It was late when Spike had finished getting Buffy and himself cleaned up, found some clean bedding and dumped the old stuff in Giles’s washing machine, got Buffy something to drink and assured her he didn’t mind looking after her.  He dressed her in his t-shirt and tucked her into the clean bed and she reached out to him.

            “Spike...”

            “I wasn’t going to leave, pet, I’m just going to the bathroom.  Give me five minutes.”

            She watched him go and Spike felt like he was abandoning a helpless puppy.

            He stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror.  So Giles thought he was a danger to Buffy, but Buffy didn’t know yet.  Or they wouldn’t be here in Giles’s house.  And sooner or later Giles was going to walk in and probably call the police on Spike.  Not that he was particularly worried about that: Spike had been giving coppers the slip since his teens.  He’d outrun a babble of sheikh’s henchmen on more than one occasion.  A London bobby wasn’t going to bother him.

            Although it would mean leaving Buffy behind.

            Spike ran his hands over his face.  What the hell was it with this girl?  She yelled at him and hit him and tricked him and ran away from him, but he still followed.  It wasn’t just that she was a bloody miracle in bed.  It wasn’t just that she had a beautiful, lithe body, hair like silk, eyes he could drown in.  All those things were contributing factors, yes, but...

            It was that she trusted him, even when she said she didn’t.  Spike thought she was bloody stupid to trust him, because who’d trust Spike?  But he was incredibly touched that Buffy did.  He’d meant it when he said that only an idiot could love her.  You’d have to be insane to spend any amount of time with someone as difficult as Buffy.

            But God, it was rewarding.

            He went back into the bedroom and Buffy opened her eyes sleepily.  She reached out to him.  “World’s spinning,” she mumbled.  “Make it stop.”

            “I can’t,” Spike said with a smile.  “Too much vodka.”

            Buffy’s face crumpled and he swooped down, terrified she was going to start crying.  “Okay, all right, look, close your eyes and go to sleep, and that’ll help.”

            “Sleep with me.”

            Spike stood up and took off his jeans and lifted Buffy out of the way as he got into the little bed with her.  She curled up immediately against his chest, her fist up by her face, sleeping like a child.

            Spike stroked her hair and wondered what the hell he was going to tell Giles.

            Giles walked into his house some time after midnight.  He hadn’t meant to stay so late at the museum, but he’d had so much work to do.  His desk was buried under a sea of paperwork.  His eyes were blurry behind his glasses and all Giles could think of was a cold vodka tonic and sleep.

            But the vodka wasn’t in the fridge where he’d left it, it was lying on the floor, spilling all over the tiles.  Giles frowned.  He’d have remembered leaving it there, or knocking it over.  He’d have thought it was the cat, apart from one thing.

            He didn’t have a cat.

            Even weirder, the washing machine was running.  Who the hell had started that in the middle of the night?

            He picked up the nearly empty bottle and held it by the neck as he checked the living room and then crept up the dark stairs, avoiding the one in the middle that creaked.  His own bedroom was empty, the larger spare room was too.  The bathroom door was swinging in the breeze from the open window-

            Shit.  He hadn’t left the window open.

            There was only one room left to check, and Giles pushed open the door to the box room, bottle raised.

            In the moonlight, Spike and Buffy presented a perfect tableau.  She small and fragile, dwarfed by the black t-shirt she wore, her head nestled against Spike’s neck.  He dozed with his head against hers, leaning back against the headboard, barechested, looking like the protector he was paid to be.

            The protector Giles knew he wasn’t.

            As if he knew he was being watched, Spike opened one eye.  He looked over at Giles and let out a small sigh.

            “She drank it,” he said, and closed his eye.

            “I don’t care about the vodka,” Giles hissed, “what are you doing here?”

            “Trying to sleep.”

            “I could call the police.”

            Spike opened his eyes again.  “Do you really think that’s a threat to me?  A handful of unfit bobbies panting down the street when I’m already long gone?”

            “So if I call them, you’ll go?”

            Spike hesitated.  “I’ll take her with me,” he said, altering his grip on Buffy.  She sighed in her sleep and snuggled closer, and Giles narrowed his eyes.

            “Do you have any idea how much danger she’s in?  And how much you’re suspected?”

            “Have you been talking to Captain Courage again?” Spike asked wearily.

