Chapter Ten: The art of giving

She eventually got him to take her home by inventing something William needed, something only she knew the location of, and hobbled to the elevator on her crutches while Spike pushed William, once more wrapped up warm in his stroller. The main elevator took them right down to the underground car park and Buffy swallowed her fear as she moved slowly across the dimly-lit concrete box. Spike wouldn’t do anything to her here, and besides, she could always beat the shit out of him with her crutches.

She laughed when she saw his car.

“What,” he grumbled, “it’s a design classic.”

“It’s a hunk of junk.”

“Well, yeah, maybe. Look, just get in.”

She took her time checking that William was properly fastened in, and pushed her seat all the way back to accommodate her ankle cast.

“Look, there are times when I’m fully mobile,” she said.

“I remember,” Spike gave her a sideways glance, and Buffy was glad it was dark so he couldn’t see her blush.

It took about thirty seconds to get to her house - or so it felt, with Spike’s insane driving.

“You do know there’s a baby in the back of this car?”

“Yes, love.”

“So maybe you might want to slow down?”

“Why?”

He had one hand on the wheel and the other arm resting on the window frame.

“You’re hardly driving safely!”

“Sure I am.”

“No, you’re-” Buffy squeezed her eyes shut as he cornered at about forty miles an hour. “Are you trying to get us all killed?”

Spike glanced in the rear view mirror. William was grinning happily.

“He’s enjoying it.”

“Yes, well, maybe he inherited his father’s lack of brain cells.”

She stomped up the steps, completely ignoring Spike’s offer of help, and it took her about twenty minutes to get to the top. Several times she thought she’d fall, but Spike was right there behind her, and she felt a weird sense of relief knowing he’d catch her.

At the top, she hesitated. Best not to let Spike know she’d invented this mysterious item.

“I, er, need to be alone for this,” she said. “It’s sort of a private thing.”

He backed off. “Right. No problem.”

Thank God all men were terrified of the inner workings of the female body.

“And you know what,” Buffy added, “I think I’m gonna take a bath while I’m up here.” More time alone to get her head in order. “Will can go down for a nap,” she pointed to his room.

Spike went in: it still had most of Joyce’s things here, only the bed was missing. In its place was a wooden cot that he somehow knew Xander had made. It was the sort of thing he’d do. Toys were scattered around and there was a big pile of baby clothes sitting on the rocker in the corner.

“Just lay him down - yeah, that’s it,” Buffy said.

“Does he want a blanket?”

“No. He always kicks it off. He’ll be warm enough as it is - if he has any complaints he usually lets me know.”

“Do you have a monitor for him?”

Buffy closed her eyes momentarily. “No,” she said, her face closed. “I just listen. I’m going to take a bath,” she repeated.

Spike didn’t move.

“You don’t have to stay here,” she prompted.

“Right.” He looked at his watch. “Maybe I’ll watch a bit of TV. Give me a yell if you need anything.”

Yes, Buffy thought, for you to go. But she nodded and stumped out of the room, got a towel from the airing cupboard, and shut herself in the bathroom. She heard Spike go down the stairs and let out a sigh of relief.

How the hell was she supposed to deal with him just turning up like that? What gave him the right to determine when they met? Why was it always him coming to her and not the other way around?

Did she want to go to him?

Damn it, Buffy, she cursed herself as she eased off the skirt Dawn had sent her - thank God she’d had the sense not to send trousers which would never have gone over the cast - you just don’t know what you want, do you? You get all prissy about Spike betraying you and taking advantage of you - well, you could have stopped him last night. You were hardly an unwilling victim, were you?

She leaned over to check the water temperature. A long, hot bath was a luxury she hardly ever allowed herself - a quick shower was all she ever had time for, and the water was never hot enough.

Her position was precarious, sitting on the edge of the bath wrapped in a towel, balancing on one foot while the other stayed immobile in the air, and when Spike banged on the door she lost her balance and wavered perilously close to the water.

“Shit,” Buffy gasped, and shoved at the side of the bath, pushing herself away and ricocheting back onto the floor with a series of painful thuds.

“Buffy?” The door burst open - now why hadn’t she locked it? - and Spike rushed in, holding a garbage bag of all things. He saw her on the floor and was at her side in an instant. “What happened? Did you fall? I heard-”

“I lost my balance,” she grumbled, sitting up and pulling her towel about her a little more modestly, wishing it was a little bigger. And slightly smarter - today of all days she’d picked the oldest towel in the cupboard, faded and frayed-

“Are you all right, love?” He was kneeling by her, face full of concern, hands on her arms. “You’re supposed to be taking it easy-”

“I’m not made of bloody glass,” Buffy snapped. “I’ve given birth to a baby, I can survive a broken ankle.”

Spike gave her a bit of a smile.

He was awfully close.

And very warm.

Hot, even.

His lips touched hers and he kissed her with such sweetness Buffy found herself sighing. Lord, but the man could kiss. His hands ran up to her shoulders and she slid her arms around his neck, sitting there on the floor wearing only a towel, kissing him.

Kissing him.

Bollocks.

