Chapter 1:

~*~

“Hey—waitress! Get your ass over here!”

Buffy Summers closed her eyes for a moment, desperately fighting to hold in an angry retort. Stupid teenagers, she thought spitefully, despite the fact that the teens in question were her age. She walked over to the table filled with high school guys, arranging her expression in a polite smile and tossing her bright blonde hair back. “How can I help you?” she said sweetly.

A guy at the table smirked. “How can I help you?” he repeated in a high voice.

Buffy narrowed her eyes at him. Beefy and pimply, Percy Johnson was the epitome of everything that made adults hate high schoolers. “Just give me your damn orders,” she snapped, out of patience.

“Right.” Another boy, Ford something, leered at her. “How about a lap dance each, and then a slow strip?”

Buffy’s face turned red—bright, deep red. And she wasn’t embarrassed. Oh, no. Not by a long shot.

She was pissed off.

She was about to tell them where they could put their orders when another voice spoke from behind her.

“You know, boys, I don’t think your mothers taught you to treat a lady that way.” The voice was low and markedly English—and Buffy was relieved to hear it.

“Spike,” she said, smiling welcomingly. “Sit down. I’ll get you a drink.”

“Not until these pricks apologize, pet,” Spike replied, keeping his gaze trained steadily on the group.

Spike Kingston was 26, a full decade older than Buffy and the teens at the table, so his glare and implied threat carried a lot more weight than any furious tirade Buffy could deliver. The boys at the table began shifting uneasily.

“Look, man, we were just joking—“ one boy tried to explain, but Spike cut in.

“Wasn’t funny. Now apologize and give her your real orders.”

“Sorry,” mumbled the six boys.

“Whatever,” Buffy mumbled. She was glad that Spike was being the white knight, but at the same time…I don’t need protection! Even if it is from my really hot older guy best friend who happens to have the body of an Adonis! “Orders?”

The boys quickly ordered various variations on their burger-and-fries meal. Buffy jotted their orders down and began striding back to the counter wordlessly.

“Hey,” Spike said, jogging to catch up with her. “Don’t I get a thank you?”

She arched an eyebrow at him and placed the order on the counter, where her sister Dawn picked it up to carry it to Joyce, their mother and the cook. “For interfering and again making me the subject of ridicule? Not so much.”

“Oh, come on,” Spike protested, hopping up onto one of the bar stools. “I saved your ass. And what would they ridicule you for, anyway? Knowing a sexy as hell older guy?”

Se gave him a sarcastic look, going behind the counter and starting to make the coffee he always ordered. “Please,” she said sarcastically. “First of all, if your head got any bigger, I think it would roll off your shoulders. Second off, they’d call me a whore who dated older guys because I like the sex, or some crap like that.”

“’ey—no fair!” Spike protested. “We’ve never dated—I don’t feel like bein’ jailbait, thanks.”

Buffy rolled her eyes at him. “Like I’d date you anyway. You’re hot, Spike, but you’re not that bright. They don’t care if I’m really dating you. All they care about is making fun of me as much as possible.” She set the coffee in front of him.

Spike made a face as he sipped the brew. “Tossers,” he offered.

“Tell me about it.” Buffy grabbed a pastry from the glass dome and handed it to him before leaning on the counter conversationally. “So,” she said with a wicked grin, “How are things going with Kennedy?”

“’e riedta cohmiahte aw eets,” Spike said through a mouthful of pastry.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me. She tried to coordinate your sheets? As in, the sheets on your different beds that are on opposite sides of town?” Buffy had heard some really sorry tales about Spike’s girlfriends, but this had to be one of the worst.

“Yeah.” He swallowed the pastry. “Terrifying, eh?”

“Try pathetic.” Buffy rolled her eyes. “She’s desperate. When are you gonna dump her?”

Spike put on a shocked face that didn’t fool her for a second. “Summers,” he said, placing his hand over his heart, “I can’t believe you’re accusin’ me of such a thing!”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Right,” she said sarcastically. “Because the past 50 girls you’ve gone out with will all vouch for your sincerity and willingness to commit.” She grinned mischievously at her friend, who was squirming in his seat. He could be such a baby sometimes.

“Well…okay, so I can’t settle down. What’s your point?”

“My point is that tomorrow when you come in here for your usual amazingly unhealthy lunch, you’ll be telling me that you kicked her and her matching sheets to the curb.” Buffy grabbed Spike’s empty plate and cup and took them over to the dishwasher. Coming back over with a wet cloth, she wiped off the counter. “So, see you later?”

“Sure. When does your da let you outta this hellhole, anyway?”

Buffy shrugged. Good question. “It depends. I can probably convince him to let me out by 4. He likes you.”

“Great. I’ll come by.”

“Sounds good.” Buffy leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek, her traditional method of bidding him good-bye.

She watched him leave, same as she always did, tapping the rag against her apron till he disappeared into the crowd. Then she went back to work, a slight smile on her face. No matter how shitty her workday was, Spike could always cheer her up. He’d always been like that, every since they’d become friends 4 years ago.

At first their relationship had been very much adult-to-child, with Spike being more Buffy’s idol than her friend, but as she grew up, so did their relationship. Now Buffy had the (dubious) honor of being closer to him than any of his girls had ever been.

Buffy smirked as she gave Dawn the next order. Kennedy and the others come and go, but me? I’m his girl.

And she liked it.

~*~

Halfway down the block, Spike walked quickly, reliving their conversation. Just before he entered his office building, he touched his cheek. He could still feel her kiss. Her lips burned him.

Just like they always did.

~*~
 

Chapter 2:

~*~

”What the—what’s a little kid like you doing workin’ here?”

Twelve-year-old Buffy looked up—and almost passed out. The guy standing in front of her was gorgeous, and he was talking to her! She couldn’t have been more excited if Justin Timberlake had walked in! “Um—“

He’d called her a kid. How humiliating was that? “My parents own it,” she said, deciding to go with annoyed that he was being all adult instead of swoony because he’d talked to her.

He smiled, amused. “You’re a feisty li’l thing, aren’t you?”

“I’m not little!” Buffy protested. “And even if I am, you’re just a big bleached freak!”

“Easy, Blondie.” The man held up his hands. “I wasn’t tryin’ to insult you. What’s your name, anyway?”

“Buffy.” Buffy gave him her best smile.

“Buffy. Pretty name,” the man mused, a near-hidden sparkle in his eye.

Despite herself, her lip came out in a pout. “Angel says it’s stupid,” she mumbled.

“Angel? Who’s she?”

“It’s a he,” Buffy corrected. She then added proudly, “He’s my boyfriend!”

“Your boyfriend, huh?” The man grinned. “Bet he likes that.”

“Uh-huh.” Buffy nodded, glad that he hadn’t made fun of her like most adults did. She was twelve—totally old enough to have a boyfriend.

“Lucky guy,” the man said with a wink. “So, can I get a pastry an’ a coffee? Black.”

“Omigosh!” Buffy almost dropped her pencil. “I forgot to take your order! I am soo sorry!” She scribbled down the food he wanted and ran off to give it to Dawn.

He ate quickly and was about to leave before they exchanged any more looks. Spike called her over to the table and gave her five dollars. “’s a lousy tip, but—“

“No, it’s fine,” Buffy said, tucking it into her pocket. “That’s way more than losta people give me.”

The man grinned at her. “In that case, maybe I can get half back—“

“Oh, no!” Buffy hopped away, giggling. “Nu-uh. My money now.”

He smiled, an act that made his eyes even bluer, something that Buffy really wouldn’t have thought possible. “Well then, I guess ‘ll see you tomorrow, Buffy,” he said, standing up and moving towards the door.

“Wait! I don’t know your name!” Buffy cried. She was going to sound like a ‘tard if she talked to her friends about him and she couldn’t tell them what his name was!

He grinned at her. “Call me Spike. The rest is too atrocious to repeat.”

And with that, he was gone.

Buffy smiled at the memory as she changed in the bathroom. Her twelve-year-old self had been equal parts enchanted and disapproving of the man who treated her like who she was—a child verging on the edge of adulthood.

Well, if she’d been on the verge then, she was knocking at adulthood’s door now. She gazed at her reflection in the mirror, tweaking bits of blonde hair and making sure that the mascara around her green eyes wasn’t smudged. She’d given up on her childhood crush for Spike a long time ago, but she still liked looking good when she was with him. God knew she wanted to look as grown up as possible, since he was so much older than she.

She met him outside of Restfield Cemetery. He was leaning against the fence, scanning the crowds—when he saw her, his face lit up in a smile. “Hey there, kitten,” he said, holding out his arm.

She hugged him, grinning. “How was work?”

“Same as yours, I s’pose. Bloody miserable, given that ‘s summer and I was stuck inside all day.” Spike’s voice was petulant—he was pouting.

“Oh, please.” Buffy made a face at him. “I’ve seen the inside of your work, mister! It’s all foosball tables and video games, not grease traps and rude fat people.”

“What can I say? I work with an advertising agency. We’re a bunch of lazy blokes.” They wandered over to a vendor and Spike paid the man for two hot dogs, handing the one smothered in ketchup, pickle relish, mustard, and onion.

“Thanks.” Buffy bit into it, spilling sauce on the ground. She was careful to catch what would have gone on her shirt with a napkin. “’s good,” she said through a mouthful of meat and condiments.

Spike shook his head, amused. “Dunno how you can stand all that rot on a perfectly good hot dog.”

“It’s not rot, that’s why!” Buffy wrinkled her nose at him. “Besides, you have seriously dull taste. Hotdogs aren’t supposed to have just mayonnaise on them. Angel says—“

“Oh, bloody hell.” Spike rolled his eyes, biting into his hot dog viciously. “Can we go an afternoon ‘thout talkin’ about that prat? Please, pet?”

Normally she would have given him a lecture about his attitude towards her boyfriend—because he hated Angel and she thought it was way unfair—but it had been a really long day and Buffy didn’t feel like bickering with her best friend. Plus also there was the small, not-so-insignificant detail that she was getting ready to break up with him. So instead of berating her friend, she sighed and said, “Oh, fine. What were we talking about before the hotdog debate, anyway?”

