Chapter 13:

~*~

He really had quite the talent for gettin’ himself into serious messes.

He knew damn good and well that the whole friend thing was a complete crock. He was dense, but he sure as hell wasn’t stupid.

Spike gritted his teeth as Buffy’s ass came into contact with his lap. Wait, no—he was stupid, too.

“Hi!” she chirped, stealing a fry from his plate. “How ya doin’?”

He frowned at her. “’ey! My food, my seat...” My dick, too, dammit!

“Mine now,” she said, those cherry-red lips spread in a grin.

He very nearly groaned. God, do I wish.

“Hey, everybody,” Anya said, sitting down. “Spike, for God’s sake, would you stop looking like you’re about to orgasm in the school cafeteria?”

Wonderful. Trust Anya to give everyone an intimate update on how he was doin’ down in the dangly bits department. “’m not,” he snapped, acutely aware of the amused girl on his lap.

“Right.” Anya bit into her pizza, rolling her eyes. “Somebody’s kidding themselves.”

“Hey! We are not!” Buffy protested.

“I didn’t say anything about you.”

Willow and Oz sat down to a silent table a few minutes later. “Buffy?” Willow said innocently. “Why is your face so red? And...um...aren’t there enough chairs?” She looked around. The cafeteria was full of empty chairs.

Spike winced when Buffy practically leapt off his lap. “You’ve got a bony ass, pet,” he informed her, pretending to grimace because of it—though actually, he was grimacing because her wriggling had an effect that was rather hard to hide.

“Really?” Xander poked his head around the table, frowning at Buffy’s rear end. “Because I thought it was kind of—“

“Hey. Eyes off, whelp,” Spike growled. Why the bastards in this school thought they had any right to look at his girl was completely beyond him.

“Right, gotcha. No looking.” Xander went back to eating his lunch, occasionally stealing glances at Buffy. “Although, ya know—“

“Xander! So don’t want speculations on the state of my ass right now!”

“Damn, is getting burned your specialty or what?” Faith said, laughing. Xander’s face turned magenta.

“What? I didn’t know Buffy was Spike’s property, or whatever,” Xander whined.

Anya patted his hand. “Shut up, sweetie,” she advised, glaring at him.

“Right.” Xander busied himself with his lunch again.

They continued to chatter about trivial things. Generally Spike was right in the thick of it, trading barbs and laughin’ with the others, but today he didn’t feel inclined to say anything. Instead he concentrated on eating, stealing glances at the girl sitting next to him whenever he thought she wasn’t looking—which, much to his chagrin, was pretty much all the time.

She was his friend, right? That meant they ought to pay at least some attention to each other. Only problem was, he knew damn good and well that friends weren’t supposed to cuddle, or talk to each other nonstop while cuddling, or engage in flagrant make-out displays that would make Snyder have a sodding coronary in the middle of the lunchroom. And he wanted to do all those things, though preferably not all at once.

Bugger.

“So,” he said abruptly, taking advantage of a lull in conversation to get his mind off the girl next to him who wasn’t his, so matter what he might wish, “’m mum’s on a new vendetta. Says she wants me to join a club, or some rubbish like that.”

“You could join the cosmetology club,” Anya said absently. She was engrossed in the back of Xander’s hand, a rather uninteresting place, to Spike’s way of thinking—but then, he could spend hours staring at Buffy’s ankle, so he really wasn’t one to judge.

Buffy giggled. “Yeah, you and Lorne would have a blast.”

He was effectively brought back to the real world. “Hey,” he protested. “’m not gay!”

“So? You can still enjoy making ugly people less of an impediment to society.”

“Hate to break it to you, Ayn, but unless Spike’s planning on joining the Gay Guys Society, he’s not gonna join the cosmetology club,” Xander said cheerfully.

“I kinda agree with Xander,” Willow said. “Although you know, you probably know lots about cosmetology, what with the hair and the nails and—oh, look, ketchup!” She clumsily tried to change the subject after Spike started giving her a death glare.

“’m not gonna be a sodding cosmetologist!” Spike said, loudly enough that several people from the next table over turned around and stared at him.

“I never said you were,” Anya said mildly. “I just said you should join the club.”

He could hear Buffy gigging, but since he was banging his head against the table, it was rather muffled. “Sodding bints,” he muttered, thoroughly disgruntled.

*

Okay. The day was going well. In a no-kisses, God when the hell was Spike gonna look at her???!!!! kind of way.

Damn it.

She had no idea where her brain had been that morning. Maybe Spike was right and the bleach really had fried her brain, because agreeing to the whole friends thing? Yeah, not the smartest thing she’d ever done.

Now it was almost the end of the day. She was listening to her Calculus teacher talk and wondering just exactly how more bored she could get, while also half-dozing off and thinking of how bad she had wanted to tousle Spike’s hair today at lunch. Which meant that she was obsessed, and the bad part was that she really didn’t regret it. No, the only thing she did regret was the fact that she couldn’t, because she was his friend, and friends didn’t do stuff like that.

Damn.

“And so, when you take the blah-diddy-blah of the blahblahblahblahblah...”