“Spike, no,” she pulled gently away. “It’s not - we can’t-” she sighed. “There’s too much to figure out,” she said.

“Did we have to figure it out last night?”

“Maybe we should have?”

He tilted up her chin. “Tell me you didn’t want it.”

“I told you, I was lonely and horny-”

“So if I’d been just any guy, you’d have shagged me?”

Buffy closed her eyes. “Don’t do this.”

“Do what? Talk? Kiss? Try to figure out what the hell is going on in that pretty little head of yours? ‘Cos, Summers, I have no sodding idea.”

He stood up and walked out, and Buffy heard the front door slam a few seconds later.

She put her head in her hands and took a few deep breaths. She didn’t need to cry. She’d been through far worse than this. Crying was not needed at such a pathetically pointless time in her life.

She lifted her head. So he’d walked out? So what?

So, now she needed to figure out how to stand up by herself.

Rats.

Spike leaned against his car and lit a cigarette. It was all her fault, damn her. How could she be so contradictory? So hot and cold? All right, so maybe it had been one of the things he’d liked about her but...

But...

God, had it always been so annoying?

Any other girl and he could have walked away. But this was his wife, and that was his son.

His son.

He’d thought about it so much since Buffy had left. How old the kid would be now. A boy or a girl? His blue eyes or her green. What kind of school would it go to? Would it ride Chocolat when it was older? What would he get it for its first Christmas?

Well, Christmas had been and gone, marked by a spectacular lack of caring on his part. He dimly recalled a bottle of scotch from one of his sisters and some bourbon from the other. Neither had lasted long. He hadn’t heard from his dad or Glory. Just as well. Probably he’d have flown at them and ended up in jail again.

He got in the car and drove around the corner - it wouldn’t do for Buffy to see him there like some lovesick puppy.

Not that he was a lovesick puppy.

He lit up another cigarette and sighed. It was just ridiculous. There was Buffy, hardly able to cope, and here he was with nothing to do and a willingness to help. But she’d never accept his help.

He thought for a bit, then put the car in gear and drove to the high school.

Most of the girls looked at Spike as they left the school to get in their cars or on their buses, to go to parents or friends. He leaned against the main gate, hair gleaming in the afternoon sun, smoke curling around him in an enticing cloud.

“Hey, you can’t smoke here,” someone said, and he turned his head, slowly, to see a small timid man with History Teacher written all over him.

“Make me stop,” Spike said, and the teacher ran away.

“Can you scare him into letting me off homework, too?” asked a voice on his other side, and he looked down to see Dawn with her eyebrows raised.

“I’ll shoot his rocks off if it’ll make you happy, love,” he said.

She looked like she was considering it. “Yeah, but then we’d just get a sub,” she said eventually, and Spike grinned. “What are you doing here?”

“Need your help, bit.”

She frowned. “What kind of help?”

“I’ll explain on the way.”

“The way where?”

“You’ll see.”

Dawn went to tell her friend Janice she wouldn’t need a lift home, and followed Spike to his car, her street cred rising visibly as everyone clocked her with this fabulous-looking man.

He drove her to the gallery, which was closed for the day, and asked, “You got a key?”

She shook her head. “Buffy does...”

“Not gonna ask Buffy.” He got out of the car, and when she didn’t follow, looked back and said, “you wanta just watch, or what?”

“Watch what?” Dawn asked nervously. “Does this place have an alarm?” he asked, looking up at the faded sign above the door.

“Yes-”

“Know the code?”

“I think so.”

“Good.” He got something out of his pocket and had the door open in seconds. “Go put the code in.”

Terrified, Dawn, did as she was told, and relaxed when the alarm flashed green to tell her it was disabled.

“Did you just pick that lock?”

“Yep.” Spike was looking around. “What’s the return on this place?”

“Uh-”

“How much money does it make?”

“Maybe a couple hundred a week.”

“A couple of hundred dollars? That’s eight hundred a month - for two of you plus a baby? Bills, food, childcare, clothes, everything?”

Dawn nodded. Spike whistled.

“No wonder she hasn’t had her roots done.”

She giggled. “Thank God I stuck with my natural colour.”

“Suits you,” Spike said vaguely, and wandered around the gallery. It was a good space, a high ceiling with a galleried section running around the top. Mostly it was scuplture and larger pieces downstairs, with fine art upstairs, reached by a spiral staircase. He stopped in front of a large canvas splattered with shades of bile green and orange. It was titled Entropy.

“You know,” he said, apparently to himself although Dawn knew he was talking to her, “when I was a kid I went on a school trip to the Tate Modern. And I was completely gobsmacked.”

“Was that when you got into art?” Dawn asked, remembering Buffy telling her that Spike had quite an eye, and was not averse to stealing national treasures for personal gain.

“No. In fact, that’s what put me off for a good ten years. The place was full of crap like this,” he pointed to Entropy. “Meaningless shit. Will could do this. It’s sodding pathetic. But thick-as-shit rich people buy it, because they think it’s worth something.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Not worth the canvas it’s painted on, niblet.”

