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AUTHOR'S NOTES:
I added chapter 19 literally ten minutes ago, so be sure to read that before you read this chapter!! Thanks for the reviews and for reading everyone! *hugs*
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When shutting the kitchen door, she finally heard Cecily speak up: "It was only a little wine."

Buffy's teeth clenched together as she stormed to the sink. It was half full with plates and silverware. She reached for paper towels before yanking at the faucet handles.

"She is a tried and true bitch."

"He's a git, Buffy."

They spoke at once. She faced Spike while patting towels against her leg. He offered a cloth rag instead. "Roger? Yeah okay, but what was with that comment you made? About him 'being all over me?'"

Spike stiffened. "He has a thing you."

"Maybe." Her date exhibited a critical look. "Fine, you're right about the whole 'git' thing." She swiped the towel. "But he wasn't exactly 'all over me' either... unlike some people."

Spike frowned. "What do you mean?"

He sounded so perplexed she actually stopped trying to clean her clothes, tossing the used napkins onto the counter laden with utensils and coffee cups. "Cecily might be slightly evil, but it sure looked as if she developed good taste once I left."

Spike's expression was one of true confusion. "What the bugger are you talking about?"

"She was flirting with you."

His frown smoothed out, eventually spreading into a self degrading smirk. "Just enough to try an' shake the cage, love."

"So you think she was teasing you?"

"Tryin' it, yeah."

"Did she succeed?"

He scowled again. "You really think she could?"

Buffy fell silent. Of all the women at that dining table, only one caught Spike's attention. He was thoroughly devoted and she knew it, but God it had never felt that way before. Not with anyone. Of course she was still insecure at times, but that had everything to do with her and very little, if anything, to do with Spike.

"No," she said. "I guess I don't."

"You 'guess?'"

"I'm sorry." She crossed her arms and looked down. "I know you don't like her."

"Damn right I don't like her!" He recaptured Buffy's full attention with a harsh whisper. Spike's face became a combination of disgust and irritation before her eyes. Hell, he might even be angry with her.

There was a novel thought.

"She made me feel lower than I..." He paused, jaw tight. "She made my life worse than I ever thought it could get at the time. Before the bitch realized I liked her things were barely tolerable, and they stayed that way, 'til I proved what a thickheaded moron I was by admitting it." He pointed aimlessly at his temple, scoffing. "Just 'cause she makes a jibe or two and tosses a pass at me for old times' sake, doesn't mean I'll fall at her feet. I'm not a pushover anymore. I'm not a dog chasin' after a bone."

The grip she held on her own arms had tightened during his speech. She nodded upon realizing he was finished.

Breathing quick and heavy, his eyes lost focus, trailing down her frame and up again. They widened suddenly as he leaned back. "I'm... Oh, Christ. Buffy, I'm sorry."

"No," she said quietly. "You're right."

He blinked. "What?"

"I said you're right," her voice began as a whisper, "I... shouldn't have thought you would still be interested in Cecily. I'm sorry."

A thick moment, the kind broken only by hammers and revelations stilled the air. Spike cleared his throat. "I'm sorry for what I said out there, to your friend."

Buffy shook her head, looking away briefly. "It's okay. Xander should know Roger isn't exactly my favorite person." Hesitantly, she added, "And, call me crazy, but I'm getting the vibe he isn't your biggest fan. Which gives me enough reason not to like him."

A humorless smile. "Made that transparent, did we?"

"Yes. Both of you, but I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say he's the jerk."

Spike smiled gently. "Not taken with him, then?"

"Now who's making crazy assumptions?"

He shrugged.

Buffy sighed. "Are you kidding?"

"Suppose so."

"I would never date him," she swore. "Even if I hadn't seen the way he acted tonight, he's not my type. Not even close."

Spike tilted his head, something soft there, something warm tracing his features as hers grew pink. There was quiet again, for a moment, some stillness not even the echoing conversation on the other side of the door could touch.