Okay. So Mr. Kennedy wasn’t really saying that many blahs. Actually, he wasn’t saying any. It just sounded like that since all she could think about was a tiny little word that she was starting to think was absolutely no fun...especially since the person that the tiny word was attached to was currently sitting four seats away, diagonally to the right. And she could see his hair. The same hair she really wanted to tousle.

Beeeeeeeoooooooop. Buffy leapt from her seat. She’d never been gladder to hear the annoying electronic beep of her school’s “bell” than she was at that moment. Now, if she could just get out of the classroom before Spike managed to—

“Hey, luv, need a ride home?”

Not for the first time that day, Buffy grimaced inwardly and thought, damn. “Um, well, I think I can walk...”

He arched a brow at her shoes.

She sighed impatiently. “Okay, I can’t walk. Are you taking everybody else home?”

“No. Just you.” He tilted his head in that way she’d always found sexy, even back in the tenth grade, keeping his eyes on hers.

Gulp.

She hadn’t even known she could make that noise. “O—okay, then. Guess I’ll get home fast.”

She didn’t know what was wrong with her comment, honestly she didn’t, but his face closed up and his jaw got all stiff, the way it had when she accidentally on purpose posted that poem he’d written about the foreign exchange student, Ciley, all over the Internet. He looked the way he had outside his car this morning.

Wonderful—she’d managed to hurt him again. And this time, she hadn’t the slightest idea what she’d done! “Okay. What did I do?”

Well, it couldn’t hurt to ask, right?

“What the bloody hell d’you mean, what’d you do?”

“I mean,” Buffy said, “That you’re cussing and you have mad-face, which means you’re mad at me. So what did I do?”

He sighed. “Nothin’, pet. Just in a bad mood.”

They even sounded like they were dating. This was so beyond stupid. “Um, okay. I hope it gets better.”

His expression turned sarcastic. “Right. ‘m sure it will.” He turned and began to walk out of the classroom. “Hurry up, we gotta go,” he tossed over his shoulder.

She let out an exasperated sigh. OK, even if she were to go out with him—which she wasn’t planning on doing!—she would have the world’s toughest job, because he was soo moody. “Spike, would it kill you to just tell me what’s wrong?”

“Possibly.”

She rolled her eyes. Even she knew that was a rhetorical question—as in, you weren’t supposed to answer it. “Well, tell me anyway.”

He left the classroom, Buffy hot on his heels, mostly because she wanted a ride, of course. “No.”

She let out and annoyed sound. “Would you stop being so stubborn? I just wanna know what’s wrong!”

“No, you don’t,” he argued, getting out his keys as they neared the school exit. “You just wanna get home fast, remember?”

Spike was all hurt because she wanted to get home fast? But...”I’ll probably end up meeting with everybody at the Bronze, so I have to get home so I can do my homework,” she pointed out. She was making an honest effort to improve her grades. Funny how if you actually read the homework, class got so much easier.

“Right. Because spending time with me is the last thing you’d wanna do.”

“No, because spending time with you...alone...isn’t a friend-thing,” she forced herself to say.

He sent her a look that could only be described as disgusted, but didn’t say anything.

They went to his car and got in, both doing their best to uphold the strange silence. Buffy had to stop herself from saying something every few minutes—she was just so used to saying whatever she was thinking about to him. To not be able to say anything was just weird.

They drove to her house in silence, just as they had Friday night, except this time she was just a little more nervous on account of how they’d already kissed once and she really wanted it to happen again, except it couldn’t because she’d told him she just wanted to be friends. And somehow, she didn’t think he’d go for friends with benefits, or whatever.

When he stopped the car, neither of them moved. She didn’t know why he stayed still; she just didn’t want to leave and be alone in her house, even if he was mad at her.

After a few minutes she decided she’d say something. One of them had to, or she’d go insane. The only problem was, she wasn’t sure what she’d say.

So when she did talk, it wasn’t what she’d planned on saying. “This really isn’t gonna work.”

“What—what the soddin’ hell are you talking about?” Spike snapped.

Okay. Apparently he was really, really mad. She could deal with that. “The whole friends thing? Not working.”

“What’re you talkin’ ‘bout? Of course it’s working!”

She just looked at him. Apparently he got the message because he caved and said, “Well, a’right, maybe it’s not working, but that’s no reason to give up, is it?”

Was it just her, or did he sound a little desperate? Well, desperate was good. She could deal with that.

Although it would be nice to know how she planned on dealing with it before the words popped out of her mouth.

“No,” she responded cheerfully, “But it’s reason to do this .” She leaned forward, ignoring the seatbelt that dug into her waist, and kissed him.
 

Chapter 14:

She was kissing Spike. In her driveway. Again.

And yes, part of her was screaming at the other part, What the hell are you doing??!!! It tended to do that a lot lately.

But the thing was that she’d been right. The friends thing really, really wasn’t working. And she had to do something, and the something definitely couldn’t be to just stop talking to him, because now that they’d started talking she sort of liked it. So the obvious solution was to try being…more than friends.

At least he wasn’t protesting; he was very definitely going along with the kissing thing. As soon as her lips had touched his, he’d pulled her forward, luckily having the foresight to unbuckle her seatbelt, and into his lap. One of his hands came around to cup the back of her head; the other went to her waist, pulling her more firmly against him. She smiled against the kiss and curled her fingers around the back of his neck, burying her fingers in the soft curls she found there. She could feel him poking her bottom; when she wriggled on top of him, he gasped.