“I think the artist is one of the regulars.”

“Yeah, well,” he gave her a deprecating smile, “much as I love Buffy, she’s dumb as a rock when it comes to art. She’s been taken for a ride.”

“You love Buffy?” Dawn asked.

“Of course I do. Didn’t you know that?”

She shrugged nervously. “She always said - I mean, since Will was born - that you only wanted her to get your heir.”

Spike narrowed his eyes. “And there I was forgetting how much I hate her, too. Listen, love, I must be insane. I want to help your sister. She is still my wife - legally, at least. And Will is my son. And yeah, so I want him. I don’t give a fuck about the title - sodding Glory can delude herself about being the first woman in Britain to inherit an earldom if she really wants, but I’ll give it up any day.”

Dawn regarded him with quite astonishingly clear blue eyes, rather like Will’s. “What about Glory? Buffy said-”

“Yes? What did Buffy say?”

“That you and she were...”

“Whatever it was, it wasn’t true. Glory made it up. She was trying to drive Buffy away and I guess it worked.”

“Why didn’t you go after her?”

“I did. I sodding did. As soon as I heard about your - as soon as I heard,” he caught the look on her face and softened his voice, “I came. And she told me Will was dead. She said she never wanted to see me again. Wanted me to go. And I - look, fuck this. It’s done now. It’s over. It’s time to make things better.”

Dawn’s face was wary. “You hurt my sister or my nephew and I’ll personally see to it that you can never have any more children. Ever.”

Spike held up his hands. “When did you get so scary?”

“Right about the time my mom died and my sister brought home a sick baby.”

Spike looked impressed. “Will you help me?”

“What do you need?”

Spike smiled.

Buffy woke up when Dawn closed the door and called, “Buffy?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s very quiet in here.”

She heard her sister come up the stairs and into her room. “I was taking a nap.”

Dawn’s eyes gleamed. “Spike wore you out?”

Buffy blushed hard. “Dawn! I’m catching up on my sleep, thank you very much.”

“How did Spike and Will get on?”

Buffy frowned lightly. “I think they liked each other,” she said. “Well, Will liked him. Spike... I’m not sure. He was quiet. Not as cocky.” She looked up at her sister. “You’re late.”

“I, er, I went out shopping with Janice. Thought you were still with Spike.”

“No. He brought us home.”

“Will too?”

“You think I’d leave him?”

Dawn shrugged and smiled. “Of course not. But...”

“What?” Buffy asked patiently.

“Well, he is Will’s father... And I think you were a little bit harsh to him... He said you told him Will was-”

“I did.”

“Why?”

Buffy looked up at her sister’s sweet face, so worldly in some ways and so innocent in others, and tried to think of a way to put it. “He hurt me,” she said. “I wanted to take away the one thing that would hold him to me. Dawn,” she went on, when she saw her sister’s face turn, “listen. You don’t know what it was like. I mean - I know you had to go through everything with Mom on your own and I’m so sorry I wasn’t here. And I started to hate Spike for keeping me away. And then I saw him with Glory, and then I - God, if you only knew...”

“Knew what?” Dawn asked, her face stony.

“I thought I was going to die. And after that labour I was sure Will was going to be dead. And when I woke up and he wasn’t there, I... I thought he was. And just then, I felt free, like I could come back here and start over. No Spike. Forget about it all. And it just seemed so much easier to tell Spike that was what happened.”

“Did you really think he wouldn’t find out? From Giles, or Willow or someone?”

Buffy sighed. “I don’t know. I was terrified he would, but after I saw his face I knew he wanted nothing to do with me.”

“Well, he does,” Dawn stood up. “And I don’t think he’s going to give Will up without a fight either.”

She got up and walked out, and Buffy flopped back on her pillows.

“My ankle’s fine by the way,” she yelled.

Dawn didn’t reply.

Great, Buffy thought. Again with the having two children. I wouldn’t mind so much if she didn’t occasionally lull me into thinking she was an adult. It’s not fair: I treat her like an adult, I get snapped at. I treat her like a kid, I get snapped at.

She heaved herself out of bad and grabbed her crutches, straightened her pyjamas and hopped through to Will’s room. He was lying there awake, perfectly happy gazing at the mobile Xander had hung above his crib. He hardly seemed to notice Buffy, but he heard her start to sing and waved his arms at her.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are grey...”

Dawn came to the door and listened. She just about remembered Mom singing that to her and Buffy when they were small.

“You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you...”

Buffy stopped and reached out to touch Will’s face. She didn’t say the last line, but Dawn felt it hanging heavy in the air.

Please don’t take my sunshine away.

Chapter Eleven: Getting over it

“See, we get living expenses,” Willow said, “which I guess we could sort of pay you as rent? Would that be okay?”

She mentioned a sum that had Buffy wishing she’d gone to university in England.

“They pay you that just to work in a gallery?”

“Well, or museum. I just really thought it’d be cool to come back out here, and Tara remembered you saying about your gallery... I mean, it’s not like you have to pay us or anything...”