            “If by that you mean Riley, then yes.  He thinks you’re involved with the Angelus group.”

            “Well, I’m not.  And if you don’t shut up you’ll wake up Buffy and she’ll probably be sick all over everywhere.  Again.”

            Giles realised what the washing machine was about.  Strange, you’d never think of Spike as being remotely domesticated.  Giles would lay money Spike wouldn’t know a dishwasher if it did the dance of the seven veils in front of him.

            “Is she ill?”

            Spike smiled.  “The sickness of the vodka bottle.”

            “You’ve been giving her alcohol?”

            “No, Mr Rochester, I have not been plying your underage ward with the demon drink.  She’s old enough to drink even in Yankland.  She can decide for herself how much she wants to drink.”

            Buffy stirred, nuzzling Spike’s neck and mumbling incoherently.  Spike stroked her hair and shh’d her.

            “Spike,” she mumbled.

            “Yes, love?”

            “It’s the middle one.”

            Wondering what the hell she was dreaming about, Spike replied, “Is it now?”

            “Wanna save it.”

            “We’ll save it.”

            Buffy mumbled a bit more and wrapped her arm around his waist.  Giles cleared his throat, embarrassed, and said, “I’ll speak to you in the morning, then.”

            He shut the door, and Spike smiled to himself as he closed his eyes.  Giles wouldn’t throw them out.  He’d be too embarrassed.

            The highlands of Scotland are known for being an inhospitable climate, but Riley had no idea that the people were so prickly too.  Weren’t the Scots supposed to be welcoming? Or was that the Irish?

            The truth was that, after a day’s whole travelling from Sunnydale to LA International, to London Heathrow, to Glasgow, and then on a train to the nearest big town, then a bus to the nearest small town, then a taxi out to the village near where Buffy and Spike had been staying, Riley was exhausted and in a very bad mood.  He snapped at the villagers, who, having just got over one American in their midst, and a polite, pretty American too, were not disposed to take on another one.  They snapped back at him and thickened their already incomprehensible accents so that Riley didn’t understand a single word.  It was like trying to speak ancient Greek when you didn’t even have a modern dictionary.

            “Are they still here?” he repeated to the whiskery landlord of the pub, which was the only place in the village that showed any life.  “A London man and an American girl.  He has bleached blond hair and she’s very small and pretty.  Blonde, too, but naturally.”

            Sure, the landlord thought, and if you believe that I can take you out to see Nessie.

            “Ach,” he said, rubbing his chin, “I dinna ken.”

            Riley gave up.

            “Do you have a room?” he asked.  “You know, a room?  Where I can sleep?”

            Just because you don’t understand me, doesn’t mean I don’t understand you, the landlord thought in mixed disgust and amusement.

            “Aye,” he said, more clearly this time, “thirty pounds.”

            “I have American dollars,” Riley offered a wad of greenbacks.

            “Pounds,” the landlord said firmly.  Where the hell was he going to change American dollars?

            “And I don’t suppose you’d take AmEx, either?”

            The landlord grinned and gestured to a credit card machine.  “Now will ye be wantin’ a room with a bath, or a shower?”

            In the morning, Spike left Buffy sleeping and padded into the bathroom.  The shower was hot and he stayed under until the room was thick with steam and the scent of Giles’s expensive shampoo.  Note to self, Spike thought as he replaced the bottle, rip the piss out of Giles for this.

            He dressed in yesterday’s black jeans and shirt, leaving Buffy curled up in his t-shirt.  She slept with her hands by her face, like a baby, fist curled around a lock of golden hair.  He stroked her cheek and she rubbed her face against his hand, catlike, dead asleep.

            “Buffy,” Spike said quietly, and she didn’t stir.  “I think I love you.”  Buffy sighed in her sleep.  “I hope that’s okay with you.  Not that I’d stop if it wasn’t.”

            Buffy slept on.  Spike kissed her hair and left the room, quietly closing the door behind him.

            Downstairs, he found Giles reading The Times while Tara and Willow giggled over the coffeepot.

            “Excellent,” he said, as the toaster popped.  “I do like to come down to lesbians at breakfast.”

            Giles rolled his eyes.  Willow gave him a fingerwave and Tara, getting up to fetch the toast, gave a diffident smile.

            “Where’s Buffy?” Giles asked.