“Work,” Spike reminded her, finishing off the hotdog. Buffy fought not to wrinkle her nose when he tossed the remaining mayo-soaked bun into the trash. She really, really didn’t get why he ate that…but she knew better than to open the subject again.

“Oh, right. Anyway, it’s totally unfair that I have to slave away at a gross greasy diner and you get to lie in a nice air-conditioned office building trying to figure out how to sell soap on a rope to the masses.” Buffy pouted. “I hate it!”

“Well, you are sixteen,” Spike pointed out.

Buffy sighed, rolling her eyes. “Please. Don’t remind me. That’s another unfair thing. How come you get to be ten years older?”

That made him chuckle. “You’ll have to take that one up with God. ‘m not responsible for my age.”

“I know, it’s just—yuck, you know? High school is one of the suckiest things I’ve ever had to put up with!”

“I hear you, luv. We all went through it, y’know.”

Buffy mock-scowled at him. “Not helping!”

“Wasn’t trying to,” he replied, smirking. “But hey, you’re gonna be a junior. A year an’ a half and then you’re out, right?”

“Out of high school, yeah, but with my luck Dad’ll force me to work at the diner and go to Sunnydale U at night, or something.” She sighed dramatically. “The world sucks!”

“Indeed it does.” Spike tugged on her hand and led them over to a bench. “Least you’ve got me,” he teased, tugging her ponytail.

“Spike!” Buffy shrieked, scooting away. “My hair!”

“Buffy? Are you okay?”

If she’d scooted when Spike tugged on her ponytail, she jumped about a mile into the air when she heard Angel behind her. She leapt up and spun around, giving Spike a warning glare, before launching herself into his arms. “Angel! I didn’t know you were in the park!”

“I didn’t know you were.” Angel detached himself from Buffy’s embrace, jostling her a little more than necessary. Buffy’s eyes narrowed. Something was off.

“Are you here with someone?”

“Me?” Angel’s voice was high. “No! And anyway, what are you doing making accusations? You were all over your friend there.”

Buffy winced. She hated, hated, hated when Spike and Angel were in the same room—or, actually, in the same town. Despite her protestations, Angel seemed to regard Spike as some kind of pedophile, and Spike hated Angel with a passion. No guy, according to him, was ever good enough for Buffy.

She was about to apologize when Angel’s words really registered. All over Spike? I’m never all over Spike! He’s my friend! “Excuse me?” she said coldly to her boyfriend.

Angel pursed his lips. “I’m sorry, Buffy, but I can’t put up with you practically cheating on me with Captain Peroxide there. He’s ten years older than you!”

“And I’m her friend.” Spike spoke for the first time, coming to stand beside Buffy. He was shorter than Angel by quite a bit, but he was twice as menacing as the sixteen-year-old. “So why don’t you just take yourself on home and watch Tellitubbies with your little mates, yeah?”

Angel’s eyes remained fixed on Buffy. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said in what Buffy guessed was supposed to be a scary voice. Unfortunately for him, she wasn’t in the least bit impressed.

“Yes, you are,” she shot back. “You’re leaving. Now.” She clutched Spike’s arm. “And in case you’re wondering, I’m staying here.”

“No, Buffy. You’re coming home with me.” Angel’s eyes were expressionless as he grabbed Buffy’s arm and tried to haul her away.

Several things happened at once. Angel opened his mouth, probably to give Buffy a proprietary lecture that would only piss her off more; Buffy kneed Angel in the balls, yelling, “Let go of me!”; and Spike slammed his fist into Angel’s nose.

Buffy watched with satisfaction as Angel went down, howling, clutching at both his groin and his nose. “You know, that was kind of unnecessary,” she remarked to her friend as they watched a sufficiently crippled Angel walk away.

Spike flexed his hand. His features were still set; it was obvious that he wasn’t done being pissed off. “No, but it sure as hell made me feel better,” he said. “Pissant little tosser.”

That made Buffy laugh. “I have absolutely no idea what that means.”

He smiled fondly. “’s an insult, pet. He had no right to touch you, once you’d broken up with him.”

“Very true.” Buffy grinned at the memory of Angel whimpering like a baby. “Have I told you thanks?”

“Not yet.” Spike wrapped his arms around her waist and fake-leered at her. “Aren’t you gonna thank me the way Captain Forehead figured you were?”

She wriggled, laughing. Spike did this sort of thing often enough that it didn’t wig her out—actually, she thought it was kind of funny. They both knew that the chances of them ever doing anything like that were, like, nil. “Yeah, right. I ditch Captain Forehead for Captain Peroxide? Not bloody likely.”

He chuckled at hearing his phrase spill from her lips. “Just jokin’ sweetheart,” he said, releasing her.

Buffy tried to ignore the tingling that his fingers left behind, just like she ignored how her heart sank just a little when he let her go. “Duh,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Can we go do something fun now?”

He cocked his head at her, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. “You sure you’re alright, kitten? You’ve been goin’ out with that ponce for—what is it now? Three years?”

“Four,” Buffy told him, “And you never approved. We were bound to break up sometime.” Despite her light tone, she felt a bit of pain when she remembered just how far back she and Angel went.

“But breakups hurt,” Spike reminded her. “Or so ‘ve heard.”

Buffy giggled at that. “Yeah, all your breakups have been kind of painless, huh?”

He grinned. “If you’ve gotta date, that’s the way to go.”

“Oh, really?” Now she had him. “So, I should just have casual sex and break up with each guy when the spark leaves the relationship?”

“What? No! That’s not what I said!” To her surprise, Spike looked genuinely alarmed. “You’re not gonna actually try that, are you?”

“Of course not!” Buffy laughed in spite of herself. He was cute when he was all worried. “Come on, Spike, when was the last time I took your advice?”

“Good,” Spike grumbled. “First tosser you try to have a one-night stand with, I’m killin’ him.”

Buffy smiled. Spike probably didn’t know it, but she’d never even had sex with Angel, so the likelihood of her doing the nasty with some random stranger was next to nothing. Still, she had fun scaring him, so…”If it was a real one-night stand,” she teased, “You wouldn’t know about it until after the fact.”

Her only response was a growl. She laughed and changed the subject, and they continued their walk, chatting more like an old married couple than old friends. It was always that way…

So why did Buffy feel like something had changed?

~*~

 

Chapter 3:

~*~

It hadn’t always been this way.

Spike could distantly remember a time, long ago, when he’d thought of Buffy as just a friend. His kid sister, even. So, so long ago, that was all she’d been.

Well, okay, it had actually been more like a year ago. But still, it felt like a fucking eternity.

Spike shifted uncomfortably and resumed his staring at her house.

Despite what Peaches thought, he wasn’t a pedophile. This whole damn thing had started when she was almost sixteen. He’d started noticing little things—how pretty she looked in a certain outfit, or how beautiful her smile was. At first he’d attributed it to a sort of brotherly pride in how she was growing up. That had lasted for all of a month.

He remembered the day his illusions had been shattered almost painfully vividly. It had been winter, about two months before her sixteenth birthday. They’d been ice skating in LA, a special treat from her dad because of all the work they did at the diner. Buffy hadn’t dressed warmly enough for the ice rink—she’d been so cold she was practically trembling.

Spike had tried to help her, had in fact been worried about her because she was so cold her lips were turning blue, but she’d stubbornly refused his assistance, claiming that she could handle herself. Unfortunately she’d been wrong—she’d fallen and bruised herself badly.

After that he hadn’t paid any attention to her protests. He’d gathered her in his arms and carried her over to one of the benches on the side of the rink.

”You okay, pet?” Spike asked anxiously, rubbing her back. Buffy was shivering and clearly trying to hold back tears. Her lips were rosy red from her biting them.

She nodded, hiccupping. “It’s just a little bruise,” she sniffled, rubbing her leg. “I was being dumb is all.”

“You couldn’t help it that you fell down, sweet,” Spike protested, rubbing her arms, trying to warm her.

She snuggled into his embrace. “Yeah, but I was all shaky and stuff and I wouldn’t sit down. That makes it my fault.”

Spike snorted. “Teenager logic.”

“Hey!” She pushed him away from her, her eyes sparkling with mock indignation. “That’s so unfair!”

“Life’s unfair,” Spike informed her with a smirk. “Best get used to it.”

She pouted—and Spike felt like he’d been hit by an anvil. “I don’t wanna,” she grumbled, before arching her back and stretching. “Okay,” she said, standing up on her skates only a little unsteadily, “Ready to skate again?”

Then she smiled. That wonderful, bright, beautiful smile that he loved so much. And he was lost.

That had been the end of the buggering line as far as he was concerned. It wasn’t at all brotherly to want to shag a girl into the ground when she pouted.

Well, it wasn’t all his fault. Buffy had a bloody gorgeous smile, after all. Any man who wasn’t a poofter noticed it.

But he’d spent months feeling so damn twisted. She wasn’t even sixteen! He was almost ten years older than she was, and he was lusting after her like some kind of dirty old man. He ought to be ashamed. He sure as hell hated himself enough.

Problem was, when he was with her, he didn’t feel dirty or old. He just felt like himself—Spike. And she was Buffy. And somehow, despite the age difference, despite a million other things, it felt right. Beautiful.

Beautiful, and just as tragic as a sodding play. Spike wasn’t a stupid man. He knew damn good and well that the chances of Buffy ever thinking of him as anything but an elder brother were virtually nothing. Oh, when she was younger she’d had a schoolgirl crush on him, but that was nothing and Spike knew it. Girls that age, they had crushes on any and every male they came in contact with. He could tell, since then her feelings had changed into something entirely platonic.

He sighed. When he’d started falling for her was a definite date, but to be honest, he didn’t remember when he’d started following her. Standing outside her house like some sort of pathetic wanker.

Whenever he’d started, though, he was embroiled in it now. Every time he saw her, even if it was just while she was working at the diner—every time he saw her, it was like a blow directly to his heart. She was beautiful, fun, young and yet so old for her age. She wasn’t even seventeen, yet she’d touched his heart like no one his own age had.

Spike took a deep drag on his cigarette, thinking darkly, wonder what kind of rotten bloke that makes me?