If Buffy had been less delirious at the prospect of free, skilled help for the gallery she might have suspected something. Willow and Tara just suddenly needed to find new work placements? Giles’s department at the museum couldn’t sustain them any more? They were willing to work for free and pay rent?

And babysit?

“When can you start?”

Odd things were happening in Sunnydale - at least, in Buffy’s part of it. She’d gathered all her courage - girl power, motherhood, blondness, every weapon she had - and gone to see Spike at his hotel.

She’d also not shaved her underarms, just so she wouldn’t be tempted to do anything naughty.

But he hadn’t been there. The receptionist had said he’d checked out that evening and ordered a taxi to the airport.

He was gone.

Buffy told herself that it didn’t matter, that she’d done very well without him for six months, and she didn’t need him, he was just a blip. His purpose in her life had been to give her Will. And then he’d gone. And that was fine.

It was a pity she was so bad at lying to herself.

Still, she was suddenly so busy she could fool herself into not caring. The day after Spike left she got a call from an artist wanting to exhibit his work, and even Buffy could tell he was talented. She got huge returns on his work, and very suddenly, too.

Then Willow and Tara came over, and started selling all the other pieces in the gallery. Even the awful orange-green blobs. They sourced artists bringing in other pieces, and Tara even suggested that they sell older work too. Artefacts, maybe? There was a huge market for it.

By the time her ankle was healed enough to walk without crutches, and the cast had come off, Buffy had made enough money to make a very important decision.

“Are you sure?” Dawn asked.

“Yes. I have to do this.”

“You don’t need to, you know,” Willow said.

“I do. I’ve been hiding long enough and hating myself for it.”

“Well, if it makes you feel better...” Tara said.

“It will,” Buffy said. “I am going to get my hair done.”

It was on her way out of the salon - newly blonde and with a perky new cut - that she noticed a shiny new BMW parked outside her gallery. Not that it was so unusual these days: word seemed to be spreading and every day seemed to bring some new, rich client with it.

No, what caught her attention was the licence plate. HARMONY.

Buffy braced herself.

“Your ladyship,” she said, creeping up behind the other blonde as she contemplated a forest scene with a few lovely maidens and a unicorn or two.

Harmony turned in delight. “Hi, your ladyship!”

Buffy couldn’t help a smile. “You like that?”

“Oh, the unicorns are adorable. Spike told me this place was all crappy tack, but now I’ve seen this I’m gonna come in every week after I get my nails done!”

Buffy wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

“You’re living back in Sunnydale?” she asked, thinking, crappy tack? And I wondered why I left him.

“No, I’m in LA. But I still come back here to get my nails done,” she waggled them at Buffy, who tried to look impressed at the long pink talons with their studs of cubic zirconia. “After all, my ex is paying...”

“Buffy,” Willow called from the office, “phone for you.”

“Oh, thank God,” Buffy muttered. “Harmony. I’m gonna hand you over to Willow for this...”

She practically ran into the office and shut the door. “Buffy Summers?”

“Buff! You still Bronzing tonight?”

She smiled. “Xander, you know I have work to do...”

“Blow it off! Anya and I have an anniversary to celebrate and I want you and Will and everyone there.”

He still couldn’t quite manage to put Willow and Tara together as a couple, Buffy noticed with a smile. He’d been terribly excited that his oldest friend was a lesbian, but whenever he came across them together he got awfully shy. Buffy found it quite endearing.

“Well, I-”

“And Dawn did promise to babysit.”

“Don’t you want Dawn there too?” Buffy asked archly.

“The Dawnster’s having a party with us after school. The non alcoholic variety.”

“Ah,” Buffy said. “Well, I-” she noticed Willow putting a red sticker on the unicorn painting, “I guess so.”

“Try not to burst with enthusiasm.”

She laughed. “Okay, all right, I’m looking forward to it. I’ll see you at eight?”

“Ah, an evening with four beautiful girls. Can we make it earlier?”

Spike watched Buffy leaving the house, wearing a very short skirt and a high-neck halter that left her back almost completely bare. His fingers tightened around the steering wheel. If he had his way she wouldn’t leave the house in anything less than a chador.

Not that he was likely to get his way any time soon. But things were looking up. She was actually smiling and laughing as she got in her car with the two girls. Dawn said Buffy had lightened up a huge amount since Willow and Tara came over. And Harmony had mentioned a very cute haircut...

It was working, he thought. Slowly, it was working. She was smiling again. His Buffy was coming back.

And his Buffy, Spike thought with a smile as her car disappeared round the corner, was damn easy to get back.

He got out of the car and sauntered up to the Summers house.

“Were you waiting down the street?” Dawn rolled her eyes as she answered the door.

“Well, maybe.”

“You’re such a stalker!”

“You wanna tell Buffy I’m here?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I think it’d just be much better if you talked to her.”

“She’s not ready to talk yet.” Spike noted the new bank of photos on the windowsill. Buy and Dawn featured quite a lot, but it was Will who was in all of them. The baby himself was sitting on a playmat in the living room, playing carefully with bright wooden bricks and babbling happily to himself. As Spike watched, he grabbed hold of the edge of the table and pulled himself to his feet.