“Buffy, what the hell—“

She silenced him for a few minutes, kissing him hard, opening her mouth and letting him explore it. When she was pretty sure he’d been distracted she whispered, “It’s all the driveway’s fault.”

He broke the kiss and raised his eyebrows inquisitively—but his expression lacked its normal sarcasm. He looked pretty flustered, actually. “The driveway, luv.”

Oooh, he was calling her luv. She melted a little bit more and tried hard to form a sentence. Her lips wouldn’t cooperate. Apparently, she was kind of flustered, too. “The driveway—every time we kiss, it’s in the driveway.”

“We’ve only kissed twice,” he pointed out.

“But both times, it’s been in the driveway.” She grinned at him. The ridiculousness of the conversation was helping shut up her inner Cordy, which seemed to be having heart palpitations.

He glanced up at her house. “Your parents home, kitten?”

Was it just her, or was he calling her pet names a lot? “Um, no. They’re both at work.”

He leaned forward and kissed her, a quick, clinging kiss. “Wanna test that whole driveway theory?” He opened the door and got out, cradling her in his arms.

“Huh?” It was a horribly blonde answer, but she was being carried to her door by a really, really hot guy whose hard-on was against her side. Talking was not a priority.

“You said it’s the driveway’s fault. Think we can accomplish the same thing on the couch?”

Spike. Couch. She and Spike on the couch. Buffy squirmed in anticipation. “Yuh-huh,” she said, nodding eagerly. She fumbled for her key and, when they reached the door, handed it to Spike. He jammed it into the lock, entered the house, and slammed the door, not even bothering to remove the key. He made a beeline for the couch and tossed her down before covering her body with his own.

It was insane, and she knew it was insane. But somehow, she just couldn’t stop.

“Wait…Spike…” she managed to get out right before he kissed her. She felt rather heroic for even managing that much, since he was on top of her and all.

He froze. “Yeah, Goldilocks?” His voice trembled a little; he seemed almost as nervous as she was.

“I just thought I’d tell you…” Her hand came up to cup his cheek gently, looking him in the eye. He’d given her a huge confession earlier that day, one that had pretty much wrecked the just-friends idea. He deserved to hear one, too.

“I want this,” she said quietly. “I mean, I have wanted this. I’m not…I can’t say it the way you would, but…when I saw you for the first time, when you stepped on my shoes…I thought you were the hottest guy I’d ever seen. The whole time we were fighting, I just wanted to jump you, right there in front of the whole school. And it really hasn’t stopped at all—the jump-wanting, I mean.” She smiled at him timidly. “Okay?”

Her face was burning up and she was way embarrassed, but the look on his face made up for everything. Awe mixed with gratitude and pure happiness—sort of the way she’d felt when he’d told her he watched her every night. It made her want him that much more.

And when he lowered his head and kissed her, fully and completely, plunging his tongue in and clutching her to him so tight it felt like she belonged to him, she really didn’t mind. In fact, it felt wonderfully, incredibly, indescribably right.

So she arched her back and met his embrace with one of her own. Both their kisses grew harder, more demanding; hands began to skim, hips began to move, and pure sensation took over. Buffy gasped, feeling like she was in heaven—

And the front door slammed open.

Before they could separate, Dawn walked in, saying, “Buffy, you idiot, don’t you know enough not to leave your key in the d---OH MY GOD!” She stood stock still, staring at her disheveled sister.

Buffy and Spike leapt up. Buffy tugged down her dress and said quickly, “Dawnie, wait, I can explain—“

“Dawn? Honey, what’s wrong?” they heard Hank yell. Dawn just stood there, staring at them, as he came nearer.

Buffy’s eyes met Spike’s. To her great satisfaction, he seemed just as annoyed their interruption as she was; of course, he also looked kind of scared. “You wanna go?” she said quickly as Hank neared the front door. Once he got inside, all hell would break loose.

“I don’t wanna leave you with them,” Spike said. “’s my fault, too.”

“If they meet you I’ll never be able to see you. Ever. Dad’ll make with the uber-parenting.”

“So what, it’s better if I leave?” Spike said disbelievingly.

Buffy forced herself to shrug. “If Dad doesn’t see you, he’ll try to pretend you don’t exist.”

“Right. Back door?”

Hank stomped up the steps. “In the kitchen,” Buffy told Spike hurriedly.

“’m gone.” Spike made as if to leave before halting and grabbing Buffy by the shoulders. He kissed her, quick and hard, before promising, “We’ll talk later, yeah?” and dashing for the kitchen. Unfortunately, he wasn’t quite fast enough. Seconds before he was out of sight, Hank caught a very good glimpse of the young man with the messed up hair—and put two and two together.

“Buffy Anne Summers!”

“Dad, it’s not what it sounds like, we were just—“

“Do I even know this guy?”

“It’s Spike Walsh. You know, the one she hates?” Dawn looked really weird, but Buffy couldn’t figure out why.

“Wait…the one you fight with all the time?”