Buffy looked away first, gesturing at her ruined clothes in place of tender examination. "Guess all that worrying about an outfit was kinda pointless, huh?"

He tilted his head the other way, eyes adoring. "You're still fetching, love."
"Even covered in white zinfandel?"

"There are worse things." He grinned. "This way, you're damn near edible."

Buffy focused on the ground, hiding from that lecherous bitten lip he was displaying and ruefully added, "I don't think my jeans are in agreement."

They shared a quiet laugh. Spike hedged carefully closer. "Did we just..."

When he wouldn't continue, and looked as if backpedaling might entice, Buffy finished for him. "Have a fight?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah. I think we did." She took a deep breath. "It's one of the mile markers for being a couple, I hear."

Before another word was said, the door opened, admitting a small bout of noise before Anya let it swing shut. She had clothes hanging over one arm, and a hopeful smile on her face. "Here you are. I hope these fit."

Buffy took the items quickly, oblivious to Spike's stillness, and held the tank top against her body. "I'm sure they will. Thanks."

Anya smiled helpfully. "You can use the bathroom upstairs if you want, for more privacy."

She nodded gratefully, and took Spike's hand without comment. They sped efficiently across the hectic dining room and down the expansive foyer, before making it halfway up a flight of stairs. She finally let go to hold the railing.

Spike didn't ask why at first. Buffy was sure he already knew. His uncertainty wasn't made clear until they reached the top of the stairs.

"Don't think you need my help changin', love."

"I seem to remember something about me not being allowed to go to the bathroom alone."

He scratched the back of his head. "I was partly jokin'. Could leave you to your privacy, f'you want."

"You think I'm leaving you down there with the Harpy and Harpo Marx?"

"Thought it was a possibility," he admitted.

"Guess again."

A wide room with comfy chairs and loveseats greeted them first, two hallways sprouting from either side. Buffy made a left.

The turn brought them straight to what appeared to be a storage closet, then the bathroom.

She slipped inside and Spike leaned against the doorframe. "I'll be quick," she said.

"Take your time."

Once he heard the lock click, he let his body relax for the first time in hours. Recent dinner accidents, women with tenacious appetites for drama, bullies, and that familiar emotion named Jealousy took a backseat to something else. Something kinder. It rushed to the forefront of his mind, a shining light amidst the storm of this Yank holiday.

"Did we just have..."

"A fight?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah. I think we did. It's one of the mile markers for being a couple, I hear."

He closed his eyes, his heartbeat light and heavy at once. He wouldn't draw attention to what she'd said because he wasn't stupid, and he certainly didn't want to put his girl on the spot. Maybe he was just reading too much into it. After all, words were simple, changeable things; semi-permanent at best.

The smile on Spike's face remained. For once, instinct and plausibility weren't mocking him. For once, Buffy knew every embarrassing characteristic of his life. She accepted his work, defended him to an old devil from his past, ignored another man who took it upon himself to mock Spike in her presence, and kept by his side. Buffy had chosen him at every turn this evening, and so when she called them a couple, Spike was inclined to believe her.

***

"He's a janitor?!" The bowl clattered against the countertop. "Are you certain?"

Anya was washing dishes, finishing the last of the plates and spoons. "Xander told me." She frowned heavily as suds squeezed between her fingertips. "I don't know why you're so surprised, you asked if he had another job. And why are you laughing?"

Cecily immediately went quiet. "It's just so common. Not very shocking either, if I was to be unfavorably honest."

"Aren't you always?"

Cecily smiled.

Anya dried her hands. "I wouldn't say anything else about it, if I were you."

"Why not? Isn't it customary to talk to people about what they do for a living?"

"Not always. Especially when you're only going to try and make someone feel bad about it."

Cecily looked primly away, setting a cup inside its cupboard. "Really, Anyanka, you talk as if you aren't the pot and I the kettle in this scenario. I've heard you give quite a few scathing remarks in your time."

Said pot rolled her eyes, and shut the cabinet door. "I know, but I'm asking you as a friend not to make any trouble."