“Hey, kid,” Spike said softly, and William grinned at him.

Buffy watched Xander dancing with Anya and Willow, all three of them laughing at Xander’s stupid dancing, and turned to Tara.

“Is it weird?”

“Is what weird?”

“Seeing her with Xander?”

Tara shrugged. “Well, I know she’s not interested in him any more, if that’s what you mean.”

She smiled, and Buffy did too.

“So what about you?” Tara asked as innocently as she could. “Are you ready to start dating again?”

Buffy shrugged. “I don’t know... No. I don’t think so. I mean, I get about one evening off a fortnight, and really my only topic of conversation is Will anyway. I mean, how am I going to come off, twenty two with two dependants.”

“Dawn’s practically a grown-up.”

“I know. Sometimes I forget she’s a kid. But you know, I mean, I just feel mean.” Buffy drank some more of her drink. “Like I’m robbing her of an adolescence. She’s seventeen. She should be the one here, dancing, having fun...”

“Havin’ a lot to drink,” Willow chimed in, checking the progress of Buffy’s bottle. “You wanna dance?”

Buffy shook her head. She’d made the mistake of wearing heels tonight and her ankle was starting to ache. She reckoned she needed another drink, just for medicinal purposes. Willow offered to go to the bar, planning to get Buffy something a bit lighter than what she’d been drinking. She’d experienced Buffy drinking before, and it had not ended prettily.

She was just bringing the drinks back to the table when she walked into someone with bright blue hair.

“Oh, I’m sorry - Oz?”

He stopped and stared. “Will? God, what’re you doing here?”

She waved her drink. “Out with some friends. My friend Xander, from grade school, he - he and his wife have been married two years tomorrow, so...”

“Very impressive. What about you?”

“I, uh,” Willow felt her eyes stray back to the table where Tara and Buffy were talking. “I, yeah, I have someone...”

“That’s great.”

“You?”

“This singer I’ve backed up a few times. We’re still just dating, but...”

Willow smiled. “I’m happy for you.”

“So, is he here?” Oz asked.

“Who? Xander? Yeah, he’s right over-”

“I mean your boyfriend.”

“Oh,” Willow said, and tried to figure out a way to tell him.

Buffy was surprised when Willow brought a blue-haired boy over to their table, and she watched his impassive face try to deal with Tara’s nervous stuttering. She wondered briefly how she’d feel if she found out one of her exes was gay. Not Spike, of course... Although with the hair and the leather he did rather lend himself to the camp side of things...

She swigged her beer, giggling.

Willow and Tara exchanged glances.

“Uh, Buffy, how’s that beer coming?” Willow asked.

“Beer good,” Buffy said. “Foamy.”

“How much has she had?” Oz asked.

“That’s about her third.”

“Oh.”

“Not a big drinker. Maybe we should get you home,” Willow said to Buffy.

“How?” Tara asked. “She was driving. And both of us have had a drink...”

“I’ll give you a lift,” Oz offered. “I was on my way out anyway.”

They said goodbye to Xander and Anya, who were happily slow-dancing to power ballads, and went out to Oz’s van. Willow smiled as she saw it: the paint job changed about every three months, but underneath, it was the same old van.

They settled Buffy in the back, slumped over an amplifier with Willow hanging onto her, and Tara got in the front next to Oz.

Buffy was the only one who spoke all the way home, and most of what she said was incoherent.

“You want to come in for a drink?” Willow offered when they got to Buffy’s house. “Coffee, or cocoa, or orange juice?”

“Don’t drink the milk,” Buffy slurred, and they all looked at her.

“I’ll bear that in mind,” Oz said, locking the van and following them in.

Willow took Oz through to the kitchen while Tara put their coats and shoes away in the hall cupboard. Buffy wandered into the living room, drawn by the sound of voices.

“Bonjour, ma’m’selle,” said a deep, darkly familiar voice.

“Bonjour m’sieur,” Dawn giggled.

“Comment t’appelle tu?”

“Er... Je m’appelle Dawn?”

“Excellent, niblet. Nice accent. Quelle age as’tu?”

“Er,” Dawn said again, and Buffy, leaning in the doorway, sighed at the scene. Here was her sister bent over books at the table, practising her French, and Spike sitting on the floor playing with his son and a pile of bricks, while soft music played in the background. It was blissful. The sort of scene she’d always wanted.

Her eyes filled with tears. She sniffed loudly.

Spike’s head snapped up. “Buffy? How long’ve you been there?”

“Long enough.”

“I heard Red come back, I didn’t realise - look, I can explain...”

But before he got any further, Willow brought Oz through, and Tara appeared from the other doorway.

“Nice family scene,” Oz said, obviously trying to work out who belonged to who.

Spike jumped to the worst conclusion and glared at Oz.

“Uh, whose is the baby?”

“Mine,” Spike said, scooping William close to him.

“Okay...”

Dawn giggled. “Willow, who’s this?”

“This is Oz. We used to go steady in high school. Before I went to England and, you know...” She glanced at Tara, and the two of them blushed.