“Um…” Buffy nibbled on her lower lip. Was her sister smiling? “Yeah, but we were just kissing, I swear, and only a little of that, it’s just the driveway is cursed so we figured we’d see if we could kiss in the house, too, or if it was just some weird supernatural concrete vibes or—“

“You little slut.” Hank stared at his daughter almost disbelievingly. “I put up with the clothes, I put up with the bad grades, I put up with the idiocy, but I will not have you fornicating in my house!”

“Wait, Dad,” Dawn protested, “They weren’t screwing, they were just kissing. I saw them. And—“

“You saw them?” Hank repeated, dangerous anger growing in his voice. “Dawn, go to your room.”

Dawn sent Buffy one last—regretful? No way. Definitely smug—look before running up the stairs.

As soon as Dawn’s door closed, Hank turned back to his older daughter. His face was perfectly calm, but his eyes were pure fury. “You little whore,” he said—in a perfectly nice voice, but the words cut like a knife. “So what, do you just part your legs for any dick that comes wandering by?”

“What?” Buffy stared at her father. He’d yelled at her before, but he’d never sounded so incredibly mean. “I’m not a—“

“Oh, please,” Hank snorted in disgust. “Spare me. I know your type. You even dress like a little streetwalker.”

Buffy gripped the strap of her dress. Spike had liked it…she’d thought it was pretty. “But, Daddy…” she began in a voice that sounded way more hurt than she really wanted it to, “I…”

“Shut the hell up and get in your room. You’re grounded.” His eyes narrowed. “For life, as far as I’m concerned. You’re not gonna go around screwing every guy you meet. I’m not payin’ for when you get knocked up, you hear me?”

No. No, she really didn’t. Because all she heard were the horrible accusations, the horrible words, that he was saying. Slut. Whore. Her parents had never been all that nice to her, but those words—what he was saying—it was so horrible. She felt something rise in her ears, until she could barely hear, and eyes that had been almost tearing in happiness awhile ago began to cry in utter desolation. “But—“

He pointed up at the stairs. “Get your ass up there, now,” he snapped. “We’ll talk about your punishments later.”

She still stared at him.

“What, are you stupid? Get the hell up to your room!” This time, he shouted loudly enough that Buffy was broken out of the strange trance she was in.

She forced her feet to move, to carry her up the stairs and into her room. She didn’t even make it to the upstairs hallway before the tears began coming in earnest—by the time she was in her room, she was sobbing. She threw herself down on the bed, curled up, her body shaking with the force of her cries.

Do you just part your legs for any dick that comes wandering by? How could he say that? To her? She knew she wasn’t his favorite daughter, she knew that her whole family hated her, but what he’d said—it went beyond cruelty. Those words coming from her father’s mouth, the pure hatred she’d seen in his eyes, the derision with which he’d regarded her clothing—it broke a heart that had already been hurt so many times by her family.

She should have been happy. She’d begun something with Spike back there. She wasn’t sure what, but something was definitely happening. Now, though—it was just a few minutes later, but it felt like the whole world was falling down around her. She couldn’t think about how happy she was that Spike and she had had a major makeout session. All she could think about was the devastation her father’s words had made her feel.

She was sobbing so loudly that she didn’t hear the knocking at her door for quite some time. By the time she did hear it, whoever was on the other end was pounding rather loudly.

“What the fuck do you want?” she yelled. The hostile words felt funny coming out of her mouth—had she ever said that word in front of her family before?

“Let me in!”

Dawn. Buffy considered just telling her to fuck off—God knows she deserved it. But then she remembered that Dawn had tried to defend her. Not much, and the younger girl had been a complete bitch often enough, but Dawn had tried. Buffy scowled. “This had better be good,” she yelled, and the doorknob turned. When Dawn entered Buffy snapped, “If you don’t have anything to say, I am so gonna pull out your ribcage and wear it as a hat.”

Dawn rolled her eyes. “What-ever,” she snapped. “Listen, I need to talk to you.”

“About what? I thought you were the frickin’ President of the We Hate Buffy Club,” Buffy snapped, putting at much hatefulness into her voice as possible. She couldn’t afford to hope that someone in her family liked her even in the least little bit. It would hurt her.

“Yeah, right.” Dawn crossed her arms and stared at Buffy. “That was Spike Walsh you were kissing, right?”

“Your point?”

“Spike’s, like, a legend at the junior high,” Dawn informed her haughtily.

“O-kay…” Buffy said slowly, waiting for Dawn to get to the point so Buffy could just kick her out already.

“So, he’s pretty smart,” Dawn said. “And I figure, if he likes you, you must be pretty smart, too.”

“Pretty smart of you,” Buffy said sarcastically.

“Yeah.” A pause. “So, um, congratulations. I hope it goes well.”

You could have heard a pin drop. After about a minute passed, Buffy decided she really should talk. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Dawn hesitated. For a moment it looked like she was going to say something else—but instead she just slipped out of the door quietly, leaving Buffy alone again.

Except this time, she didn’t cry. Because a part of her—just a tiny part, but a part all the same—was daring to hope that maybe, just maybe, she had an ally. A friend.

Maybe her whole family didn’t hate her after all.
 

Chapter 15:

She stared at the wall for a long time. It was white, with a few little scuff marks in it from when she was younger and thought doing headstands against the wall in Mary Janes was a fun thing to do.