Cecily nearly scowled, and would have if she wasn't so worried about the frown lines. "You're softening up. We used to have such fun until you decided to get married."

Anya pouted momentarily. "Love changes people."

"I don't know what that has to do with anything."

"Buffy is Xander's friend. If something embarrassing happens with William here, then she will be upset, and I don't want my husband to think you or I had anything to do with it."

"Your husband has never exactly been a fan of mine, Anya. If you would only accept it, by now we would all be much better off."

"I still don't want you making things difficult."

Her brows rose. "You aren't hiding some reason for your sympathy, are you?"

Anya clasped her hands together and squeezed. "Let's just say it wouldn't be good for Buffy, for reasons other than the obvious."

"Heavens knows what that means. You really believe I can decipher your cryptic language?"

"I'm not being cryptic. I'm being appropriately dramatic." Anya suddenly pointed over her shoulder at the refrigerator. "Could you get some more cream out for mother? She wants it for her coffee."

***

"I hate to see that woman drink caffeine."

Roger sat with his hands covering his face, only half paying attention to what Xander was saying. The portion of his brain that was sober, the somewhat intelligent part, remained preoccupied with shame. "She's having more coffee?"

"If she stays up past six o'clock she needs it," Xander whispered, "but I think she underestimates how much it screws with her. Last Easter she had five cups of espresso and started yelling insults out in Latin."

"I'm sorry," Roger muttered. "I know you don't like her."

"Shh!" Xander ordered. "Don't say that. The woman has ears like an elephant."

He sighed, dropping his hands. "How do you think Buffy's doing?"

"I wish you'd let that go." Xander propped his arms across his knees. "She isn't mad."

"I doubt it."

A moment's pause. "Is it true you were hitting on her?"

Roger groaned, sipping desperately at his steaming cup of coffee. They were sitting in relative quiet near the television, but other voices threatened to give him a headache. "I always liked Buffy," he admitted, "ever since I saw her at the school. I realized she wasn't interested in me, though..."

"Then why push it?"

"I just can't see why she's dating Pratt, of all people."

Xander stared into Roger's glazed eyes, wondering if the myth about coffee turning drunks into hyper drunks rather than sober human beings might actually be true. "William seems all right," he said uncomfortably.

"Oh c'mon," Roger muttered resentfully. "He's the janitor, for God's sake."

Xander scowled but hid the reaction well. "I think you're dealing with the green-eyed monster right now, buddy. Believe me, I've been there, but sooner or later you have to let this go. You'll find the right girl eventually."

He said nothing, and merely gulped the rest of his coffee.

***

"Love, are you comin' out anytime soon?"

Spike was still waiting. He knew women typically took their time getting changed, but Buffy had disappeared inside ten minutes ago, and some instinct told him to knock.

Silence as an answer did nothing but exacerbate his concern.

"Buffy?"

"I don't think Anya gave me the right clothes."

He frowned at the talking door. "What?"

A deep sigh from the other side. "It's all too... tight."

"Let's see it then."

"I don't think so."

"Bloody hell," he muttered. "Why not? You can't possibly look bad in any of it."

"Just go get Anya, please?"

"Are you sure?"

Silence again.

"Buffy?"

"Never mind. It's okay, I'll come out."

Spike waited. After six full seconds had passed, the doorknob turned and the entryway cleared. He noticed one of her hands braced on the edge. While Buffy's eyes remained downcast at first, they rose immediately after she heard him choke.

He gawked. Gawked, ogled, and openly acknowledged his eyes were as buggy as one of those round-faced dogs, but helping himself was unrealistic. Creamy lace edged her breasts and collarbone, wrapping around Buffy's shoulders with the aid of delicate satin ribbons. What veiled the rest was hardly opaque. If he focused, he could make out the shadow of her waistline.

The skirt was cut high, stretching just to mid-thigh. Her legs were otherwise bare. Long and pale and smooth. He couldn't raise his eyes much further than the hem.