“You’re Red’s ex?” Spike said cautiously.

Oz nodded and held out his hand. “Daniel Osbourne. Oz.”

Spike eyed him like he was poisonous. “You know she bats for the other team now?”

“Yeah. Kind of a surprise,” Oz said, but his face was so impassive he looked as if the news had been no bigger shock than an increase in taxes.

“Big surprise,” Buffy said, and slid down the wall. Tara caught her just before she hit the floor.

“You let her drink?” Spike sighed.

“We didn’t let her anything,” Willow said, rushing over. “She’s an adult now, if she wants to drink then she can.”

“Wasn’t vodka, was it? ‘Cos the last time she got started on that we both had to get new clothes on.”

“I remember,” Willow said, as she and her girlfriend hauled Buffy to her feet. “Oz - I’m sorry, this doesn’t look like it’s the best time, uh...”

“Maybe we could come and see your band?” Tara suggested.

“He’s in a band?” Dawn looked up brightly.

“He has a girlfriend,” Willow grinned, and Dawn made a face.

“I know a single singer, though,” Oz offered, sizing Dawn up.

“No singers,” Spike said. “Nice to meet you, Ozzy. Red, go and be polite and show the boy out, will you?” He handed William to Dawn and picked Buffy up instead. She snuggled against his chest.

“Can you manage there?” Tara asked doubtfully.

“Weighs less than she did in England, pet,” Spike gave her a smile. “Come on, love, let’s get you to bed.”

“Bed is good,” Buffy nuzzled his neck.

“I think I’ll be going,” Oz said, backing away.

“When’s your band playing?” Dawn called out, as William started to whimper.

“Uh, tomorrow, at the Bronze.”

“Not Dingoes Ate My Baby? Oh my God! I knew I knew you from somewhere! I frickin love that band!” Dawn squealed, and William started making more noise. “Okay, all right, time for a clean diaper. Come on.”

She followed Spike and Buffy up the stairs and took William into his own room.

“Want my baby,” Buffy cried, reaching out for him.

“Later, love,” Spike said, pushing her door shut with his foot and laying her on the bed. She blinked up at him with unfocused eyes.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said vaguely.

“Always seems to be me putting you to bed,” Spike said. “Maybe I should be here.”

“I can put myself to bed,” Buffy said, sitting up so fast she got dizzy and nearly fell off the bed. Spike caught her in time.

“I know you can, pet. Just humour me and let me look after you though, alright?”

“I don’t need looking after...”

“Wouldn’t it be nice, though?”

“No one ever wants to look after me,” Buffy pouted.

“I do.”

“I have to do all the caring, with Dawn and the baby...”

Dawn, passing, heard her name and peeked in. She rolled her eyes at Spike and mouthed, “He’s asleep,” pointing to Will’s room. Spike nodded, and Dawn pulled the door closed again.

“I have a baby,” Buffy said suddenly, as if it was news to her.

“Yes, love. A great baby. Very intelligent.”

“He called me Mommy yesterday,” Buffy’s eyes filled with tears.

Spike thought it was more likely that Buffy had heard ‘Mommy’ from the indiscriminate sounds Will liked to make, but he wasn’t going to burst her bubble.

“He loves you, pet.”

“I love him,” Buffy sighed. “He’s so perfect. He’s the most perfect thing I ever did.”

“Yep.” He brushed some of her hair from her face.

“Spike?” She grabbed his wrist.

“Yes, love?”

“I’m really drunk.”

“Yes, love.”

“Make the room stop spinning...”

“Close your eyes.”

“Still spinning.”

“Close them. That’s it. I’m gonna take your shoes off, love, try not to kick me...”

She giggled. “Tickles.”

“Does it hurt?” He pressed gently on her ankle.

“Noooo.”

“Good.” Shoes off, he tucked her feet under the duvet and pulled it up over her. “You want anything? Glass of water?”

But Buffy was already asleep.

Spike sat there and watched her for a bit. Two months ago he’d watched her sleep in his arms in the hotel, both before they’d made love and after, and he ached to get into bed with her now and hold her. Sure, he’d missed the sex in all the months they’d been apart, but almost as much, he’d missed just sleeping with her. Holding her. Being with her.

He kissed her forehead, tucked the duvet around her, and left the room to check on William, who was sleeping angelically, and then go downstairs.

“She’s gonna be so pissed in the morning,” Dawn said as he went into the living room.

“She’s pretty bloody pissed now,” Spike replied. “How much did she have?” he asked Willow.

“Two beers, that I know of.”

“Bloody hell. That girl is such a lightweight.” He ran his hands over his face. “Okay. I should probably get going before she wakes up and remembers I was here,” he said heavily.

“I don’t see why she’d be so mad,” Tara said hesitantly.

“Because she wants me out of her life, not deeper in it,” Spike said. He took out his wallet and handed Tara and Willow some money. “She’s not figured it out yet?”

“Nope. This,” Willow waved the money, “got the cable reconnected.”

“I’m so glad to hear it. How’s the gallery? You get that shipment of Rembrandt sketches?”

