunk, like you said." She smiled, then scowled briefly at Spike and grabbed his arm. "Anya," she called, "Would you mind getting that skirt? We're going to see what we can do about drying me off, in the kitchen."

Spike, and everyone else, noticed the slight emphasis. The room was adequately quiet as she and her date made their exit.





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