For a moment, Spike wondered if the clothes were actually the same ones Anya had provided in the kitchen. He didn't remember the shirt looking like the top half of a nightie, not when Buffy held it up. And the skirt... Well, the skirt was a black mini that could probably double as a belt if you rolled it once or twice.

Buffy tugged nervously at her ensemble. It was all comfortable to physically fit into, but not so comfortable to sport. *Less is not always more.*

She picked up her discarded boots and muttered, "These don't really go."

Spike blinked. "Uh, sorry. What?"

She shook the shoes in her hand. "Boots. Non-matchy."

"Oh. So what?"

"I'm not going to walk around barefoot."

He resisted clearing his throat, forcing eye contact. He trapped his anxious hands behind his back. "Why not?"

She gave him an exasperated look and used her hair to modestly cover her shoulders. Quickly fetching her own clothes from the bathroom, Buffy soon led the way back downstairs. Spike's gaze remained hot and steady the entire time.

They were just about to turn into the dining room, Buffy set on asking Anya for a pair of sweatpants and possibly a sweater, when he tugged her back. They fell into the long foyer, her spine against the wall, sounds of gentle conversation echoing in her left ear.

"What are you doing?"

Spike looked like he was both at a loss for words and dying to say something.

She frowned as he took her hand and steered them all the way to the front door. There, he retrieved his coat- not hers -and offered it with a hard swallow and timid eye contact.

"If you want... This- This might make you feel more comfortable," he stuttered.

Buffy's mouth fell open. Instead of speaking, pointing out the fact Anya likely had other clothes to be borrowed, or how there remained the option of wearing her own coat, she set her ruined jeans and shirt aside. She turned around, wordlessly slipping one hand into his jacket's right arm, and Spike immediately assisted with the rest.

The leather covered more of her than it ever would him. The zipper almost reached her skirt's hemline and Buffy's entire torso was concealed but for the part in the middle. She felt warm, readily appreciated the fresh, masculine scent encasing her. Just like she remembered, the material was buttery and smooth.

Suddenly, going barefoot didn't seem so bad.

"Thanks," she whispered.

"Of course," he said.

After one poignant second spared, they headed for the dining room again, Spike positioned at Buffy's back the entire way.

***

The night was looking up.

It begun when Anya asked Buffy why she was wearing a coat, followed by Xander asking if it was her coat, and then Cecily wondering why it wasn't.

Buffy gave the anticipated explanations; "I was cold," "I didn't like how my jacket paired with the skirt," "William offered."

It was all very believable, and if the sight of Buffy wearing his clothes bothered anyone they kept quiet about it. Roger might have grumbled something when they first came in, but that only added to Spike's genuine pleasure.

Seeing his girl wrapped in leather was something any man could appreciate.

Of course, Anya was no man, and therefore a different story. Mrs. Harris seemed disappointed when Buffy reappeared thoroughly covered up, and the more he thought about it the more Spike thought the lady might be getting ideas. Especially when she neglected to offer Buffy a second, more appropriate change of clothes.

A part of him genuinely wanted the coat to come off. Just sometimes, when he got distracted by her legs or the patches of skin visible through the parted jacket. When he would notice her breasts peeking through, bouncing as she laughed, or the black skirt hugging her thighs.

Nonetheless, desire fought a poor battle against the rest. Buffy confidently wearing his clothes in public left Spike awestruck. But it was the moments he caught one of the other men staring at her legs that reinforced the coat's significance. He remembered he ought to be thankful for Buffy's modest nature. Besides, the contrast between brown leather and golden hair painted a pretty picture.

Hell, she could be wearing a gum wrapper and it would undo him. The woman was a goddess. He'd always known it, but now, tonight, she was his goddess. A month back, Spike would never have believed it possible. Two years ago he might have thought an apocalypse was more likely, but today he saw miracles.

Buffy was laughing, and sharing in the first carefree moment of the night with him as Xander told a funny story from the past. She hid her face in his coat with every embarrassing anecdote.