She was contemplating switching her rapt attention from the wall to the ceiling when she heard the door slam: her mother was home.

The shouting started almost immediately. She knew it would continue for some time. If Dawn grew some courage and told their mother what her father had said, the yelling might keep going for days with almost no rest.

Buffy’s eyes strayed to the window. There had been a huge branch that went almost right up to the sill, but after her mom had discovered Buffy was using the branch to get to late night parties, she’d had it cut off.

But the tree was still there, and Buffy was starting to get desperate enough to think about using it. She really couldn’t stand being in here much longer, not with the words her father had said replaying in her ears constantly and the shouting going on downstairs.

She opened the window and leaned out, looking around. If she wanted to get to the tree, she’d have to jump a good six feet. She wasn’t sure she could do it without falling and breaking her neck.

Then again, if she stayed in her house much longer, she might all of a sudden get an urge to hang herself from a ceiling beam. Keeping that in mind, she quickly changed into jeans, a baby tee, and sneakers. She put one foot on the window sill and, grabbing the top of the window, eased herself half out of the frame.

That was when she made the mistake of looking down. The ground was kind of far away, and from two stories up, it looked very, very hard. If she fell on it, she’d never be able to kiss Spike again.

It was kind of disgusting how much that thought motivated her to just jump and get it over with.

So she braced her other foot on the windowsill. Now she was standing precariously on the edge of her window. It felt like just a strong breeze might blow her off. She bent her knees, bit her lip, aimed for a wide branch about six feet away, hoped she didn’t fall—and jumped.

She flew forward and a little down, wailing inside, thinking, I am so gonna die!

Fortunately for her, her feet hit bark, and her arms came up to wrap around the tree trunk, almost of their own accord. For a few seconds Buffy just clutched the trunk and kept her eyes shut tight. She was breathing rapidly, almost panting.

Then it began to slowly dawn upon her that she wasn’t dead—far from it, actually. She was alive and grabbing a tree and kind of afraid.

But also curious, so she cracked her eyes open—first her right, then her left. She peeked around, gazing curiously at the tree. She’d never been in the tree during the daytime. The sunlight was filtered by the leaves, making it pale green. It tinted everything, from the bark to the backs of her hands.

For a second she managed to forget that she was two stories up in a tree, and that the only reason she was there was that her father was the biggest asshole ever born. All she thought about was the sheer beauty, the sheer freedom, in knowing that she’d survived her clandestine little jump, and in simply being in the tree.

Her serenity was shattered when Dawn poked her head out the window. “Are you gonna get out of here, or what?” Her face was peevish, yet her expression lacked the pure malice it normally had.

“How’d you know I was up here?” Buffy demanded, surprised.

Dawn rolled her eyes, very much the younger sister. “You squealed.”

A blush crept up into her cheeks. “Oh.” Then suddenly it occurred to her just exactly who she was talking to. She scowled. “If you tell Mom or D-Dad, I swear to God I’ll chop you up into tiny pieces!”

Dawn just raised her eyebrows. “What-ever,” she said. “I’m not going to tell, okay?”

Was that a peace offering? She really wasn’t in the mood for peace offerings. “Yeah. Good.”

Dawn nodded and closed the window. Buffy watched her lock it—there was a rule in their house that windows had to be locked, and Buffy knew her parents would find out she’d gone much more quickly if Dawn hadn’t locked the window—and leave the room.

Okay. Now the question was, where should she go? She would’ve liked to go to Spike’s house, but after all that had happened, and all she didn’t know, she wasn’t sure if she was ready to face him just yet.

Not that she wasn’t sure how she felt. Well, okay, she wasn’t sure, but she knew what she wanted as far as he was concerned. She wanted to keep going. She wanted to be able to introduce him to people as her boyfriend. But after the fight she’d had with her dad—or, to be more exact, after the way her dad had screamed at her—she wasn’t sure how he felt. For one thing, she didn’t know how much he’d heard. And if he had heard the whole thing, she wasn’t sure he’d want to get involved. She’d had lots of friends whose love interests hadn’t wanted to ‘go out’ officially because of parent issues.

It was all dauntingly complicated.

So, who could she talk to? Buffy hugged the tree trunk as she considered her options. Anya would just tell her that she was insane and instruct her to go over to Spike’s house to receive many orgasms. Oz wouldn’t say anything at all—and anyway, she barely knew Oz. Xander would go off on a tangent about how horrible her dad was, and Faith—Faith wasn’t too talented when it came to sensitive stuff. Buffy felt a twinge of guilt when she even thought of Tara. She couldn’t burden Tara when the poor girl’s grandmother was in the hospital.

That left Willow. Buffy frowned as she thought of the redhead. She wasn’t really feeling too warm and snuggly towards Wills at the moment because of the whole Tara thing...but then, she had seemed sorry, and she and Buffy were friends, right? Friends forgave each other.

Buffy slithered down from the tree, trying frantically to remember where Willow lived. She’d never actually been over to the girl’s house, but she’d passed it a few times...maybe...

She started off, intent on getting to her friend’s house. What she failed to notice was that the black DeSoto had never left her driveway.

*

Dawn watched her sister go, wondering if Buffy even knew that Spike had never left the house. Probably not. You could have heard her crying in China—not that Dawn was blaming her, or anything. If Dad had called her a slut she’d have set him on fire.