            “Oh, I handed her over to Angel last night,” Spike said, helping himself to Tara’s coffee.

            “William,” Giles said warningly.

            “She’s still asleep,” Spike protested.  “Go and see if you like but don’t bloody wake her up.  If she sleeps all day she might not feel so bad when she wakes up.”

            “Buffy’s here?” Willow asked, wide-eyed.

            “Is she sick?” Tara said.

            “Yes, she’s here, and no, she’s not sick.  Had too much to drink.”

            “I thought she was going home,” Willow said, confused.

            “Yes, well, maybe she thinks of this as home,” Giles said with a fond smile.

            All of them looked at him.

            “Or maybe I called her mobile and persuaded her to come here instead,” he admitted.  “Anyway, William, how did you get in?”

            Pissed off at being called William for the second time in one morning, Spike sucked in his cheeks and said, “Magic.  What’s for breakfast?”

            “For you, nothing but a big explanation,” Willow said.  “And you’re serving.”

            Spike made a face at her, but he consoled himself with the thought that they all had no idea he and Buffy had been having sex on that table twelve hours before.

            “I think you need to explain to me, Rupert,” he said, snagging an apple from the bowl on the table and wiping it on his shirt.  “What was that telegram about?”

            “That was for Buffy-”

            “Who had already left.”

            “So you read it?” Willow said.

            “Is - is that legal?” Tara asked.

            “Do I look like I’d even know?” Spike said.  “From whom is she in danger?”

            “You, by all accounts.”

            “Yes, you can see how badly I’ve been treating her.”

            “You got her drunk,” Giles protested.

            “So shoot me.”

            “You’ve had worse ideas.”

            “Was it Riley?” Spike asked, taking a bite of the apple and making a face.  “It’s gone soft.”

            “Oh, I do apologise,” Giles rolled his eyes.  “And what business is it of yours if-”

            The phone rang.

            “I’ll get it,” Willow offered, and left the room.

            “He thinks you’re endangering Buffy,” Giles told Spike.

            “Bollocks.  He was the one who kidnapped her.  Why does he have it in for me?  What did I do to him?”

            “Took Buffy,” Tara said quietly, and Spike turned his gaze on her, thoughtfully, as Willow came back in.

            “Giles, do you know anyone called Dawn?”

            Giles stood up.  “Dawn?  Yes, I-” he left the room, picked up the phone.  “Dawn?  What is it?  Have you seen Riley again?”

            “Well, no,” Dawn said, hesitantly, “but that might be because I’m pretty sure he’s in another country.”

            “Do you know where?”

            “Well, it might not be another country.  I’m not sure if it’s, like, a state or something.”

            “Hawaii and Alaska are states, Canada and Mexico are not,” Giles said patiently, recalling a geography project he’d helped her with years ago.

            “No, I don’t mean that,” Dawn said.  “I mean, is Scotland like a state of Britain, or is it a country?  Or is the United Kingdom?  I can never remember.”

            “It’s a separate country within both the United Kingdom and Great Britain, it has its own parliament and mint but it’s still under the rule of the Queen.  Dawn, why are we having a discussion about British sovereignty?”

            “Because I wanted to know if I was in the same country as Riley.”

            Giles stared at the Hockney print on the wall.  “You’re in Scotland?”

            “No.”

            “Thank God-”

            “I’m in England.  Heathrow Airport.  I was calling to ask how do I get to London, and is the Underground really underground?  Giles?  Giles?”

            Riley called the number for the local taxi firm but could hardly understand what the man on the other end said.  Consequently he had to wait in the pub for an hour before anyone turned up to drive him.  And then he spent another half hour, while the meter was running, explaining where he wanted to go.  This was interesting primarily because Riley had no idea where the cottage was.  Thank God Buffy had been warned.

            But when he got there the cottage was empty.  The door was unlocked and there were signs of recent habitation - dirty dishes, scattered clothes, crumpled sheets... It was the sheets that really pissed Riley off.  He wanted to know what the hell Spike had been doing to Buffy.  And then he wanted to kill him for it.

            Back in the village, he was just about to collect his things from his room, ready for the long trip back to civilisation, when he overheard a man in a postie’s uniform talking to the barman.

            “Och, I’ve nivver been so shaken!  All the way to the airport, he wanted, and the gun at me the whole time.”