Tara nodded. “I’m not sure how we’re going to get those past her. Buffy does know a few things about art.”

“Well, tell her you got them by mistake. Job lot at an auction or something.” He yawned. “You going to see blue-boy’s band tomorrow, niblet?”

She nodded. “If Buffy lets me.”

He frowned thoughtfully. “They any good, Red?”

“They used to be,” Willow said cheerfully. “Last I saw them. I think Oz said they have the same line-up.”

“Take Buffy with you,” Spike told Dawn.

“But-”

“Get the whelp to babysit. I know how he likes to play at being responsible.”

“More responsible than you,” Dawn said.

Spike gave her a dark look, but to her credit she didn’t flinch.

“Just get her there tomorrow,” he said, and walked out.

Upstairs, the baby started to cry.

“I’m not going,” Buffy said.

“But, but you have to!”

“Why do I have to?”

“Because I need a chaperone.”

Buffy gave her sister a mocking look. “You need a chaperone.” She felt Dawn’s forehead. “Are you ill? Did aliens come in your room last night and do experiments on you, did a poltergeist possess you?”

“Buffy. Come on. It’ll be fun.”

“Like yesterday was fun?”

“Well, you seemed happy,” Dawn faltered.

“I seemed drunk. Remember drunk Buffy, how much fun she is?”

Dawn grinned. “Actually, you were kinda-”

“And what the hell will Oz think? He brought me home and I nearly threw up on his equipment!”

“I’m sure he’s seen worse. He is in a band.”

“Well, I can’t face him again.” Buffy got a paper knife and slit open the tape on top of a cardboard box. “I have never been so embarassed...”

“I’m sure you have,” Dawn muttered. “Anyway. I’m gonna go-”

“Fine. You deserve some fun.”

Dawn felt a little guilty. “Oz said his singer’s really cute.”

“Did he? Dawn, no dating a singer.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” Buffy said, and when that didn’t wash, she added, “Because I say so.”

“You cannot tell me who not to date.”

“No? Well, Mom used to tell me who not to date, and since I’m the parent here-”

“This is so not fair! Mom never used to tell you who not to date. And besides, when do I get to tell someone who they can and can’t date?”

Buffy shrugged. “You can tell Will.”

“He’s eight months old.”

“I saw that little Italian girl giving him such an eyeful the other day. Little strumpet,” Buffy grinned. “You can tell her to steer clear.”

“She’s can’t even stand up yet.”

“See? Underdeveloped. Clearly not good enough for my boy.”

Dawn frowned. “You’re in a good mood, to say you’re hungover and mortally embarrassed.”

Buffy beamed. “Look in that box.”

Dawn frowned, and lifted the lid on a packing case. “It’s just some sketches...”

“Some sketches signed by Rembrandt. Willow found them in an auction lot. Dawn, if I can get those verified they’ll be worth a fortune.”

“Neat,” Dawn tried to hide her smug look. “How much did you get them for?”

“A hundred dollars. They came with some watercolours Tara thought might be interesting.”

“Are they?”

“Well, they’re not bad. Not Rembrandt, though.” Buffy paused. “Did... Did Spike stay long last night?”

Dawn shrugged. “He left not long after you got back.” She winced a little. “You’re not mad, are you?”

“Mad?”

“At me. For letting him in.”

Buffy laughed. “It’s not like I think he’s going to attack you, Dawn. You’re far too classy for his tastes. He likes really obvious girls.”

“No, he likes you,” Dawn said.

Buffy ignored that.

“I thought you didn’t want anything to do with him,” Dawn pressed.

Buffy sighed. “Well, I don’t, but... I can’t stop him seeing Will. Look,” she put down the invoices she was going through, “he’s a powerful man. And if I cut off all access to his son - and heir - then he could take me to court or something. I lied to him and the courts wouldn’t like that. And he has a lot more money than I do. I can’t afford that. What if he takes Will away from me?”

Dawn saw the tears behind her sister’s eyes and touched her hand. “He won’t. He wouldn’t do that.”

Buffy shrugged. “I know he seems nice and normal but-”

“Buffy, he has peroxide hair and a burn scar on his face.”

“Well, okay, not normal, but sane or... No, he’s not really that either. What I mean is, if I don’t allow him access to Will, maybe he could take action against me.”

“So... You’re going to let him carry on seeing Will?”

Buffy shrugged. “I don’t want to, but yes. Just so long as I’m not around.” She picked up the invoices again.

“Oh,” Dawn said, so casually Buffy looked up at her.

“What?”

“It’s just he said he might come over tonight. I said I might be going out, so he said he might come over and see you and Will...”

Dawn watched her sister’s face as she worked it out. Spike and me alone in the house with a baby to chaperone us. Dawn alone at the Bronze with no one to chaperone her.

“What time is the band playing?” she asked, and Dawn smiled.

Dawn immediately fell in lust with the Dingoes’ singer, Devon, which made Buffy quarantine her at their table and not allow her to go and dance provocatively at the front of the floor, right by the stage. She looked over her sister and wondered when she’d turned into such a hottie. Didn’t Dawn used to look like a little girl?