After watched her sister walk off at a surprising speed for an emotionally damaged dumb blonde, Dawn turned away from the window and crept downstairs. When she was a few stairs down she stopped, listening to her parents bicker.

“I walked in and she was on the couch with some boy on top of her, acting like the biggest slut I’ve ever seen—“

“Hank! Don’t talk about your daughter that way!”

“Don’t you talk to me like you think I’m a child! She’s your daughter too, Joyce, and if you think for one second that I’m going to let her grow up into a stupid, ill-educated little whore, then you’re—“

“Hank! I swear to God if you say one more awful thing about Buffy I will—“

“Oh, please.” Now their father sounded scornful. “It’s not like I said it to her face—and you’ve said it yourself enough times.”

Dawn’s mouth fell open at that. Her father was lying to her mother—and about calling Buffy names that he should never have said to his kid, too!

She should interfere. Common sense, plus also the stuff they always taught you in kindergarten about sharing and niceness and everything, said that she should go downstairs and tell her mother what had really happened. But the thing was that if she did, she was pretty sure she’d get yelled at. Yeah, her parents liked her, but they didn’t like her that much.

But then she remembered the sobbing she’d heard, and the look on her sister’s face when Dawn had gone into her room. What their father had said had been unforgivable. The fact that he was lying to their mother made it more so.

She’d made her decision. Setting her jaw stubbornly, she clomped down the stairs and practically ran into the living room. “He’s lying!” she announced as soon as they saw her. “He called Buffy a slut and a whore and said that she would spread her legs for any dick that came wandering by and a bunch of other stuff that I don’t remember and maybe I should go now,” she blurted out, seeing the horrified look on Joyce’s face and the infuriated glare Hank was giving her.

Before she even left the room, Joyce was screaming again. “You said that? To Buffy? Hank, you inconsiderate, nasty, lying, low-down asshole!”

“Hey! Bitch had it coming to her, fucking some guy on our couch...”

Dawn darted out the front door, but not before she heard her mother’s hand connect with her father’s face. This should be fun, she thought bitterly.

It didn’t surprise her to see Spike leaning against the side of their house, smoking. What did surprise her was when he didn’t glance at her like he wanted to kill her, or something. Hadn’t Buffy complained about how awful she was?

“So, think your mum’ll mind ‘f I kill your da?” Spike asked conversationally.

“Mom’s almost as mean as he is,” Dawn answered sullenly. “She’s never called Buffy names like that, but...”

Spike sighed. “No need to explain, Bit,” he told her. “I get it. ‘s far as I know, you were just as bad as the ‘rents.”

Dawn stared into space, remembering. “Yeah,” she finally admitted quietly, “I was.”

“And what, you’re all better now?”

Dawn glared at him. His face was completely expressionless, so there was no way for her to tell what he was thinking. “No. I just don’t know anything anymore. Buffy’s nice,” she began, brow furrowed, trying hard to understand what she was thinking even as she put it into words, “Really nice. I didn’t realize that before. And the only reason our parents like me is because I let them tell me what to do and I never fight them on it. I’m, like, their pet cow, or something.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Pet cow?”

“Cows follow people around and never think for themselves,” Dawn explained.

“You’re a bit skinny to be a cow,” Spike argued.

Dawn threw up her hands in exasperation. “Whatever! The point is that our parents suck and now that I finally know it I want to be friends with Buffy, except she doesn’t even really like me so I don’t think we can be, and it really sucks because she’s cool and she’s dating you and you’re like a legend as far as academics go, and—“

Spike was studying her, head cocked. “Breathin’ really isn’t an issue for you, is it?”

“Um. Yeah. But not when I’m upset.”

“Right, then. First off, we’re not dating.”

Now it was Dawn’s turned to give him the I Wasn’t Born Yesterday look. “Puh-leeze. Being thirteen doesn’t make me automatically stupid, you know.”

“You sure about that?”

“Can we just get to the point? This is ridiculous!” And nonsensical. Dawn didn’t like nonsensical.

“Well, ‘f I knew what the point is, maybe I would.”

“You idiot! The point is—“ Dawn stopped dead when she realized that she, too, didn’t know the point. “Um...” He was smirking. She really hated it when people smirked. Well, unless it was her doing the smirking. Then it was okay.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, face turning bright red.

“A’right, then,” Spike said. Why he was so satisfied with her answer was beyond her.

“Oh! I was gonna say one thing. You can’t kill my dad! I don’t think my mom would like it,” Dawn explained triumphantly, having finally remembered what she was going to say before going off on a tangent.

“Yeah, cuz I never woulda been able to figure that out myself,” Spike said, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

“Well, that’s one thing I was gonna say. The other thing is...Buffy needs you,” Dawn explained quietly. “What our dad said hurt her. She was crying in her room.”

He dropped the cigarette and crushed it under his boot. “Any idea where she’s headed?”

Dawn shook her head. “Probably a friends’ house. That’s what she always used to do when Dad or Mom would yell at her.”

“You mean this has happened before?”

Wow. If looks could kill, he’d blow the whole world up. All of a sudden, Dawn was extremely glad that he wasn’t mad at her, because she kind of wanted to live to see 14. “Um, not so much with the name-calling, but the yelling and stuff...yeah.”