            Riley strode over and grabbed the man by the shoulder.  “Who had a gun?”

            The postman stared at him.

            “Who was it?  Did he have bleached blond hair, wore lots of leather, London accent?”

            Terrified, the postie nodded.

            Riley swore creatively under his breath.  “You took him to the airport?  Which airport?”

            “Glasgow.”

            “Do you know where he was going?”

            The postman shook his head.

            “Fuck,” said Riley, succinctly.  He turned to the barman.  “Get me that cab driver back here and tell him to take me to the airport and if he says he’s busy, tell him I have a gun too.”

            “If you or Buffy go anywhere-” Giles warned Spike as he grabbed his jacket, “I’ll-”

            “I know,” Spike said.  “We’ll be right here.  I’m sure Buffy’ll love to see her sis.”

            “If I haven’t killed her yet for being such an idiot,” Giles muttered, letting the door swing shut behind him.

            Spike turned into the living room and switched on the TV.  Thank God Giles had digital.  He flipped to a news channel and looked over the local and national headlines.  No killings.  That had to be a good thing.  Meant Angel was quiet.

            He switched off the TV and went back into the kitchen, where he found Buffy, looking tired and lost in her jeans and his t-shirt, gingerly drinking orange juice under Willow’s supervision.

            “Didn’t think I’d see you this side of midday,” Spike said, and Buffy looked up at him.  Her face was pale and her eyes looked bleary.  Buffy’s first hangover.

            “I heard the phone and someone went out and I was awake,” she said.  “Thought I’d get up.  Spike, how much did I drink last night?”

            “Enough,” he said.  “You should eat something.  Nice greasy fry-up.  That’ll make you feel better.”

            Buffy went paler.  Her skin turned slightly green.  “I think I’m gonna be sick,” she mumbled, and Spike grabbed a cereal bowl from the table and held it out to her.  “Can you make it to the bathroom?”

            Buffy shook her head and threw up into the bowl.

            “Or maybe the fry-up won’t help,” Willow ventured.  “Come on, Buffy.”  She handed the bowl to Tara, who emptied it into the sink without a word and reached out an arm to stop Spike from following Buffy upstairs with Willow.

            “Let her have some dignity,” she said.

            “She didn’t last night.”

            “All the more reason to let her have some this morning.”

            Upstairs, Buffy sat miserably by the toilet, drinking the water Willow had given her.

            “I didn’t drink that much,” she said.

            “Well, uh, it’s having quite an effect on you.”

            “Not a big drinker.”

            “Well, you’re only twenty-one.”

            Buffy nodded.  “All the bars in Sunnydale are really strict about ID.”

            “Some of then are around here,” Willow said, “but don’t forget you can drink at eighteen in England.”

            “So you passed this stage years ago?”

            Willow nodded.  “Fraid so.”

            Buffy groaned and rested her head against the bath.  “He got me drunk,” she said.

            “That seems like a Spike thing to do.”

            “How long have you known him?”

            “Well,” Willow shrugged, “not really that long.  Only when he comes to bring stuff for the museum.”

            “Like what?”

            “I don’t know... artefacts.  This one time, he brought us an Inca foot!”

            Buffy put her hand to her chest and tried to take deep breaths, nausea rising again.  “Really?  A foot?”

            “Yeah.  He said the rest was crushed when he stole it from these Colombian guys.”

            “He gets around, huh?”

            “Yeah.  He’s brought us stuff from America and Asia and Africa...”

            “Real stuff?” Buffy asked, and Willow smiled.

            “Yes, we checked.  He did try once with a fake, Giles says.  Years ago.  But Giles figured it out.”

            “He’s smart like that.”

            “So what was the whole thing with your sister getting all scared about you and-”

            “Wait, what’s that about my sister?”

            “She called here and said she’d been talking to that Riley guy, and he said Spike was really bad news so she called here and Giles got scared and sent a telegram to you in Scotland... Did you get it?”

            “No.”

            “No, Spike said he read it.  He said you’d already gone.  But I thought... if you hadn’t read it...”

            “We had a fight,” Buffy said.

            “But you made up now?”

            Buffy shrugged.  She closed her eyes and rolled her head back against the top of the bath.  “I think so.  I don't know.  He’s infuriating.  He teases me all the time but he can’t take it at all.  And sometimes he’s really sweet and sometimes...”