He knew. He was a sick, dirty bastard who was probably going to burn in hell forever, and if he had any common sense or self-preservation he’d leave now. In fact, he should just turn around and—

What the fuck was that tosser Peaches doing sneaking across her front lawn?

Spike expression darkened. Buffy’s ex—and damned if he didn’t inwardly rejoice every time he thought that—was walking across the grass, not even really bothering to keep himself hidden. Stupid bloke prob’ly thought wearing black would hide him, or some idiot tripe like that.

Actually, he was difficult to see, but since Spike had been standing in the same spot for almost an hour, he spotted the teen immediately. At first he considered just leaving and letting the teen get caught—but then Angel started trying to scale the tree that led to Buffy’s room.

Spike wanted to rip his head off.

He settled for ripping him out of the tree, grabbing one foot just before it disappeared into the branches and yanking hard. Angel fell like a rock.

“What the bloody hell,” Spike hissed quietly, “do you think you’re doing, Peaches?”

Angel leapt to his feet, straightening his jacket (and what kind of nancy-boy wears leather like that, anyway?) and sticking his chin out. “I was going in to talk to Buffy,” he said.

Spike had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Idiot makes it sound as important as the Second Comin’. “Sorry, mate, but I don’t think you’ll be doing that tonight.”

“What are you, her guardian?” Angel sneered at him.

Spike sighed and flexed his hand, deliberately drawing attention to his knuckles—and the fact that Angel’s nose still looked like a squashed tomato. “We’ve already been over this, but given that you’re dumb ‘s a post, I’ll repeat it. ‘m her friend. Which gives me the right to protect her. You’re her ex, which—“

“Which gives me the right to talk to her!” Angel finished angrily.

“No.” Spike’s voice was flat. Could he make smashing the little brat’s head in look like an accident? “It gives you the right to fuck off.”

“You bastard, I’m gonna—“

“Go home before your mum misses you.” Spike cut in again, smirking. One good thing about being ten years older than the chit he was in love with—her sorry boyfriend didn’t have a chance.

Unfortunately, Angel didn’t seem to understand that. The poor boy must’ve had fewer brains than Spike gave him credit for—because Angel’s next move was to launch himself at the blonde.

Spike sighed and, almost lazily, dealt Angel a crushing blow to his already-swollen nose.

“Auugh!” As abruptly as he’d attacked Spike, the brunette reeled back. “You bastard!”

“Should’ve learned the first time, I don’t screw ‘round with wankers like you,” Spike said coldly. “Now get the hell offa my girl’s property.”

To his surprise, Angel scampered away quickly. Gave up pretty quick…stupid git, Spike thought smugly. He glanced up at Buffy’s window, saying a silent goodbye, before setting off down the street.

It was a long time before he realized what he’d done wrong—why Angel had run off so quickly. High schoolers loved gossiping…

And he’d told Angel to get the hell offa my girl’s property.

Shit. Spike had a sudden vision of what her dad’s diner would be like the next day. School might be out, but that didn’t mean a juicy little tidbit like the one he’d just tossed to Angel wouldn’t make the rounds. Her day was going to be hell.

For a second he thought about going back—but no. He knew his girl; she’d just worry and not get enough sleep. Feeling guilt curl up in his stomach, Spike continued to walk home.

First thing in the morning he’d go back and wake her up, tell her what was wrong. Hopefully she wouldn’t toss him out the window headfirst. Once or twice in the past, she’d tried…

It was with those unsettling thoughts that Spike went home, stripped, and fell asleep.

~*~

“Well, he’s gone.” Joyce put the curtains back in place. “Not his best time, is it?”

Hank glanced at the clock. “Only an hour,” he remarked with surprise. “Think he’s getting better?”

“Judging by the state Angel was in when he ran off, he’s getting worse.” Joyce sighed and sat down. “Hank, what are we going to do?”

He looked at her levelly over his newspaper. “We’re not going to do anything, dear. You know that.”

“She’s just a baby, and he’s—“

“I know! Joyce, you think I haven’t thought about this? She’s my daughter, for Christ’s sake! But she has no idea what’s going on—I’m not even sure if he really does. And if I tried to separate them, they’d both tear me—or you, so don’t get any ideas—apart.”

She sighed. Hank was right. She hated it when that happened. “Okay, fine,” she acquiesced gracelessly. “But when this comes back to blow up in our faces, don’t look at me.”

Hank didn’t bother to glance up this time. “I never do.”

Their was a faint smile on his face when the crumpled-up napkin hit it.

~*~
 

Chapter 4:

Buffy was always really surprised that she didn’t get teased more about her friendship with Spike. When she was twelve it was a status thing, being friends with a “grown-up,” but the older she got, the more those admiring remarks turned into dirty jokes.

For the past year or so, though, most people had just ignored the unusual relationship—much to Buffy’s relief. She didn’t like admitting it, but there was a grain of truth in their accusations, and that made her feel beyond dirty.

It was wrong to lust after your 26-year-old best friend. She knew that. It was wrong and dirty and sick and a billion other adjectives usually applied to the freaky Mormons who married five women, but she couldn’t stop it.

Which was why, when the hazy cobwebs of sleep began to clear from her eyes and she heard Spike calling her name, she was positive she was just dreaming.

“Go ‘way,” she muttered, burrowing deeper into her pillow. “Bad dream. Bad bad dream.”

“Not a dream, pet.” A hand touched her shoulder hesitantly before gripping it harder and shaking. “C’mon, Buffy, wake up.”

“Not gonna,” Buffy muttered. Her dreams didn’t usually shake her like this…

“Buffy!” Wow. Dream-Spike sounded urgent…oh, well. Buffy snuggled closer to her pillow, willing her dream to change into something, anything that wasn’t her best friend.

She heard someone exhale, and then two arms gripped her shoulders and hauled her upright. Dream-Spike was strong…not that it surprised her, since real life Spike was strong, too. He had to be, with all those yummy muscles in his arms…

Nu-uh, Buffy. We’re not going there. Not even in a dream. Buffy shook her head firmly and caught a whiff of something. Frowning, she sniffed the air. She smelled the tiniest hint of cologne mixed with cigarettes…Spike to the tee.

Wait. Since when were her dreams in Smell-O-Vision?

Groaning, Buffy opened her eyes. She was sitting propped against her headboard, Spike supporting her, his blue eyes inches from her own. As soon as he realized she was awake, though, he backed away so quickly that Buffy almost fell over.

“Jeez, it’s not like I’m diseased,” she teased, straightening out her pajamas and glancing at the clock. 7:30—way to early to be up, even if she did have to work at the diner. “Why are you here, anyway?”

Spike rubbed his nose. “Anyone ever tell you you’re bloody difficult to get up?”

Buffy shrugged. “It’s a gift. You’re just lucky I didn’t hit you like I do to my alarm—oh.” She smiled guiltily, seeing a growing bruise just under his left eye. “Sorry.”

“’s alright, kitten, I shoulda known better than to try an’ wake you up so early.”

“Which begs the question I already asked. Why are you here?” As in, why are you standing in my room looking hotter than my now ex-boyfriend could ever possibly look? Buffy barely fought a grimace. It was thoughts like that that guaranteed she was going to Bad Girl Hell when she died.

Spike shifted uncomfortably. Buffy was instantly suspicious. “Spike? What did you do?”

“’s not so much what I did as what I said after I busted Angel’s face up…”

“Spike!”

“Okay. Was walkin’ past your house an’ I saw the ponce trying to climb the tree by your bedroom, so I yanked him off an’ busted him up a bit—“

“You do realize you could get arrested for that, right?” Buffy said in what she hoped was a cynically amused tone. The last thing she wanted was for Spike to notice that she was going all melt-ey over the ass-kicking of her ex.

“Well, yeah, ‘f the wanker ever decided to tell anyone—which he won’t b’cause he’s a stupid git.” Spike snorted derisively. “Anyway, he ran off after I told him something that I probably shouldn’t have.”

Uh-oh. Buffy’s heart sank—she could tell where this was going. “Spike? What did you say.”

Spike sighed and ran his hand through his hair, a typical sign on his frustration. “I was just trying to get him to leave off with the stalking, luv, but I told him to “ get the hell off my girl’s property.”

Shit. If her heart had been sinking before, it was sunk now. It was more than sunk. It was tunneling through the earth, headed straight for China.

Buffy banged the back of her head against the wooden headboard. “Oh, crap. Crapcrapcrapcrapcrap!”

“Yeah. I meant to tell ‘im to get the hell off m’ friend’s property, but it came out wrong.” His voice lowered. “You wanna whack me ‘round, I won’t argue.”

She stiffened at his tone. He sounded—well, more than sorry. He sounded like he did the time he’d made fun of Mr. Gordo and she cried for an hour straight. And—she sat up and looked at him closely. God, he looked depressed. “Spike.” His shoulders moved slightly at her voice, but he didn’t look up. Buffy’s lips pursed. Throwing back the covers, she got out of bed and walked till she was less than a foot away from him, arms crossed in front of her. “Spike. It’s OK.”

“No, ‘s not. I just completely fucked up your life, when you go into the diner there won’t be a teenager around who doesn’t know what I said—“

He stopped when she placed a hand on his shoulder. Fighting to ignore the tremors that raced through her, she said calmly, “I was a huge loser before you said that to Angel. Nothing much will change. I’ll just have to put up with a few dirty jokes, that’s all.”

Her friend shook his head stubbornly. “You don’t get it, Buffy. He damn near raced outta there, he was so eager to get home and spread the news.”

She forced herself to shrug nonchalantly. “When it comes to gossip, Angel’s worse than Harmony. He would’ve found something nasty to say anyway.”

He snorted. “You’re tryin’ to make it better, pet. ‘s not working.”

“I really can’t lie to you, can I?”

His answer was a raised brow.

She sighed. “Okay. So it’s going to be a pain in the ass dealing with nasty comments from everybody. That doesn’t mean the world’s ending. I can handle it, I promise.”

“You’re sure?”

God. He was so damn cute when he looked at her like that, all gentle and concerned….Buffy smiled at him. “I’m sure.”

“Good. ‘m still sorry, though.”

Her smile widened and she gave him a brief hug. “You wouldn’t be my friend if you weren’t,” she told him, stepping back.