It was heaven to watch her. So much so that the evening's previous failures seemed miles away.

Even Cecily's veiled comments didn't seem to grate anymore, and the less he reacted, the more stabs she took. Anya finally noticed and grew visibly irritated.

An hour went by. The coffee turned cold and guests started to leave, yawning their goodbyes but still drawing them out in typical friendly fashion.

The Bennings and Gardiners were slipping on their coats, pausing to thank the hosts. Emma insisted on seeing them again before she left. Xander asked repeatedly when that might be, and when shushed by his wife switched to who wanted leftovers.

A flurry of last minute activity took place. Who liked the cranberry sauce? Who wanted the casserole Cecily had made? Was everyone in good condition to drive? The Bennings offered to take Roger home, and he could pick up his car in the morning if it was suitable. Xander relayed the message while they talked with Emma and Anya near the front door. Cecily had snuck off at some point, probably to use the restroom. Spike and Buffy were occupied packing up food in the kitchen.

"Think Anya wants this left in the tin or put into somethin' else?"

"Leave it," Buffy said. She glanced at the half empty pie container in Spike's hands. "I'm sure Xander will finish it before the night is over."

As if summoned by the call of his name, Xander came into the kitchen with a tired smile on his face. "The Gardiners just left."

"Two down, only six to go," Buffy said.

"I'm glad this day is winding down, but I'm almost sad that it'll just be me, Ahn, and my mother-in-law again shortly." He paused. "Actually, no. I'm very sad. Damn, why do I remind myself of these things?"

Buffy and Spike chuckled. "She's a mite tough on you, eh?"

"The woman lives to inflict pain and suffering."

"Careful, Xand. She might hear you."

He groaned. "She's too busy telling everyone out there how I should be pursuing a different career."

"Lady doesn't like what you do?" Spike asked, snapping the lid closed on a Tupperware full of chicken.

"If it doesn't require a suit, it's not going to produce a good enough income for her daughter's wellbeing. At least, that's her standing argument."

Buffy sighed. "You know she's wrong, right?"

"Of course," he shrugged. "Besides, I love my job and Ahn approves. She doesn't listen to her mom about that stuff anyway."

"Good." Buffy shared a little smile with Spike as he opened the refrigerator door for her. She set a Tupperware of pastries inside next to a container of orange juice. "Hey," Buffy added quickly, turning around, "that reminds me. I've been meaning to ask you about Jack. How's he working out?"

"Oh yeah! I've wanted to talk to you about him, too. The kid's been getting along really well, actually. I haven't seen him show up with anymore bruises either."

Buffy smiled, glancing at Spike with relief pouring from her eyes. "Really? He's okay?"

"Seems to be," Xander said. "He's really getting a hang of this kind of work."

Buffy sighed, reaching without thought and without looking for Spike's arm. He inched nearer. "You have no clue how good that makes me feel."

"Always happy to help," Xander said. "By the way, I'm sorry about what happened earlier. With Roger."

"Oh." She shrugged. "It wasn't your fault."

"I know, but I still feel bad. He's more hammered than I thought. I should've been watching out." Xander met William's eyes tentatively. "I know he wasn't exactly polite to you either."

Spike looked surprised. "It's not a big deal."

"It's not okay, though. And I'm sorry about it."

The blonde nodded uncomfortably. "Thanks, mate."

An awkward pause urged Buffy to ask, "Are the Bennings going to drive him home?"

Xander shook his head. "I don't think so. Last I checked, he was half asleep on the couch and didn't want to move. I'll probably just drive him home or let him spend the night. He's off work tomorrow anyway."

The couple nodded and soon continued their work preserving leftovers. It took a full minute of quiet interspersed with general chit-chat before Xander snapped his fingers and said, "Shoot! Buffy, I totally forgot, Anya was going to wash your clothes."

The woman froze, dropping an empty container to the floor. "What?"