            “What?”

            “Most of the time he’s a bastard.”

            “Well, if he’s a bastard,” Willow began.  “Then why do you... I mean, why did you...?”

            “Why am I still sleeping with him?”

            Willow nodded uncertainly.

            “Because it’s really good.  And because he... I don’t know.  He’s good to me.  God, I sound like a battered Mafia wife.”

            Willow smiled.  “Giles said he cleared up yesterday.”

            “Yesterday?”

            “You were sick or something.  Don’t you remember?”

            Buffy pressed her hand to her clammy forehead.  “Uh, not really.”  All she remembered was having drunken sex with Spike on the table that people were now eating off.  Was that what Will meant?  Cleaning the table?

            “He changed your bedding and put it in the wash.  Giles said when he came in you were asleep in Spike’s arms.  That’s what stopped him calling the police.”

            “Because I was asleep?”

            “Because Spike was holding you.  Like he loves you.”

            “He doesn’t love me.”  Buffy hauled herself to her feet.

            “How do you know?”

            “He just... doesn’t.  I’m going to go back to sleep.”

            She closed the bedroom door behind her and Willow frowned at it a while before she went back downstairs.  Spike was reading the paper and Tara was tidying away some of the breakfast things.

            “She okay?” Spike looked up when Willow came in.

            “Gone back to sleep.”

            “I’m just going to go check on her-”

            “No,” Willow said firmly, and Spike looked at her in surprise.

            “Don’t you tell me-”

            “She needs to rest and all you’ll do is disturb her.  You can take her up something to eat later.  Soup or, or something.  Chicken soup.”

            Spike looked at her a while longer, then he sat down, frowning, and went back to Giles’s paper.

            Giles found Dawn in the airport Starbucks, talking animatedly to two Australian backpackers who were both clearly smitten.

            “I can see that being alone in a foreign country is deeply traumatising for today’s sixteen-year-old,” Giles said drily, and the two backpackers looked up in surprise.

            “Sixteen?”

            “It’s just an age,” Dawn protested, as they got up and moved away.  “Thanks a lot, Giles.  One of them was really cute.”

            “And he could have been working for the Angelus group.”

            “Apparently everyone’s working for the Angelus group.  Where’s Buffy?  She didn’t come with?”

            “She’s not feeling too well.”

            “She’s sick?” Dawn’s face tuned to instant concern.  “Did she drink the water?  ‘Cos Janice told me about this time when she was in Mexico-”

            “British water is perfectly safe to drink,” Giles cut her off.  “Unlike the vodka Buffy was mainlining last night.”

            “She got drunk?”  Dawn whistled.  “Buffy so can’t handle her drink.”

            “No, and she’s feeling rather worse for wear this morning.  She’s at home with Willow and Tara and Spike.”

            “She’s with Spike?  Do you trust him?”

            Giles sighed as he picked up her case and made his way back to the train station.  “I’ve never quite trusted him-”

            “But you’ll leave Buffy with him?”

            Giles looked down at Dawn and saw the same stubborn face Buffy often wore.  Marvellous, he thought, there are two of them now.

            “I don’t think he’ll harm her,” Giles said.  “I don’t know exactly how honourable his intentions are, but I don’t think he’ll do anything to hurt her.  I think our William has a soft spot for Buffy.”

            “You think he’s in love with her?” Dawn asked incredulously.

            “I - well, maybe not love, but there’s a lot of affection there.  I don’t think he’s following her out of malicious intent.”

            Dawn shook her head.  “Riley said he raped her.”

            “Yes, well, you’ll have to ask Buffy about that,” Giles said uncomfortably.  “Personally I think that was Riley seeing what he wanted to.  He doesn’t want to think that Buffy could be in love with someone else, so he chooses to think that Spike forced himself on her.  But from what I’ve seen...”

            Dawn’s eyes widened.  “You’ve been watching?”

            “No, Dawn, don’t be ridiculous.  I just mean that when I’ve seen them together - platonically - it looks perfectly easy and, and natural to me.  Now, do you want to travel facing the front of the train, or the back?”

            “Buffy?” Willow said, peeking around the bedroom door.  “Are you awake?”

            Buffy opened her eyes.  “Kinda.”