He smiled back, but it looked forced. “Are you okay?” Buffy asked, concerned. “You look tense.”

“What?” He blinked, looking confused. “Yeah, ‘m fine.”

“Oh. Okay.” Buffy tried to meet his gaze, but she found herself looking away. In just a few seconds, the atmosphere in the room had gone from friendly to…strange.

“I’d better go,” Spike blurted out finally, breaking the awkward silence.

“Oh! Yeah, you should.” She watched as he opened the window and started to climb out. Funny how he was using the same method he’d hurt Angel for trying…”Spike?”

He froze. “Yeah, kitten?”

“I’ll see you at lunch?” Please don’t say no, she pled. If he refused, that would mean that something had changed between them, and that didn’t bear thinking about.

A long moment of silence. Then, to her relief, Spike nodded. “Yeah. See you then.”

He was gone before Buffy could say anything else.

~*~

She stood there, her hair all rumpled from sleep, her eyes and mouth smiling and warm, wearing nothing but some shorts and a loose t-shirt, and hugged him—and then asked him why he was so tense.

God protect the bloody innocent.

Spike sighed in frustration and fought to regain control of his body. He’d been at work for more than an hour now, and he was still…twitchy.

“That bad, huh?”

He jumped. His boss, Anya Jenkins, had snuck up behind him. Abso-fucking-lutely wonderful. Just what I need to make my day complete, he thought sarcastically. “What’s bad?”

The head of his department rolled her eyes sarcastically. “The last time you were this fidgety, it was right before you shared orgasms with that Drusilla girl.”

Spike stiffened at the mention of Dru. “That was eight years ago, Anya.” He felt no qualms about using her first name; technically, she was in charge of him, but he was her most competent worker and her friend.

“And you acted exactly the same as you are now,” Anya pointed out. “Although you were just a paper pusher back then, so you didn’t have a desk to fidget at.”

He sighed, exasperated. “How in hell did you get to be so good at selling people things when you’re so fucking blunt?”

“Why are you using so many bad words? Are you sexually deprived again?”

“Anya!” She was the only girl in the world, aside from Buffy, who could make him blush—and she’d just succeeded admirably.

She sighed. “Okay, fine, I’ll stop. And for your information, I’ve had such incredible success in my chosen career because my clients aren’t my friends. I don’t have to be annoyingly blunt with them to get answers.”

He knew that she was hinting—surprisingly delicately for her—that she wanted him to tell her what was on his mind, but he wasn’t biting. If he revealed even a fraction of what he was thinking, his normally open-minded friend would probably have him hauled off to prison. Not that I really blame her. He half felt like turning himself in.

“Spike! Would you stop brooding already?”

“Eh?” He blinked and Anya’s irritated face suddenly came into focus. “Right. Sorry.”

She sighed. “Even if you’re not going to tell me what’s wrong, this is still a business and there’s money to be made. So get to work!” And with those not-so-motivating words, she left his office.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Spike buried his head in his hands. Brooding. Dear God, his best friend had fucked him up so bad…

Then again, there was the distinct possibility that he’d already been fucked up. What kind of 26-year-old man was best friends with a sodding teenager? Anyone who was like that, as Buffy would put it, had serious issues.

But—she was so intelligent. More than that, really. Living with parents who didn’t exactly get along most of the time, working at that diner when she was just a little tot, enduring the persecution of her peers—all of that had made her seem far older than she really was. It was unnerving sometimes to remember that she was only sixteen.

That’s right, you wanker. She’s sixteen. “Jesus Christ,” he whispered. If the all holy Shepard of Nazarene could get him out of this mess, he just might have to become a religious man after all.

Anya poked her head into his office. “Brooding!” she said triumphantly.

Spike rolled his eyes, his rather large troubles momentarily forgotten in the light of how annoying his boss was, and got back to work.

~*~

“You little slut!”

She’d been hearing these words all morning, but the voice saying them had never been more welcome than the one coming from the person who plopped herself down on the bar stool. “Hello, Faith,” she said dryly, grabbing the empty fry basket from another customer.

“All this time, you’ve been humpin’ the hottest guy in this whole fucking town, and you never bothered to tell me?” Faith shook a finger at her mock-scoldingly. “You are one bad girl, B.”

“Hey, guys!” Willow said brightly, taking a seat next to Faith.

“Hey, Wills.” Buffy smiled at the redhead before saying to Faith, “I would be if I had been, which I wasn’t. And he isn’t, by the way.”

Willow blinked. “Um, did I miss something? Why are we talking in tongues?”

“Buffy finally got some brains and screwed Spike’s out.” Faith grinned with obvious pleasure.

“What? Oh my God!”

“Willow, calm down!” Buffy glared daggers at the now grinning brunette. “I didn’t screw anyone’s brains out, okay? Faith’s got it all wrong.”

“What’s with the denial?” Faith asked. “I’m all about older guys. You oughta know that.”

“Okay, first of all, nothing happened!” Buffy exclaimed. “Second of all, ew! Spike is my best friend!”

“Your incredibly hot best friend who just happens to have an ass that puts the all-mighty Angel to shame,” Faith reminded her. “So why don’t you wanna jump him? Because it’s wrong?” She punctuated her mocking question with a wicked grin.

Buffy pursed her lips primly. “Among other things, yes.”

“Well, that’s a hoot and a half. You want him, girl, and you know it.”

“Wait. I’m confused,” Willow said plaintively. “Buffy’s boinking Spike?”

“If you listen to Angel—who is such a dead man when I find him,” Buffy added darkly. “Spike’s tongue slipped—don’t you even start, Faith—and he called me his girl when he was talking to Angel.”

“Oh, Buffy, that’s so romantic!” Willow, as usual, was being Silver Lining Gal.

“Actually, I thought it was way more romantic when Harmony came into the diner and announced to the whole place that I was a hobag,” Buffy said sarcastically. “It was a mistake, Wills.”

“Are you sure?” All of a sudden, the usually-nerdy girl looked sly. “Or do you think it was more of a Freudian slip?”

“What she said, minus all the brains. The man is hot, B.”

“You already said that,” Buffy reminded her. “Spike is my friend, ok? I’m really getting tired of saying that!”

“Right,” Faith drawled, grinning, before she hopped off the stool. “I gotta run, there’s a principal at Sunnydale Elm who wants me bad.” She winked at the two other girls before exiting the diner, hips swaying.

Willow wrinkled her nose. “Isn’t Principal Wood—“

“Like, thirty? Yeah.” Buffy rolled her eyes as she poured a coffee. “Faith might be eighteen, but that’s still in the realm of the seriously gross. Hold on a sec.”

She took off her apron and hat, tossing them on the inside counter, before calling to her dad, “I’m on break!”

They exited the diner, arms linked. “I know you were kidding,” Buffy said. “It’s just, I’ve been dealing with Harmony and company all morning, so having my friends get on my case was seriously not of the good.”

“I know. Sorry.”

“It’s ok.” Buff smiled at her friend.

“So, what exactly happened?” Willow asked curiously. “The way Angel tells it, Spike was being creepy stalker guy and Angel was being the virtuous boyfriend.”

“Virtuous ex-boyfriend,” Buffy corrected.

Willow’s face lit up. “Buffy! You finally dumped him? That’s grea—I mean, that’s terrible.” She put on a not-so-convincing look of sympathy.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Feel free to gloat. I am so over him it’s not even funny. I mean, Spike and I were just walking in the park and Angel went all wife-beater on me.”

Willow wisely kept her thoughts about Spike’s role in the debacle to herself. “So, you and Angel are officially over this time?”

“Remember the time I wore that orange wrap dress to the Spring Fling and had to spend an entire night listening to Cordelia telling me I looked like a rotten orange?” Willow nodded. “Well, I’m even more over Angel than I was over that dress.”

Given that she’d burned the dress after the dance, that was really saying something. Willow patted her friend’s back. “That’s great, Buffy. I’m proud of you.”

Buffy smiled—or at least tried to. To her surprise, she’d been feeling sort of bad about the breakup. “Thanks.”

Willow wasn’t her best girl friend for nothing. “Wanna go for ice cream?”

“Please,” Buffy said. The two of them walked toward the ice cream parlor, neither noticing that across the street, a platinum blonde was ducking into Hank’s Diner.

~*~

 

Chapter 5:

~*~

“What d’you mean, she’s not here?” Spike demanded. “She’s always here at this hour.”

Hank smiled at the annoyed man in front of him. “She’s been having to put up with some trouble from her schoolmates, so she took a break. She left with Willow.”

“Oh.” A pause, then: “Think she’s mad at me?” He said it as casually as possible, not wanting to give anything away.

Hank smiled slightly. “Harmony was in here half an hour ago, chattering to her friends about the bruises on Angel’s face.”

“Thank God.” His shoulders slumped in relief. “I thought I’d really blown it.”

“I can see why,” Hank replied. Something in his tone made Spike raise his head and scrutinize the man sharply—but the older man’s face was carefully neutral.

“Right, then,” Spike said, clearing his throat. “Tell ‘er I was here, yeah?”

Hank nodded. “Goodbye, Spike.”

“Bye.” Spike all but ran out of the diner, away from Buffy’s father’s understanding eyes.

Hank shook his head, amused, and went back to wiping down dishes.

Spike had every intention of walking back to his office; Anya might be his friend, but she wouldn’t excuse him being gone half the day. But when he rounded a corner a block away from his office, he damn near collided with Buffy and Willow.

Shit, he cursed inwardly. Usually he avoided Buffy’s friends at all costs, especially the redhead. That girl was too insightful for her own good.

“Spike!” Buffy smiled happily at him. “I wasn’t expecting to see you ‘till later!”

He swallowed, looking down at her face. It was stupid, it was insane, it was inexorable—every time she so much as glanced his way, he fell for her that much more. “I, um, I—“ Bleeding hell. He hadn’t stuttered this much in years. “I came by t’ see how you are. Hank said you weren’t there—“ obviously, you prat—“so I was ‘bout to go back to work.”

“Oh.” Her smile changed, became softer. For a second a look shone out of her eyes, one he’d seldom seen there before. One that made him catch his breath. “Thank you.”