"That's why I came in here, to tell you. She said she was going to wash them and get 'em back to you another day. I was supposed to let you know."

"That sweater is dry-clean only!"

"It is?" Xander's eyes bugged. "You better warn her. She was just heading for the basement."

Buffy looked at Spike, grabbed his arm desperately and said, "I'll be right back," before taking off.

***

She practically skidded down the long, carpeted stairwell leading to the basement. She bypassed a pool table, workout equipment and a desk, before finally locating the washer and dryer. Anya sat atop the former, gently kicking the air with her high heeled shoe. "I was wondering when you'd get down here."

"Xander said you were going to-" Buffy frowned and dropped her arms. "Where's my sweater?"

"Where you left it, with your boots and coat."

She frowned harder. "Then why did Xander-"

"Because I needed to talk to you. He was just a prop."

"You tricked me into the basement? What is this, Scream Five?"

"Hardly. I just needed to get you away from William for a moment."

Buffy sighed with relief. "So you were never going to wash my clothes?"

"Of course not! Do you think I'd wash velvet? I'm not completely crazy."

Buffy chuckled, hopping on top of the dryer to sit beside her. "Thank God for that."

"Yes, thank God I have common sense."

"Why did you want to talk to me down here?"

"Because I needed to yell at you."

"This sounds very much not fun."

Anya nodded precisely. "It isn't. I gave you my lucky skirt, one of the hottest tops I own, and you covered it all up with that jacket."

Buffy scowled, looking down at herself. She pulled the coat away from her body before snapping back to attention, eyes wide and accusing. "You did this on purpose?!"

"Of course I did!" She sighed dramatically. "You wouldn't know a good scheme if it hit you in the face, would you?"

"I don't make a habit of scheming."

"Well, you make a habit of ruining mine, that's for sure."

"I almost asked you for sweatpants, are you seriously telling me you're angry I threw a jacket on?"

"Yes!"

Buffy counted to three. "Anya, tell me what your oh so clever plan was supposed to accomplish. Now. Before I go upstairs and tell Xander you might be better off committed."

"It was to get you laid."

Mouth shut, cheeks instantly rosy. Buffy blinked hugely, like a stunned owl. "What?"

Anya released an impatient sigh, tossing her hair over one bare shoulder. She wore a purple halter dress that fanned out across the washer like a tablecloth, and Buffy only now noticed its gallantry. "I thought if I got you into something a bit more revealing, William would be a little less proper and make you a little less uptight."

"I am not uptight!"

"Do you look in the mirror when you say that?"

"Ugh!" Buffy hopped to the floor, half exasperated and very tempted to strip down and throw her clothes at the perky woman who ought to be holding a heart shaped bow and arrow. "Anya, I'm getting there with William. In my own time, okay? I'm getting there, but sexy clothes aren't going to speed things up!"

"Really?" She rose an eyebrow. "Is he or is he not a man?"

"I don't even want to bother answering you."

"He's going to be thinking about sex even more now that he's seen you in a short skirt."

Buffy crossed her arms and frowned. "Did you ever think I'm the one who wants to wait?"

"Of course you are. This does not mean the situation can't be fixed by elevating his interest."

"There's nothing to fix!"

"I'm only trying to help. If he doesn't jump you later on tonight, then there's no harm done. And if he does, you can always say no."

"Thanks for the permission."

"There is no reason to be snooty."

"I'm not trying to be," Buffy sighed. "I just want you to let me make these decisions on my own."

"Fine!" Anya hopped off the washer. "Be a born-again virgin all your life. It won't hurt me if you're not having orgasms."

"There's no reason to be snooty," Buffy returned.

"You were at least thinking of doing it this week, right?"

"If you want me to show you my calendar, you're out of luck."

"It's obvious. I would have picked up on it the moment you two walked through the front door together but everything seemed rather tense at the time. And I couldn't be sure if it was sexual or not."