            “Do you want something to eat?  Tara made some soup.”

            Buffy wrinkled her nose.  “What kind of soup?”

            “Leek and potato.  We were going to make chicken, but we didn’t have any chicken, so...”

            Buffy smiled.  “Sounds good.  Do I have to get up?”

            “’Fraid so.  Giles won’t let me bring it up here.”

            Buffy got out of bed and pulled her jeans back on.  She’d been sleeping in Spike’s t-shirt and it felt soft and comforting.  It smelled of him, and as he wasn’t there in person, that had to be good enough.

            She followed Willow downstairs, feeling a bit better.  It was late afternoon and the sky was dark with rainclouds.  The kitchen smelled of delicious creamy soup, the scent of woodsmoke drifted in from the living room and there was the sound of chatter coming from behind the door.  It was all very cosy.  Buffy took her bowl of soup from Tara and was just about to start eating when a familiar sound caught her ear.

            “Does Giles have company?” she asked.

            Willow and Tara looked at each other.  “Well - I - sort of-” Willow fudged.

            “She, erm, a f-friend-” Tara stammered, and Buffy stood up.  She went to the living room door and pushed it open and saw Giles and Spike laughing with her little sister.

            For a few seconds Buffy simply stared, and it was a while before anyone noticed her.  Then Spike looked around and his face changed.

            “Pet!  You’re up.  Red made some soup, I don’t know if you want-”

            But Buffy ignored him.  “Dawn?”

            Dawn smiled hopefully.  “Surprise!  I was gonna come up and see you but Spike threatened me with evisceration if I woke you up-”

            Buffy glared at Spike, who winked at her.

            “-so I thought I’d wait down here until you woke up.  How are you feeling?  Still all hangovery?”

            “I’m fine,” Buffy lied.  “What are you doing here?”

            “I came to see you.  Giles said you were coming down here, and I wanted to know what was going on ‘cos all we’ve heard has been from Riley and I’m not sure if maybe something might have exploded near his head when he was in South America ‘cos he’s being all floopy and not making a whole lot of sense and he seems to think you’re in some kind of terrible danger but to me you just look like Mom did after that Christmas party.”

            They all stared at her.

            “Okay, first of all,” Buffy said, “breathe.  Second of all, does Mom know you’re here?”

            “Well,” Dawn squirmed, “she does now.”

            “Meaning?”

            “I sort of called from the airport and left a message on the machine...”

            Buffy glared at her and opened her mouth to speak, but Spike cut in.

            “It’s okay,” he said, “Joyce called here and Rupert talked her down.  The little bit’s perfectly safe - if a little bit stupid...” he rolled his eyes at Dawn, and she blushed.

            “Little bit?” Buffy enunciated, and Spike grinned.

            “Yeah, she’s a little bit like you.  Not as stroppy,” he said, standing up and pulling Buffy down into the chair with him.

            “Oh yeah?  You get a new Barbie and see if she’s still not stroppy after that.”

            Spike blinked at her.  “I think it’s fairly safe to say there will be no Barbies in my possession until the end of time,” he said.  His voice softening, he asked, “So how’re you feeling?”

            Buffy sighed.  She was so horribly tired and her skin ached.  “Crappy.  Don’t ever let me drink again.”

            “But you’re so much fun when you’re drunk,” Spike said, nuzzling her neck.

            “Spike, stop that.  Dawn, I’m still mad at you for coming all this way without telling Mom.  She’ll be worried sick.”

            “She’s fine now, pet,” Spike stroked her hair.  “I talked to her.”

            “I thought she thought you were evil?” Buffy said in confusion, and Spike grinned.

            “Common misconception.  Now, are you going to have anything to eat?  Soak up the vodka?”

            Buffy groaned at the mention of alcohol.  “Soup only.  I don’t feel up to chewing.”

            Willow brought her food in and Spike had to resist the temptation to feed it to Buffy, especially when she spilled some down her chin and he wanted to lick it off.

            “This is good, Will,” she said.

            “Tara made it.”

            “Oh.  Tara, right.”  Buffy sometimes forgot the other girl was there.  “You should be a chef.”

            Tara blushed and looked away.  “Willow, we should probably be going.  I have that essay to finish and you-”

            Willow groaned.  “I know, I promised to write finish that chapter tonight.  Giles, was there this much reading when you were at school?”