“Do you yell at her?” He was quiet now, but she wasn’t dumb enough to think that meant he was calm.

“Um...no. I just told on her and was mean and nasty and stuff.”

“Was?”

“As of today, I’ve stopped. Our parents suck ass,” Dawn said bluntly.

He gave her another one of those looks that she couldn’t interpret before saying, “Was?”

“My parents can go stuff themselves,” Dawn said firmly. “I’m tired of them.”

“Well, good.” He stood up abruptly, pushing himself off of the wall he’d been leaning on. “Look, Bit, it’s been a great talk and all, but I gotta go find m’ girl, okay?”

Dawn just nodded. She watched him pull out of the driveway with a smile.

The whole world was sorta sucky right now—but Dawn was still a little happy, because as unbelievable as it was, she wanted Buffy to be happy. And with Spike walking around acting all protective and calling Buffy “his girl”...well...who wouldn’t be happy?

She sat on the step for a long time after the DeSoto drove off, staring into space. Buffy was luckier than she knew. She had a boyfriend, and friends. She had somewhere she belonged.

Dawn was starting to realize that she really didn’t.

~*~

 

Chapter 16:

“Oh my God, Buffy...that’s awful!” Willow exclaimed, concern on her face. “Was Spike there?”

“I don’t know,” Buffy admitted. “I mean, I told him to go, but knowing Spike, he probably stuck around.”

“Wow...I’m surprised he didn’t help, or at least try to talk to you,” Willow said. “He’s not generally one for—you know—sitting back and not doing anything.”

Buffy shrugged. “I ran up to my room. He might not’ve known where I was,” she said nonchalantly, trying to hide the hurt she felt at the truth in Willow’s words. Why hadn’t Spike comforted her? Wasn’t that what boyfriends were supposed to do?

Except that they weren’t really dating, were they? They’d just had an awesome makeout session on her couch, was all. So he didn’t really owe her any comforting, and she shouldn’t be expecting any.

But dammit, she wanted it!

Willow was watching her friend closely—she was good at that. It didn’t surprise Buffy in the least that her next words were, “You want him to come and comfort you, don’t you?”

“Um...just a little,” Buffy admitted, covering her face in her hands. “This is so dumb...”

“No, no it’s not,” Willow hastened to assure her. “You never know, he might have been looking for something pointy to stab your dad with...not that that’s a good thing, because violence is not the answer, but—“

Buffy was sort of looking forward to a comforting Willow rant about how of course Spike was on his way to comfort her—but no such luck, because the phone rang. Willow snatched it up immediately, her look growing even more anxious, a feat Buffy hadn’t thought was possible. “Tara? Is your grandmother—oh, boy. Yeah—uh-huh. Buffy’s over...no, it’s her dad. Yeah, I can, I’ll get them over...see you.”

Willow hung up the phone, worry in her eyes. “It’s Tara’s grandmother. I told you she was in the hospital, right?” At Buffy’s nod, Willow continued, “Well, it’s getting worse. She’s barely holding on. The stroke she had, it damaged her, her brain, and the doctors are saying she’s only got a little while left—as in, days, maybe hours.” Willow took a deep breath. “Tara’s really upset.”

“Oh my God...” To Buffy’s shame, though she was incredibly concerned about Tara, the first thought was, “Is Spike going to come to the hospital with us?”

Willow looked at her in surprise as she blushed bright red, but the words that came out of her mouth were not what Buffy expected. “You’re coming to the hospital with us?”

“Well, yeah,” she said, unconsciously imitating Spike, from the words to the tone to the look on her face, “Tara’s my friend too, you know.”

“But I didn’t even tell you her grandmother was sick,” Willow said, a perplexed look on her face.

She sighed impatiently. “Look, Wills, I know that up until like a week ago I was this total bitch, but Tara’s my friend, and I’m going to come with the rest of you to the hospital to see Tara and her grandma. Okay?”

“But—after the thing with your dad, and the, the couch—“

“Willow.” Buffy deliberately made her voice firm. “I’m going and that’s the end of it. Okay?”

Willow gave her a small smile. “Right. I’ll just call everybody.”

Twenty minutes and a round of phone calls later, Buffy and Willow were ready to leave. The plan was for the gang to meet in the hospital waiting room, where Tara would be waiting for them. When Willow and Buffy arrived, Xander, Anya and Spike were already waiting for them. Oz and Faith arrived soon after.

When Willow and Buffy walked in, Tara was releasing Spike. When the girl rushed over to talk to Willow, Buffy walked closer to Spike, stopping a few feet away from him.

“Um,” she said, “Hi.”

“Yeah. Hi.”

Silence.

“Listen,” Spike blurted out, “I wasn’t tryin’ to eavesdrop, but I heard what your da said, an’ I would’ve just run in an’ killed the ponce, but blood’s damn hard to get out of the carpet, so—“

If she was a nice person, she would have stopped him before he got so nervous he started rambling about blood and carpets and Oxy-Clean. Fortunately she had a mean streak to rival his—she let him keep talking for about three minutes before she stopped him by laying her hand on his arm.

“Spike.”