Now she had her hair curled, expert eyeliner on and a tiny little top that was less than Buffy wore in the bath. She looked sensational, but rather too mature for Buffy’s liking.

“Wanna drink?” Willow offered, and Dawn, knowing how far to push it, said, “Coke, please.”

“Buffy?”

“Water.”

They exchanged glances.

“Not even a Coke? Go on, let your hair down. Be wicked.”

“I don’t need any more toxins, thank you very much. And besides, I’m still breastfeeding. I need to flush out all that beer...” Buffy realised that a rather cute guy who’d been approaching their table suddenly veered away when he heard her say ‘breastfeeding’.

She dropped her head on the table. “Thank you very much Spike for ruining my entire life!”

“Didn’t do it on purpose, pet,” came a familiar voice from behind her and Buffy nearly fell off her stool.

“Spike!”

“Yep.” His eyes travelled over her and his eyebrows flickered in approval. “Looking good.”

Buffy tugged up her neckline. With little time to shower, change and hand Will over to Xander and Anya, Buffy’d left her sister to pick out some clothes for her. Dawn had gone with leather pants and a rather tiny little top, accessorised with big heels (“Because that ankle’s gonna need a workout”) and a little crucifix choker. Buffy, too rushed to argue, had got dressed, imagining she’d look a fright. But she’d lost so much weight after Will had been born, everywhere but her breasts which were still huge, and she looked modelish in the outfit.

She’d fancied herself in it far too much to take it off.

Evidently Spike fancied her quite a bit too. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“A world of no.”

He grinned. “Not even a soft one?”

“I have a drink,” Buffy indicated her water. “What are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d come and see the band.” Spike wrinkled his nose. “They’re not bad,” he said grudgingly.

“From someone who thinks the Sex Pistols are the greatest band ever, I’d take that as an insult.”

“No, love, the Beatles are the greatest band ever. The Pistols are the greatest punk band.”

“Whatever,” Buffy said, thinking, I can’t believe I’m arguing about the Sex Pistols with him. Of all the things to be arguing about, we get that. “I thought you-”

Spike raised his eyebrows.

“I thought you didn’t like Oz,” she finished, having been about to say she’d thought he was going to try and see her and Will tonight.

“He’s a skinny little minger, but he’s not bad on a guitar,” Spike said. “You wanna dance?”

“I shouldn’t leave-” Buffy looked around to her sister, who was no longer there. “Dawn...” She glanced about over the crowd. “Where is she?”

“In the middle of a crowd of adoring admirers,” Spike pointed to the dancefloor, where men were ogling Dawn openly. Buffy made to rush out there and drag her back, but Spike grabbed her arm.

“She’s seventeen,” he said. “She can look after herself. She’s a grown-up.”

“But she’s-”

“What? Lonely? Unpopular? You know everyone at the school thinks she’s just your babysitter? Whenever anyone asks her to do something after school, she has to tell them she’s picking Will up, or taking Will to the doctor’s, or babysitting Will. Will is her boyfriend. She hasn’t had a date since before he was born. She hasn’t even been asked on a date.”

Buffy said nothing, watching her beautiful sister dance.

“Let her have some fun,” Spike said, releasing her. “She’s grown up enough the last few months.”

Buffy was silent a while. “She must hate me.”

“She doesn’t hate you. She admires you. She just wishes she had more of a life of her own.”

“Since when did you know so much about my sister?”

He shrugged. “We’ve had a few chats.”

The penny dropped in Buffy’s head. “Last night wasn’t the first time you went over without my knowing, was it?”

Spike shrugged, not looking in the least contrite. “Guilty as charged.”

“How many times?”

“Maybe half a dozen.”

“How long have you been back in Sunnydale?”

“Nearly a month.”

He was watching her carefully. Trying to see if it bothered her.

“Well, maybe we should work out a system or something,” Buffy said tightly. “So you can see him more often.”

Spike stared.

“Unless you don’t want to-”

“No, no I want to. Buffy, I thought you wanted me to stay away?” Spike said incredulously.

“Well, that doesn’t mean I can make you. He is your son. I guess you have a right to see him.”

“I guess I do.” Spike ran his hand through his hair suspiciously. “Is this a trap? Like if I see him now you’re going to take him away in a month?”

She shrugged. “Where would we go?”

Spike laughed, shaking his head in amazement. “Buffy, you’re fantastic,” he said, suddenly kissing her on the mouth. “This calls for a celebration.”

She shrank away, and Spike rolled his eyes. “Dance with me.”

“I don’t - er, my ankle,” Buffy said suddenly, shifting her weight and trying to look sorrowful. “I can’t dance on it yet.”

“But you can wear ankle-cracking shoes?” Spike raised an eyebrow. “Come on, pet. I’m not asking you to flamenco. Just dance the next song.”

Buffy hesitated. “We shouldn’t do this.”

“No? Why not?”

“Because - look, it’s just-”

Spike’s face was still, but his eyes were gleaming with amusement.

Buffy stamped her foot. “I am not going to dance with you!”

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