            “More,” Giles said.  “And we were whipped if we hadn’t done it.”

            They all stared.

            “British humour,” Spike shook his head.  “Can’t beat it.”

            Tara and Willow left and Dawn, yawning, said she should get some sleep.  “It’s really late in America,” she said.

            “What?  No, it isn’t.  It’s eight hours earlier.”

            “Oh.”  Dawn looked confused.  “Then it must be jetlagged.  Giles, how many beds do you have?  I am not sharing with those too.”

            “Too bloody right,” Spike muttered, as Giles got up to show Dawn to his other guest room.

            “Not that you’re getting anything tonight,” Buffy told him.  “I feel like crap.”

            “You didn’t drink that much.”

            “Yeah, but I’m really tiny,” Buffy curled herself up smaller on his lap and looked up at him with big green eyes.

            “Puppy eyes won’t work on me, love,” Spike said sternly, but when Buffy stuck out her lower lip his eyes darkened and he bit down on her lip with sharp teeth.  “Maybe they’ll work just a bit,” he conceded, and cupped her head as he kissed her.

            “Oh, Lord, do you have to?” Giles groaned, coming back in.  “I’m going down the pub,” he added in disgust.  “Don’t drink my vodka.”

            “There’s none left,” Spike said, stretching out his arms.

            “Well, don’t drink any of anything.  I’ll take a key, don’t forget to lock up.  And remember Dawn is in the house.”

            He left, and Buffy snuggled up to Spike.

            “I think that was intended as a warning against any kind of sex,” she said.

            “Rupert Giles, human birth control,” Spike mused.  “So, your sister-”

            “I hope those two subjects are not linked in your mind.”

            He grinned.  “’Course not.  She said Captain Cardboard had been over to your house, spreading bad rumours about me.”

            Buffy raised an eyebrow.  “Captain Cardboard?”

            “Well, he’s hardly three-dimensional, is he?”

            “From what I remember, there are bits of him that are very three-dimensional,” Buffy grinned, and shrieked in protest as Spike stood up, tipping her on the floor.  “Ow!  Spike, that hurt!”

            In an instant Spike was on the floor with her, pulling her hands away from her face, looking horrified.

            “Buffy, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you-”

            “You never mean to, Spike.”

            “Well,” he gave her a little smile, “sometimes I do, but that’s when you ask for it.”  He touched the side of her face.  “Here?”

            Buffy reached up and touched his face in the same place.  “That’s where you hit me,” she said, and Spike closed his eyes.

            “Look, I’m sorry about that.  Didn’t I make it up to you?”

            “You’ve got to stop being so jealous,” Buffy said, and Spike took a deep breath, about to confess, but right then the door came open and Dawn, armed with a wooden ruler, came dashing in.

            “Buffy?”

            She stopped when she saw Spike kneeling over her, holding her gently.

            “Oh,” she said, lowering her weapon.  “That kind of screaming.”

            “Uh, Dawn, go back to bed,” Buffy said, pushing Spike away and standing up.  “It’s okay.  We were just, uh, just-”

            Dawn rolled her eyes.  “I get it.  Just keep it down, huh?  Some of us are trying to sleep.”

            She left, closing the door firmly, and Buffy met Spike’s eyes.

            She burst out laughing.

            “God, she’s worse than Giles!”

            “God save us from little sisters,” Spike agreed, grinning

            “Why, do you have one?”

            “One older, one younger,” he said, unexpectedly.  “Harmony and Darla.  Both of them damn irritating.”

            Buffy shook her head in amazement and laid her head against his chest.  Spike put his arms around her as she said, “I never really thought of you as having a family.”

            “Well, where’d you think I came from?  Just hatched out on a street corner?”

            “Um, well, yeah.”

            “Cheers.  I’m sure the parentals’d love to hear that.”

            “You close to them?”

            “Nah, not really.  Sometimes pop back around Christmas but we don’t really get on.  Not like you and your mum.”

            “Well, you know, for a while it was just me and mom.  I mean, when Dawn was smaller it was kind of like we were both her parents.”

            “What about your dad?”

            “He left when Dawn was a baby.  Haven’t seen him since, God, since I was about fifteen.”

            “You miss him?”

            Buffy shrugged.  “Not really.  He was never around that much anyway.”  She lifted her head.  “Why are we talking about parents?”