“’s no problem, pet.” He shifted uncomfortably. Bugger. Was it just him, or did things get more uncomfortable between them every day?

“Oh, look at the time!” Willow said suddenly. Both blondes looked at her, as thought just remembering that she was there. “I have to go and—do that thing,” she said, nodding.

“What thing?” Buffy asked curiously. “Willow, this isn’t like that time you fell in love with that 40-year-old from LA calling himself Malcolm, is it? Because—“

“No, no, it’s nothing like that!” Willow beamed innocently. “I just have this—this thing, that I have to do. So bye!”

Before either Spike or Buffy could say another word, Willow had tossed her cone in the trash and scurried off.

“Odd little bird,” Spike remarked, trying to hide his relief.

“That’s Willow,” Buffy said, grinning and raising her cone to her mouth. Her little pink tongue darted out, scooping a dallop of ice cream off the top before sliding down, down, sucking the whole top scoop into her mouth. Her cheeks hollowed briefly as she sucked on the cone, and then puffed out when she slid it back out of her mouth, the ice cream on top greatly diminished.

Spike had never been so glad his suit pants were reasonably loose, because he’d gone from semi-hard to painfully so in the few seconds it had taken her to pull that little stunt.

She swallowed the ice cream and grinned at him, apparently oblivious to how aroused she’d just made him. “Chocolate ice cream is heavenly. Best thing on the face of the planet.”

“Luckiest, maybe,” Spike blurted out before he could stop himself. The second the words left his mouth he was horrified. Way to let her know you’re standing there fantasizing about her mouth doing that to your dick, you sodding prick!

Buffy, however, just wrinkled her nose at him. “You’re really weird, you know that?”

She didn’t realize what he meant. But then, how could she? It was sick—he was sick. She wasn’t like him…she didn’t live a lie, a sin, every day of her life. “Sorry, pet. Moment of poetic idiocy.”

“You have a lot of those.” Her grin turned mischievous. “Like when you told Angel I was your girl, for example.”

He groaned at her teasing. She meant it all in fun, but God, she had no idea how much it hurt him that what he’d said wasn’t true. “You’re a bloody irritating bint sometimes, you know that?”

She pouted at him. “So you don’t love me?”

His throat constricted. It was oddest feeling he’d ever had—as though his throat had actually grown smaller. He’d answered this question a thousand times before, but as the days passed, as his love for her grew stronger, so did his impulse to tell her the truth.

Thankfully, he had some self-control. “You know I do, sweets.”

She grinned happily, tossing the cone into a nearby trash can. “And I love you. You’re the best older guy friend a girl could ask for,” she teased, pulling up the sleeve of her jacket to look at her watch. “Ah, crap, I’ve been gone for more than a half hour…see you later?”

A year ago he would’ve offered to walk her to the diner, but now? Now it was all he could manage not to run away from her right then and there. That, or grab her and kiss her in the middle of the sidewalk. “Uh, yeah,” he said, realizing that she was looking at him expectantly. “’ll be by at lunch.”

“’k. See you!” A last smile, a quick hug, and then she was scurrying off.

~*~

Best thing on the face of the planet…luckiest, maybe.

Buffy shifted uncomfortably in her bed. Why, why, why did Spike say things like that sometimes? She knew he didn’t mean them to sound the way they did. He, after all, didn’t spend the majority of his time around pervy high school boys who could twist “I went to see my Great-aunt Mabel” into an innuendo.

But still…that little comment had thrown her for a loop. Before then, she’d just been licking the ice cream, same as she always did. After it, she was scared to eat another bite, because every time she licked it, images of giving her best friend a blowjob popped into her head.

And that was just wrong.

She could almost hear what Spike would say if he knew what she’d been thinking about. You are one sick puppy, Summers, he’d say, laughing. He would think it was a joke.

Buffy sighed, keeping her eyes screwed shut. She was absolutely determined to get to sleep—she had an early shift at the diner, and if she didn’t get some rest, she’d be liable to dump coffee on some slumming corporate bigwig, or something equally humiliating.

She’d actually done it before…

”What the hell are you playing at, letting a child work in your restaurant?” Clyde Daniels, CEO of Daniels Enterprises, was having a field day running down Hank Summers. Not that anyone in the diner really blamed him; his daughter had just dumped and entire pot of coffee on the eminent businessman.

“For one thing, this child is thirteen.” Hank was perfectly calm. “For another thing, it’s a diner, not a restaurant. You should be aware that in establishments that don’t boast four starts, accidents happen.”

Daniels narrowed his eyes. “Are you talking back to me, prick?”

Buffy watched, rapt, as her father laughed. “You’re an idiot, Daniels. Get out.”

“Not until I get a refund and payment for this suit!”

Buffy’s eyes widened when Mr. Gunn appeared behind her dad. The only other time she’d seen Gunn actually come out of the back room to deal with a customer, it had been the time that weird guy Ted got drunk and started throwing glasses at the wall.

“This is my property,” her father said coldly. “Now get out or Gunn will throw you out.”

Daniels gave the other man one last venomous look before whirling around—and stalking straight up to Buffy. “You nasty, stupid little brat,” he snarled. “Getting knocked up and stuck at this diner for the rest of your life wouldn’t be good enough for white trash like you.”

For a second, Buffy stared at him. She was old enough to know that this guy was important, and smart enough to know that he was really, really mad at her. “I—I’m sorry, sir,” she stuttered, fighting to remember the manners her dad had drilled into her before he let her work at the restaurant.

“I ought to make you sorrier,” Daniels snarled.

Buffy darted a quick look over at her dad. He and Gunn were watching her concernedly, but so far they hadn’t come over to interfere, which Buffy was glad of. She knew it would look really bad for her dad’s business if he threw a CEO out in the streets…even if he was a jerkface. “Sir, I really think you should leave now,” she said seriously.

As it turned out, Daniels took her advice. That would have made Buffy happy, if he hadn’t spit on her first.

As soon as he did, Hank and Gunn rushed over—but it was too late. Daniels had already left the restaurant.

“I’m so sorry, honey,” Hank said, kneeling down. “Are you okay?”

She wiped the glob of spittle from her cheek. “That was disgusting!”

“It was disgusting and wrong,” Hank said bitterly, “And if I could I’d have the bastard arrested.”

“Why can’t you, Dad?”

Hank sighed. “Mr. Daniels is a very important man, Buffy. He has all the police in his pockets.”

“Like a mob guy?”

Her father suppressed a smile. “Yes,” he said, “Like a mob guy.”

It hadn’t been so awful, really. Just unpleasant, and like she’d said then, disgusting. What made it stand out in her mind was what happened afterwards.

She’d reported the incident to Spike. He’d gotten seriously pissed—which made sense, because even though her 13-year-old self didn’t understand what spitting on somebody meant, he sure as hell did.

As soon as she’d finished with her story, he’d left the diner. Two days later Buffy had heard about how the CEO of Daniels Enterprises had left town in disgrace, his face supposedly looking like raw meat. She’d known immediately who had done it, though she’d never talked to Spike about it.

Buffy sighed, feeling herself drift further into sleep. He was always so good to her…

It was daytime, and she and Spike were up in her room. He’d been allowed up there since she was about fifteen and her parents had finally decided that they trusted the two of them. It helped that now that Buffy was growing up, they were on a more even footing.

She was lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling. Spike was sitting in the chair next to the bed. “It wasn’t that bad, kitten,” he said, watching her as she pouted at the ceiling.

“Are you kidding? It was horrible. Terrible. I completely flubbed it.”

Spike shrugged. “Everyone screws up class presentations sometimes, kitten.”

“I probably failed.” Now she didn’t sound angry, just sad.

“Buffy.” He put his hand on her wrist. Something in his voice made her turn and look at him.

As soon as she saw him, she caught her breath. His face…his eyes, bluer than blue, his sharp cheekbones, those lips that she’d never really noticed before but where now only inches from hers…

He was beautiful.

And he was talking to her. “It’s not your fault, luv. Teach didn’t tell you everything.”

She smiled a little. She knew that whatever was affecting her wasn’t doing the same to him. “Thanks,” she whispered.

They were friends…he was only up here with the door closed because her parents trusted her…and yet, as she licked her lips, all she could think about was kissing him.

The thought followed the deed. One second they were best friends, caught in a whirl of emotions they didn’t understand. The next second, she’d launched herself forward, tangling her lips with his…and he was kissing her back.

It had been she who initiated the kiss, and she got the feeling that if she hadn’t kissed him, he would have put distance between them. But now that she’d committed herself, he’d taken over the kiss with vigor. Buffy found herself fighting to keep up, her lips clashing with his, her tongue racing inside his mouth…her hips thrusting up against his as he lowered himself on top of her.

God, it was incredible. That was all Buffy could think. With Angel there had been lust, a certain urgency, when they made out, but this transcended anything she’d experienced before. It was like fireworks going off, not just behind her eyes, but in her heart. Every rub of skin against skin, every touch of his mouth to hers, was pure, utter perfection.

But it wasn’t enough. She reached down and tugged off his shirt, feeling her own get pulled up and then off. Her bra was soon gone too, and then they were skin to skin—and it was wonderful.

Buffy threw her head back, gasping, as his mouth left hers, traveling down her neck. He was muttering thing, incomprehensible things, but she knew they had to do with her, and they made the fire burning in her that much hotter. When his lips encircled her nipple, she thought she was going to die, it felt so amazing.

Then his fingers found the waistband of her shorts and dove in…and she had no more thoughts.

She thought she’d been burning before—it was like a match compared to a bonfire. Every touch of his lips to hers corresponded with a touch to some part of her between her legs. His tongue plunged into her in tandem with his fingers below, drawing more and more wetness out, coating his fingers with it, streaming onto the sheet below—and still she burned.

Buffy tore herself away from his lips. “Please, Spike,” she gasped, arching her back as still another wave of pleasure rolled through her. “I need—I need—“

“Say it, kitten,” he murmured, curling his fingers almost cruelly inside her, causing her to almost sob with frustration.

“I need it. I need to—please, Spike. I want—“

“What?”

“You.”