Buffy hugged herself. She neglected mentioning Cecily had been the cause for every ounce of tension earlier on, then suddenly remembered the awful woman was still upstairs and she'd left Spike to fend for himself. "Look, Anya, I appreciate what you were trying to do, okay?"

"You do?"

"Yes. I know it's just your weird way of being my friend, but can we go back upstairs now?"

She huffed, but linked arms with Buffy in a show of peace. "I suppose."

A thick sigh welled up in her throat again, but Buffy was able to squash it. Discreetly rolling her eyes, she let Anya guide the way.

***

They separated in the foyer. Anya said her last minute goodbyes to the Bennings, while Buffy left in search of her date. Their conversation in the basement was echoing in the back of her mind, lending questions to her own hesitations. Why did she insist on dragging this thing out with Spike? Why was she so wary of taking the next step? She knew it was only a matter of time, but for some reason, likely named Fear, Buffy needed more of it.

She passed Xander in the dining room babysitting a drunk Roger, who had somehow gotten hold of another beer. *One more point in Spike's column,* she thought, and mentally checkmarked the box labeled "Trusted Around Alcohol" under Boyfriend Requirements, before pushing her way into the kitchen.

"It must be so nice having a job that doesn't require much dedication, or skill for that matter..."

Buffy stopped, her mind instantly swept clean of personal concerns.

Cecily cornering William against piles of Tupperware and freshly cleaned dishes, with her claws out, eyes glittering in delight, was something of gag-worthy proportions. Worse than watching her fake-flirt with him. It was a harsher view of her carnivorous appetite, something cruel she could never share with the rest of the dinner guests.

There was no one around to see it. Nobody except her victim, the same boy she'd bullied years before. Something wicked flattened the air and made Buffy cringe, her nerves prickling. She could barely see straight when the shock wore off.

"I shouldn't have anticipated great accomplishments from you. I'm sure your mother didn't. She babied you all your life, no doubt out of pity-"

She couldn't take it. Not another moment of it. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

Cecily jumped, startled as a rabbit. "I beg your pardon."

"There's no chance you didn't understand me." Buffy stormed forward. "Unless you've suddenly gone deaf, which might make it a little harder to be such a bitch."

Cecily looked to William again. "It seems you've finally found that backbone you were missing all your life. She's quite mouthy."

Buffy's glare splintered with derision. "Too bad he didn't lose you in the exchange."

"He never had me, I assure you."

"I really don't think he regrets that."

"I daresay he shouldn't, what with you taking up the minutes he doesn't spend cleaning toilets."

"God!" Buffy faked a laugh, harsh and loud. "Do you ever shut up? Or is the constant sound of your own voice some kind of coping mechanism?"

Cecily straightened, throwing a haughty glance in Spike's direction. He was rattled and showcasing it like a neon sign, but Buffy had yet to look into his eyes.

"It's good to know you've surrounded yourself with people matching the quality of your lifestyle, William. No wonder you never fit in with the rest of us back home."

"It must be great living with such a high opinion of yourself," Buffy returned. "Who knew delusion was so popular nowadays."

"You've certainly picked it up," Cecily remarked. "At first I thought you hadn't realized how far beneath you William stood, but now I see you're just lying at the foot of the pedestal you've set him on."

Spike flinched. It was miniscule and Buffy was nearly certain she had been the only one to notice, but it fueled her ire like nothing else. "When you fall off your own, maybe you'll finally get a taste of reality. God knows that would do us all a favor."

Cecily opened her mouth again, and Buffy was going to interrupt when Spike took her arm.

"That's enough," he said.

She froze instantly. "What?"

"It's enough. Leave it." He turned his icy expression on the insolent brunette and spoke evenly, carefully. "Cecily, I'd appreciate it if you would leave."

The woman did a ping-pong glance between them, surprised and finally quiet. The moment stretched out like an overused rubber band.

Seconds passed. He eventually spit the order. "Get out!"

Cecily blinked in astonishment. She heeded the command amazingly quick and left the room in under five seconds.

What she left behind, was a silence as tense as the man holding Buffy's arm.





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