            “You brought it up.”

            “Oh yeah.  Spike?”

            “Hmm?”

            “Why’d you get so jealous of Riley?”

            Spike looked like she’d just punched him in the gut.  He reeled away from her, looking shocked.

            “Why’d you think?” he stammered eventually.

            Buffy flapped her hands in exasperation.  “Because of his superior height?”

            Spike ran a hand through his hair, looking tortured.  “Because you keep bloody mentioning him and - I know you still have sodding feelings for him and... he’s an arsehole and it’s not funny that you keep talking about - you know - it’s not - he’s a wanker,” he finished, looking like a stubborn child.

            “Well, thank you,” Buffy said.  “That cleared things up a lot.”

            “I need a fag,” Spike muttered, and stomped out to the back out the house, slamming the back door open and lighting up just as Buffy came after him and stood there rubbing her arms.  It was clear and dark, the sort of very clean air that brings winter with it.  Spike breathed out a grateful cloud of smoke and Buffy’s own breath fogged in front of her face.

            “If it helps,” she offered, “I am flattered.”

            “By...?”

            “You getting jealous of my ex.”

            “I’m not jealous.  I just can’t imagine what you ever saw in him.”

            “He’s a good man,” Buffy protested.  “He’s kind and gentlemanly and he wants to do good things.  I don’t see you signing up for any charity gigs.”

            “He’s as thick as shit, Buffy.  Doesn’t have one intelligent cell in his whole body.”

            “Well, maybe he’s not the smartest guy there ever was-”

            “Damn right.”

            “But then as least he’s not insane.”

            Spike nearly chocked on his cigarette.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

            “Drusilla?”

            Spike took a deep drag on his cigarette.  “What do you know about Drusilla?”

            “You two had a thing together, right?”

            He glanced over at her.  She didn’t look mad, but even so...

            “Long time ago,” he said.  “Totally over now.”

            “It’d better be,” Buffy said.  “Spike, she’s insane.  She nearly killed you, and Xander and Anya too.”

            “Yeah, well, I must have a thing for dangerous women then, eh?”  Spike glared out at the small dark garden.

            “I’m not dangerous!”

            Spike turned his beautiful head to look at her.  “Summers, since I met you I’ve been shot at and kidnapped and chained up and tortured and burned and chased all over three sodding countries.  No one woman has ever caused me this much damage.  Not even Dru.”

            Buffy blinked.  “Then why do you - I mean, if I’m hurting you that much...”

            Spike sighed and flicked the cigarette out into the darkness.  “It’s not your fault.”

            “But you just said-”

            “Look,” Spike caught her arms and pulled her against him.  “God, you’re freezing!”  He wrapped his coat around both of them and kissed her forehead.  “I don’t mind the shooting and broken bones so much if they keep me close to you,” he said.  “If me getting hurt means you’re safe then I’d do it all over again.”

            For a long while, Buffy stared up at him with those words swirling around her head.  She had a feeling she’d never forget them.

            Then she kissed him, and if Spike was surprised then he didn’t show it for long and kissed her back, and Buffy pushed his coat from his shoulders and shivered in his arms.

            “We should go inside,” he said, and Buffy shook her head.

            “Dawn...”

            Spike sighed.  “Right.  Bollocks.  Look, love, it’s too cold out here...”

            “Then you’ll have to keep me warm.”

            “And I thought you felt like crap,” he reminded her.

            “Suddenly I’m feeling a lot better,” Buffy said, and went up on tippy toes to nibble on his ear.

            “Giles could be back at any moment...”

            “I’m starting to think you don’t want to have sex after all.”

            In answer, Spike lifted up her t-shirt and ran his tongue around her nipple.  Buffy moaned and pulled him down to the ground, spread out his coat and lay back on it as Spike pulled off her clothes and she helped him off with his own.

            “God,” she shivered, “it really is cold!”

            “Yep,” Spike agreed, running his tongue over her hipbone.  “Is this better?” he asked, slipping his head between her legs.

            “Jesus,” Buffy gasped, holding him there.  She came very quickly, surprising them both, and then Spike slid up into her warmth and they moved together, hot and pale in the darkness.  Buffy lifted her legs up around Spike’s waist and felt him spill into her, crying her name as he came.