She didn’t think it was the answer he was expecting—but by then, she didn’t care. A strangely intense look stole over his face, and he bent down and kissed her deeply, almost savagely. For a moment everything seemed clear, perfect—

And then he plunged three fingers into her, pressing his thumb hard against her clit as he did…suddenly, all the fires exploded and she was spiraling, spiraling, into bottomless blackness.

Buffy woke with a gasp. Sweat was beading her brow, her whole body was alert—and unless she was very much mistaken, she’d just had an orgasm in her sleep. Thinking about Spike, about doing things with Spike. Her best friend.

Her 26-year-old best friend.

She slumped down into the pillows, a kind of muted panic taking over. Oh, shit.

~*~

Chapter 6:

~*~

The next day was one of the hardest in recent memory. The gossip had all but died down since both Buffy and Spike were denying that Spike had claimed Buffy was his, and to tell the truth, nobody really trusted Angel. Any other day, Buffy would’ve been relieved at her return to relative anonymity. But today, she would’ve welcome a few taunts from Harmony and company.

Without them, she had the whole morning to mull on what she’d dreamed about—and to fight the warm tingle that started in her stomach and gradually went lower every time her thoughts strayed. It was wrong, it was sick, and Buffy was pretty sure she was going to hell for it—but God, that dream had been hot.

And it had started her thinking about stuff she’d never really considered before. Like how Spike’s fingers would really feel running down her body. What would happen if he just kissed her on the lips one day.

What would happen if he kissed her other places…

Her hands slipped on the tray she was carrying and she almost dropped the two fry baskets. She bit her lip—it was really bad when she started being a complete klutz with stuff she’d been doing for ages.

“Jesus, Buffy, what’s the matter?”

She stiffened at the voice: Angel. “I don’t want to talk to you,” she said coldly, giving the people their fries and walking back toward the counter.

“But I need to talk to you,” Angel said playfully. “C’mon, Buffy, you don’t have to be frigid about it.”

God. How could it be that even when she was having overly erotic dreams about her best friend, even when she’d broken up with the bastard currently bugging her, the bastard in question still had an effect on her? They’d been going out for four years. She couldn’t deny him simply talking to her. “Fine.” She glared at him. “Talk.”

“Your birthday’s coming up.”

Two weeks. Last year for her birthday, Angel had taken her to the beach and given her a ruby ring. “Tell me something I don’t know,” she spat.

Angel sighed. “Buffy, we broke up. It was bad, but it happened. Can’t we both just move on?”

“We broke up?” She repeated incredulously. “Angel, you went all Controllo-guy on me when I was with Spike, and then when he punched you, you spread rumors about us!”

“I was just telling the truth!” Angel said. He looked angry—or at least, he had the specific nonexpression on his face that Buffy had come to associate with anger.

Well, she was definitely madder—and it showed. “No, you know what the truth is?” She said, taking an aggressive step forward. “You’re a selfish bastard. You have the nerve to stand there and censor me and my friend, when you yanked me around for four years. Or do you think I’ve forgotten about Harmony?” She watched him flinch with bitter amusement. “Cheating on me with her for three months. Remember that?”

“Buffy, I was fifteen.”

“And now you’re sixteen!” she cried. “God, Angel, you just don’t get it! It doesn’t matter how old you are! Fifteen is old enough to know the difference between right and wrong. Age isn’t an excuse. I don’t understand why you can’t—“

“Buffy? Is there a problem?”

For the first time since the beginning of her tirade, her awareness opened up to include everyone else in the diner. All the customers were staring at her, and her mom was standing a few feet away, concern written all over her face.

She blushed, stepping back. “Sorry, Mom. Everything’s fine.”

Joyce regarded Angel with suspicion. “You’re sure he wasn’t bothering you? You seemed upset a minute ago.”

She had been upset, but not for the reasons Joyce was assuming. “It’s fine. Angel was just leaving, weren’t you?”

“Actually, I was—“

“Leaving. In fact, you’re walking out the door right now.” She glared at him. If he didn’t go along with this…

Well, someone up there loved her. Angel raised his hands in defeat. “I’m going, I’m going.”

She turned her back on him as he left, leaning on the counter for support. “I’m such an idiot.”

Her mother patted her back sympathetically, giving all the customers in the diner a menacing look. They went back to their eating quickly.

“Breakups are hard, sweetheart.”

Buffy had to restrain a laugh. It wasn’t the breakup that had been upsetting her. No, it was her dream, her stupid, twisted dream. She hadn’t been talking about Angel, not a bit. She been trying to convince herself—trying to convince everybody, really—that she wasn’t dirty, that she wasn’t sick. The problem was, it wasn’t working.

“Mom…is it…” she hesitated. Knowing her mom, she’d pick up on Buffy’s feelings for Spike in an instant. “Do you think it’s wrong for me to be mad at Angel? I mean, he was telling the truth.”

Joyce shook her head. “No, he wasn’t, sweetie. Not really. Spike was just trying to get Angel to understand that he needed to stay away. Angel deliberately spread rumors about it to make people think another way.”

Buffy sighed. “I guess…”

“In fact,” Joyce continued, smiling a little, “I really think we ought to thank Spike for defending you like he did. Do you think he’d be able to come over for dinner tonight?”

Buffy blinked. “How is that special? We have him over for dinner lots of times.”

“It could be a celebratory dinner. A pre-birthday, thank-you get-together.”

“Would in involve me in a dress?” She wrinkled her nose. Not that dresses were bad, but if she was in a dress, then Spike would be in a suit…and he’d look really, really yummy. Definitely of the bad as far as Buffy’s peace of mind went. “Because I think that would be overdoing it a little.”

“Nonsense. We could use a little gaiety, your father and I haven’t had an excuse to break out the champagne in months.” Joyce arched a brow at her daughter. “And Spike’s your best friend. Don’t you want to thank him?”

She was so going to hell for the images that evoked…among other things…she forced herself to smile. “Um, sure. Sounds good. Want me to go tell him?”

“Isn’t he at work? I wouldn’t want to get him in trouble with his boss.”

Anya knew Buffy pretty well, but Buffy decided not to bring that up. “I’ll just tell him when he comes here for lunch, then.”

Joyce smiled at her daughter. “Okay, sweetie. Tell him seven o’clock, okay?”

She nodded. “Will do.”

From the kitchen, someone yelled, “Joyce? The oven’s smoking again!”

“Oh, no. Sorry, honey, we can continue this later.” Joyce kissed Buffy’s forehead and then hurried back to the kitchen, yelling, “Don’t open it!”

Buffy watched her go, smiling falsely. As soon as she knew no one was watching her she let the smile turn into a grimace. “Stupid world,” she muttered, pouting ineffectually, and got back to work.

~*~

“So, my mom thinks you’re a hero now.”

“Really?” Spike asked, amused, as he bit into the pastry. “Why does she think that?”

“Because you told Angel I was your girl. She thinks you were being all chivalrous.”

Chivalrous. He couldn’t help but wonder if Joyce would still feel the same way if she knew he wanted to take her 16-year-old daughter and shag her into the ground. “Right then. Tell ‘er it was my pleasure to put the ponce in his place.”

“You can tell her.” When Spike arched a brow at her, she caved. “Mom wants you to come to dinner tonight. It’ll be fancy.”

“Fancy, eh? S’pose I have to wear a suit?” He mock-groaned. “The things I go through for you…”

“Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes at him playfully. “I have to wear a dress, so we’re even.”

Buffy in a dress. He closed his eyes briefly. Damn lucky thing suit pants ‘re loose enough to hide a hard-on. “Don’t see why that’s such a problem for you, luv,” he teased. “’m the one who’s gonna have to look at you.”

Her mouth fell open. “You jerk!” she exclaimed, half-frowning, half-amused.

He shouldn’t bait her. Spike knew that, but hell—he shouldn’t do a lot of things that he did anyway. “That the best you can do, Summers?”

Her eyes narrowed. “That’s it. You are so going down.”

“Oh, yeah? What’re you gonna do, hit me in your dad’s diner?”

“Nu-uh.” She shook her head, walking round to the other side of the counter. She sauntered up to him, and Spike gulped—she couldn’t possibly know what she did to him when she swayed her hips like that.

Her green eyes were inches from his when she smiled slyly and said, “But you’ll have to come out of here sometime.”

And with that, she tossed her apron on the counter and went to sit on the bench outside the diner.

Spike shook his head as he ate the rest of his pastry. Buffy was absolutely carrot-top sometimes, there was no denying that. It was one of the reasons he loved her. She was spontaneous enough that life around her was never boring.

When he was finished eating, he walked outside, half-expecting to get jumped by her, and bracing himself for the consequences an action like that would have. Instead he found her sitting still on the bench, leaning her head on one arm.

He laid his hand on her shoulder. “Kitten? You okay?”

“Mhm?” She blinked a few times and opened her eyes before half-smiling, half-yawning. “Sorry. I got almost no sleep last night. I had—weird dreams.”

If things had been the way he wanted them to be, he would’ve been able to tell her about his dreams—most of which involved her wearing rather a lot less clothes than she was now. But instead he just grinned and said, “Oh really? Any ‘f these weird dreams happen to feature a hot older English bloke you’re friends with?”

She blinked up at him, her cheeks turning red. Spike found that a bit peculiar—she almost never blushed when he teased her—but dismissed it. It didn’t mean what he wanted it to mean, why bother speculating? “No. They were just…weird.”

Suddenly wanting to get away from his closest friend as quickly as possible, he checked his watch. “Damn. Gotta be back at the office soon. What time does your mum want me to be there?”

Buffy shrugged, a smile returning to her face. “She said around seven, but you know them. You could show up at nine and they’d still love you.”

Which was one thing he had going in his favor. Now ‘f he could just get rid of the million other people and laws that said what he felt for her, what he wanted, was wrong…”Right, then. ‘ll be there at seven. Bye.” He was walking past the bench when she leapt up and grabbed his arm.

“Spike?”

Something in her voice made him pause. Instead of sounding older than her age, she sounded much, much younger. “Yeah, pet?”

“Are we—are we okay?” she asked, biting her bottom lip.

How could she do this to him? He was all set to walk off, to put just a little distance between them, for his sanity’s sake as much as anything else—and all she had to do was ask one little question, and he had her enfolded in his arms.

They stood like that for a few long moments, enfolded in each other’s arms, before Spike pressed a kiss to her head and said, “Yeah, luv. We’re fine.”

She sighed in relief. “Oh, good. See you tonight then?”

He stepped back and offered what he hoped was a friendly smile. “Yeah. See you tonight,” he said as he started to walk away.

~*~

Buffy watched him go, trying to restrain a sigh. Weird dreams? Yeah, of course you were in them. You had a starring role, in fact, right between my legs.

Right. Like she was ever going to say that.

Spike would think she was completely twisted if she ever told him what kinds of dreams she’d been having about him. Tonight was going to be bad enough, what with him looking all sexy in a suit and being in her house—possibly in her room, since when he visited they ended up there as often as not.

All she could think when she went back into the diner was, Thank God Mom and Dad are going to be there.

~*~

 

Chapter 7:

He couldn’t stop staring at her. It was the worst evening of his life, yet he was transfixed by the angel in front of him.

The first surprise of the evening had come in the form of Buffy’s clothes. She was wearing a filmy red dress, not exactly skimpy but certainly more revealing than her usual clothes, and it was having a severe effect on him.

He was finding eating difficult because of the massive hard-on he was sporting under the table—and he couldn’t help but wonder if she was tempting him on purpose. They were just ‘bout as close as two people could get. She knew his favorite color was red, and everything she had on that night, from her makeup to her dress to her shoes, was deep crimson.

Enough to make a bloke cry, it was.

Even worse, it wasn’t just a dinner with Buffy and her folks. That would have been bad enough, but for some reason, Willow and Faith were there, too. Willow at least looked as awkward as he felt, but Faith had been dropping innuendos and calling him by various odd pet names all night. If the dress Buffy had on didn’t drive him mad, then the girl’s overly sexual friend was sure to accomplish the task.

Still worse, conversation wasn’t exactly flowing at the table. It started, lurched to a halt, and then started again when one of the brave souls at the table decided to take another stab at it. Spike took no part in it. He caught everyone at the table occasionally sending him odd glances—everyone except Buffy. She didn’t seem at all concerned with the fact that he wasn’t talking, and that told him a hell of a lot.

Something had changed. He just wasn’t sure what.

After what seemed like ages, Hank said, “Well, guess you kids had better get going.”

“Yeah, we sh-should go,” Willow stuttered, clearly relieved. “Come on, Faith. Buffy, want to maybe walk us out?”

Faith rolled her eyes as she stood up. “You know, Willow, I’m seriously doubting your sanity. The door’s right over there—we don’t need B to show us where it is.” She grinned slowly. “Although if His Studliness wants to show us out, I’m not gonna complain.

“No, it’s okay.” Spike watched as his girl hastily jumped up and hurried out of the dining room, telling her friends as she went, “Although Faith’s right, in a gross, slutty kinda way. The door really is right there.”

Spike shifted uncomfortably in his seat; sitting for two hours with a raging hard-on sure as hell didn’t do much for a man’s disposition. Joyce and Hank were sitting silently, seemingly perfectly alright with the evening’s events—which made Spike more than a little suspicious.

“So, Spike, how’s work at the agency going?” Joyce, ever the soul of courtesy, asked.

“Uh, fine. ‘m workin’ on a project for Aflack.”

“They got tired of the duck?” Hank chuckled. “And here I thought that one would never go out of style.”

Spike smiled slightly. “Don’t think it would, but they got tired ‘f searchin’ all their employees t’ make sure one of ‘em wasn’t a crazed PETA person tryin’ to blow their offices up. Rough gig, that.”

“Goodness. I wasn’t aware advertising could be so dangerous!” Joyce said, her eyes sparkling.

“Oh, that ain’t the half ‘f it. PETA makes some organizations look safe as houses,” Spike said, leaning forward with a grin on his face. He loved enlightening people about how strong an influence the advertising community had on the world around them. “You know how many terrorists ‘ave tried to do Victoria’s Secret in ‘cause of their underwear ads?”

“And let me guess,” Buffy said dryly from the doorway. “You had a hand in the ads in question.”

He stiffened immediately. With Buffy out of the room he could talk to her parents without a problem—now that she was back, all his feelings came rushing upon him again, guilt and shame included. Victoria’s Secret—Buffy wearing Victoria’s Secret—Buffy getting Victoria’s Secret ripped off her body— Suddenly Joyce and Hank’s expectant faces looked accusatory. “Not exactly,” he mumbled, getting up. “’s late—I should probably go.”

God help him, but she pouted. “No fair,” she said grumpily. “First you’re all bad moody through dinner, and now you’re leaving like I have some kind of freaky disease, or something.”

Wonderful—in trying to save his own arse, he’d hurt her. “’s not like that, kitten” he said earnestly, trying to get her to understand. Not like that at all. I just want to shag you on top of the table, an’ we might have a bit of a problem with that, given that your mum an’ dad are currently staring at us. “But ‘s a big project I’m workin’ on, and the creative juices aren’t gonna flow ‘f I stay much longer. I’m an old man, need my beauty rest.”

She smiled grudgingly at that. “Okay, fine,” she said.

“Now that that’s settled,” Joyce cut in smoothly, “Hank, you can help me clean up in the kitchen.”

When her husband didn’t move, only sat with a slight grin on his face as he watched his daughter and her best friend, Joyce tugged on his arm sharply. “Hank. Now.”

Spike couldn’t help himself—he grinned slightly at the disgruntled expression on the other man’s face. “Women,” Hank muttered, allowing himself to be drug into the kitchen by a very determined Joyce.

“Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em,” Spike added, winking down at Buffy.

She laughed. “Well, Mom’s just about the only thing that saved this dinner. It was uber-awkward.”

“That it was, but—“

“No buts, it just was.” Buffy sighed, looking suddenly despondent. “Sorry.”

“Sorry?” That startled him. What did she have to be apologizin’ for?

“Well, it’s my fault that the dinner turned out to be such a suckfest.”

He cocked his head at her. “An’ how exactly does that work out?”

Buffy shrugged, the expression made eloquent by her bare shoulders. “I invited Willow and Faith,” she said simply. “I know you don’t like being around them…”

“That’s not true!” He felt the need to protest even if he was lying through his teeth. “Your friends are just fine.”

“Yeah, but they’re my friends, and my parents,” she argued. “And that’s what made it awkward. You—“

“Don’t belong.” He sighed wearily, running his hand through his hair. “I get it, Buffy, alright? I was the odd puzzle piece that kept the evening from being nice. ‘m not entirely stupid, you know.”

“Hey.” She swatted him. “Would you stop being self pity guy, already? That’s not it at all. You’ve been around my friends before.”

She was right. Dammit.

“It’s just—“ she sighed impatiently. “I don’t know why it was weird, okay? It just was. And I’m sorry.”

He recognized it for what it was—a peace offering. “’m sorry, too,” he said, and they began to move towards the door.

He shrugged into his suit coat. “’least I got to see what Faith considers evening wear,” he joked feebly, remembering the tiny black dress the girl had been wearing. “You sure she doesn’t work at a brothel?”

Buffy grinned. “She’s threatened to turn into an actual ho once or twice, but no, so far she gives it away for free.”

Spike shook his head, unable to resist goading her. “Tsk, tsk. Talkin’ bout your friend that way. Just ‘cause a tumble with you prob’ly costs a pretty penny—“

“Spike! I am so not a slut!”

“Thought I was callin’ you a whore,” he said, frowning in mock puzzlement, “An’ Faith a slut.”

He’d only been teasing—but apparently Buffy took it the wrong way. She slumped against the door, saying, “It’s the dress, isn’t it? The dress is totally hobaggy. I knew it!”

“What?” He couldn’t believe his ears. She thought she looked like a slut? “Buffy—I was kidding, luv. You look…”

“Yeah?” Forced casualness, and they both knew it.

Spike sighed, suddenly tired of playing. Tired of trying to pretend that seeing her all decked out like that didn’t affect him. Tired of lying to both of them about the thing he could feel in between him and her—the thing that came just as much from her as it did from him.

“You look beautiful, luv.”

Hazel eyes widened, locking with blue. Something passed between them—a quiet acceptance of what shouldn’t, couldn’t, be—and yet was all the same. Spike took a step forward, slowly, fighting and embracing what was happening.

“Y-you think I’m beautiful?” A quiet, breathy question.

He reached out let his hand brush her shoulder—the barest whisper of a touch. “You know I do,” he said, his voice low and husky.

“I do?”

“Well, ‘f you don’t, then you’re a little dumber than ‘d given you credit for,” he teased, a smile playing about his lips.

She smiled in return—her glossy red lips just barely parting to reveal white teeth. “Guess I’m stupid, then,” she breathed, tilting her head up.

His chest was pressing against hers, his heavy suit coat was crushing the crinkly fabric that covered her breasts. How had that happened? Spike wasn’t at all sure. “’s not like I’m much smarter,” he pointed out. His other hand came up, curving round the soft globes of her shoulders.

“Oh, definitely not.” Her breath hitched; his own chest seemed to constrict in response. He squeezed her shoulders, pressing her more fully against the door. It was bad, it was wrong—and it felt so damn good.

She pressed back. If he was buried in sin, then so was she. “What’s happening?” she asked as her head tilted back, as her eyes fluttered shut.

“Nothing.” He closed his eyes, inhaled her scent—and suddenly, standing there pushing his teenaged best friend up against her door, with her parents mere feet away, he was lost. Utterly, completely lost. He had been before—but not like now. Now he was gone, thrown into the abyss, without even a map to help him find his way back. The only map, the only guide he had, was in the eyes that were flickering behind closed lids, waiting him to do what they both knew he had to.

He pulled her away from the door and into his arms, running his hands up and down her semi-bare back. His head dipped.

“Nothing at all,” he whispered…

And his lips met hers.

It was a combination of the strangest and the most incredible kiss he’d ever experienced. She was so soft, so sweet, so very right. He could taste her—tart, feisty, yet incredibly young and untried. It didn’t make him feel dirty, didn’t make him feel wrong. He couldn’t feel like that, not when he was with her. Not when his lips were crushing hers, and she was doing her damndest to crush his right back.

Neither made a move to deepen the kiss. Their lips moved against each other, their hands scrabbled for purchase on the other’s body, their heads spun as they lost all semblance of control. Lips clung, crashed together—breathing escalated—life flowed through them both, warming them with its fiery heat. And still they kissed.

It was heaven, but it was an easily shattered one. Because the second Joyce called, “Buffy? Has Spike gone yet?” Spike was jerked out of a wonderful place were the only things that existed were Buffy and the way she was making him feel, and back into reality, where the very fact that he felt such things damned him for eternity.

He lurched away from her, fighting his way back to coherency. God—no—you’ve really fucked it up this time, mate.

“Spike?”

There was hurt in those hazel eyes that usually stared at him with such happiness and pride. He should be sorry—he was sorry—but all he could think about was leaving right now, before Joyce walked into the foyer and drew some very reasonable conclusions.

“Buffy—“ he broke off, staring at her, completely at a loss for words. What could he say? What had happened between them shouldn’t have happened. It was sick, it was wrong, and it was his fault. “I’m sorry,” he said finally.

“No, don’t—“

But it was too late. He heard her begin to speak, but he’d already flung open the door and fairly run out of it. Down the steps, to his car—

“Spike!”

No. Couldn’t listen to her, not now. She was an angel, and she was the only one who had the power to ensure he spent the rest of his days roasting in hell.

“Spike, wait!”

Keys. Where the fucking hell were his keys? His hand dove into his coat pocket, retrieving the key to his car and shoving it into the lock.

“Please—“

He could hear her heartbreak. It matched his own.

What he couldn’t hear above the roar of the motor as he peeled out of the drive were the sobs. Deep, gut-wrenching sobs that escaped the girl as she slumped down on the step, weak, confused…

Broken. The word echoed in Spike’s head as he drove frantically away. Scenery flew past, but only one bit of it reached the mess that was his brain.

Los Angeles, 75 miles.

~*~
 

Chapter 8:
She was an idiot.

That was the only explanation that came anywhere near to being logical. The only explanation that didn’t make her want to puke. She was absolutely, positively, without a doubt, the most stupid teenager to ever walk the face of the planet.

How could she have thought he’d want her?

He was twenty-six, for God’s sake. He could have any woman on the face of the planet, and he damn well knew it. She was lucky enough to be able to call him her friend. Why had she been dumb enough to think he’d want anything else?

She wanted him, of course. Stupid, stupid little girl, Buffy berated herself, staring out at the night he’d fled into. How could she have been so incredibly idiotic?

Okay, so he had kissed her. That indicated that, on some level, he wanted her. But that didn’t mean anything. She’d deliberately tempted him, wearing a sexy dress in his favorite color. She wasn’t exactly an adult, but she wasn’t a little kid, either, and that dress made it obvious. But Buffy knew that she wasn’t anything special. She knew that Spike had only been reacting to her in the way any man reacted to a female, older girl or young woman. She’d incited that reaction on purpose…

And she’d pay for it with their friendship.

But did it have to be so hard? It had been perfect—every brush of his lips against hers had been utter and complete heaven. The fact that she was going for hell for even thinking about kissing him, much less actually doing it, had occurred to her.

She just couldn’t bring herself to care. If she was going to hell, then she was sure taking the scenic route. She was going right through heaven, which for some reason seemed to exist only when Spike was holding her, his lips moving over hers.

And that scared her more than anything else.

Willow—geeky, lovable, perceptive Willow—had tried to warn her. Right before her friends had left, the redhead had taken Buffy aside and asked, “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Buffy had replied blithely.

Willow had just stared at her.

She’d sighed. “Wills, it’s…complicated. Something’s happening between us, and I don’t know what it is.”

“It’s a shitload of UST is what it is,” Faith interjected. She’d grinned at the aghast look on her two friends’ faces. “Oh, come on, like you weren’t thinking the same thing. I get the feeling we’re gonna be seeing some blonde on blonde action pretty damn soon.”

Buffy had, of course, vehemently rejected the idea. What was she going to tell them? Oh, yeah, I thought about some blonde on blonde action…dreamed about it, actually. Yeah, that would have gone over really well.

Although in retrospect, it probably would have gone over better than her kissing Spike had.

But how could she have stopped herself? He was the hottest guy she’d ever been anywhere near, and in his own platonic, non-wet-dream having way, he loved her. She’d seen that love shining in his eyes tonight—love and worry, because he felt the same way she did. They were slowly, inexorably being pulled apart, and Buffy knew it was all her fault.

Dammit.

She’d never felt as complete as she had when she’d been kissing Spike, only moments before. Now she felt like she was being pulled into a million pieces. All because of a single, relatively chaste kiss.

No. There might not have been tongue, but no one in there right mind would call what had just happened in the foyer chaste.

“Buffy?”

Buffy’s head snapped up—too late, she remembered that she’d been crying. Shit. “Yeah, mom?”

“Are you—Buffy, honey, what’s wrong?”

Oh, nothing. I just kissed my best friend and he ran away from me. But hey, peachy with a side of keen, that’s me! Buffy’s mind searched for an excuse—one that wouldn’t have her mom hauling her off to the mental ward. “I, um…” she trailed off, sniffling for effect, when an idea hit her. “I was just thinking,” she lied, “About…about Angel.”

If her mom didn’t believe her, she was a really good actress. She came to sit next to Buffy on the front step. “Oh, honey. Spike didn’t mention him, did he?”

She stiffened at the name. She couldn’t help it—any time she so much as thought of him, her body was flooded with emotions she couldn’t name and couldn’t handle. “No,” she said, quietly, when her brain reminded her that she still had some lying to do. “I just…four years, you know?”

Joyce smiled an understanding smile. “I know.”

“And I never thought…I figured I knew him. It wasn’t perfect, but I knew where I stood, and now…now I don’t.” She shook her head; a few tendrils of rumpled hair came loose from the clip and fell onto her neck. “I just don’t.”

“Oh?”

“I mean, he acts one way, but then a different way, and I…I tried to talk to him, but he blew me off, and I’m not even really sure if we’re ever going to talk again, much less be like we were, and then I think maybe we won’t be and it’s all my fault, and it’s just a merry-go-round of badness, and—“

“Buffy, are you talking about Angel?”

“Of course I am!” Oh, great. Now she sounded defensive. “Who else would I be talking about?”

“You’re a teenager, honey—I have no idea what’s going on in that head of yours,” Joyce said, smiling gently at her daughter. “But I do know this—Spike is a good person. I would trust him with your life.”

Buffy looked at her mother and saw nothing but gentle understanding. “But—“

“Now, why don’t you go to bed?” Joyce interrupted smoothly. “It’s been a long night, and I know you need sleep.”

Funny how she was all of a sudden positive that her mother knew a whole lot more than that—and something told her that Joyce wasn’t going to budge an inch if Buffy tried to go all FBI 3rd degree on her. The teenager sighed. “OK, fine, you win,” she said grudgingly. “I’m going.”

They both stood up and went inside. Buffy was about to go upstairs when Joyce enveloped her into a tight hug.

A few seconds later Buffy croaked, “Um, Mom? I kind of need to breathe.”

“I’m sorry,” Joyce said, but she didn’t let go. “You’re just growing up so fast!”

That settled that—Moms were definitely psychic. Buffy detangled herself from her mother’s grip. “But I’m still me,” she said. “Just, you know, a little taller than I was when I was six.”

That made her laugh, as Buffy had hoped it would. Even she herself was smiling when she went upstairs…

But then she got to her room, and memories assailed her. Innocent ones—her and Spike lounging on the floor, arguing about the usefulness of martial arts—and the not-so-innocent memories of the dream she’d had, and the longing she’d felt long before that.

Quietly, so that the two adults downstairs didn’t hear, Buffy lay down on her bed and started to cry.

~*~

“What did you tell her?” Hank asked as he and his wife cleared the dining room table.

“Not much,” Joyce admitted. “I just tried to let her know that it was OK.”

“Does she know we heard her?”

“Well, I didn’t exactly tell them that their moaning carried all the way to the kitchen, if that’s what you’re asking,” Joyce said reprovingly. “Spike practically ran away—that’s the last thing Buffy needs to know.”

“The bastard ran away? Why the hell did he do that?” There was anger in his voice, anger that had never been directed towards his daughter’s best friend before.

“Well, he’s probably feeling even worse about this than Buffy is. He knows that anything he does now will probably hurt her—“

“Which will in turn hurt him, since I’ll break every bone in his body—“

“And so he ran off,” she finished calmly, ignoring her husband’s threatening mutters. She wasn’t surprised; Hank would only like Spike so long as he didn’t hurt Buffy, which was, Joyce knew, inevitable. It made her angry, too, but she had the wisdom to see that that was how it was always going to be. She hadn’t supported their relationship beginning—but now that it had started, she knew everyone involved would only hurt more if she tried to make it stop.

“Damn coward.”

“Hank,” Joyce said reprovingly. “You’re the one who first decided to allow their relationship.”

“But how long, Joyce?” Hank asked. “How many more times are they going to hurt each other before they finally figure out what’s going on?”

Wearily, Joyce sat down at the table. “I don’t know. If I did, I’d be able to—“

She was cut off by the phone ringing. Hank snatched it up. “Hello? Fred! How have you been? Really? Well, my congratulations to you both…he wants us to come visit? This weekend? That’s pretty short notice…no, Buffy doesn’t go back to school until Labor Day…of course I can. Let me ask Joyce.” He covered up the phone. “Rupert wants us to come visit them.”

Joyce perked up immediately. “Really? Why the short notice?”

“Apparently Fred finally got herself a fiancé,” he said, grinning, “And the festivities are this weekend.”

“Well, I don’t know…” Joyce hesitated. “Buffy might not want to go.”

As if on cue, a muffled wail came from her room.

Her mother winced. “On second thought, maybe a weekend trip is exactly what she needs.”

Hank nodded and took his hand off the phone. “We’ll leave tomorrow, Fred. Yep, see you there. Congratulations again, honey. M-hm. Goodbye.” He hung up the phone and turned to Joyce. “Looks like we’re going to LA.”

~*~
 

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