He froze and met her eyes. “Yeah, pet?”

“Shut up,” she advised affectionately.

He swallowed hard before nodding.

“So...you heard him call me a slut, and all that?” She said nervously. The fact that he’d heard her made her feel—dirty, somehow. Unwanted.

He moved closer, gripping her shoulders tightly. She was staring at the hospital floor—he placed his fingers under her chin and forced her to look at him. “Hey. It’s not your fault.”

Tears sprang to her eyes. “But all I did was stand there. And then I ran away,” she whispered, trying to explain the emotions roiling inside her. “And it made me feel—I felt—“ she bit her lip, trying hard not to look away or to start crying. Both would be equally awful.

“Degraded?” he finished for her, moving closer.

Okay. That was it. Tearsville for Buffy Summers. For about the third time that day tears came streaming out of her eyes. Her hands came up to hug herself out of reflex, but when they reached her shoulders she realized that someone was already there.

She was nestled in Spike’s arms, being held gently but firmly as she cried. She let the tears flow for a few minutes before looking up at him. “Thanks,” she whispered gratefully.

He leaned down again, pressing his lips to hers in a brief, comforting kiss, before turning back to the group of friends that was staring at them, open-mouthed.

“Um...we’re kinda together now,” Buffy told everybody.

“As in, officially?” Xander asked.

“Uh-huh.” Buffy beamed at them, silently praying that they’d accept it.

Faith grinned. “Good on you, B,” she said. “We were gonna start a betting pool on when you and Bleach-Boy got it on.”

“Faith!” Willow scolded. “She wasn’t supposed to know about it!”

That made even Tara crack a smile, but everyone sobered quickly. Buffy gulped and walked over to her friend. “How’s your grandma?” she asked quietly.

“C-critical condition,” Tara managed to get out. “Th-they said there’s n-nothing we can do.” Tears swam in the back of her eyes.

“Oh, God.” Buffy leaned in and hugged her friend, offering her the only comfort she could. “I’m so sorry.”

Tara smiled at her. “I’m just glad you guys are here,” she said quietly. “I—I’m having trouble with...she was close to me.”

Buffy nodded. “I understand—well, I don’t,” she corrected herself. “But we’re here for you.”

Spike walked up to her and slipped his hand into hers, squeezing gently. She smiled at him—though they still needed to talk, he was willing to offer her comfort. “We’re all here for you,” he told Tara sincerely.

Tara nodded. “Thank you,” she said quietly. She glanced at the clock, her eyes widening when she took in the time. “I should—I should get back,” she explained. “I’ve left her alone for awhile, and—“

“We get it,” Oz told her. “Go.”

Tara gave him a grateful look before leaving.

They all wandered back to the uncomfortable hospital chairs. After a moment Anya said, “So we’re all sitting here in a waiting room, doing absolutely nothing, because Tara needs moral support but we’re not allowed in her grandmother’s room?”

“Anya,” Willow began in a reproving voice, “That was—“

“Hey! It was not mean,” Anya defended herself. “All I did was say what everyone else was thinking.”

“Well, yeah, but we’re trying to be nice to Tara, Ayn,” Xander tried to explain. “Pointing out the obvious isn’t good when it’s not nice.”

Anya flung herself down into a chair, scowling. “Well, it’s not like I said anything horrible,” she said. “I was merely pointing out the futility of the situation.”

“Which didn’t need to be pointed out,” Buffy said quietly.

Anya stared at her. “Nobody asked you, Little Miss Cheerleader!”

“Hey!” Spike snapped. His grip on her hand tightened. “Watch it, Anya.”

Anya looked at him contemptuously. “Bite me, Spike.”

Buffy cocked an eyebrow at him. “If you do I’ll break up with you,” she said frankly.

“Even if I do it in a nice place?” he asked, smirking.

She crinkled her nose when the innuendo sank in. “Okay, ew?” she offered, before turning back to Anya. “And for your information, I quit cheerleading,” she said in a snooty voice.

“You did?” Spike asked, grinning.

Buffy nodded. “I called Cordy Saturday and told her I was quitting the squad. She wasn’t exactly disappointed.”

“Okay, that still doesn’t mean you have any right to criticize me!” Anya said, still clearly annoyed.

“I don’t need your permission to voice my opinion!” Buffy snapped back.

“Guys! Can we just stop?” Willow walked between them. “Because Tara’s important to all of us, and if you keep being big meanies to each other I’ll smack you both.”

“Oh, please. Like you could.” Anya rolled her eyes. “Uber-geeks can’t fight.”

“Ayn, honey, I need to talk to you.” Xander gently placed his hands on her shoulders. “First off, you’re being a bitch. Also, see the look on Willow’s face? That’s her resolve face, meaning that she’ll kick your ass into the next century if you even try to fight with Buffy anymore.”

To everyone’s surprise, Anya sniffled. “I’m sorry, I know I’m being mean, I just—Tara’s grandma is the first one, but what about everyone else’s grandmas? And grandpas? I don’t want anyone to die.”

“That’s the way it is, Anya,” Willow told her quietly.

“I don’t have to like it,” Anya shot back.

“But you do have to deal with it, so stop the whining already,” Faith ordered, rolling her eyes. “Damn. You guys’re like a bunch of two-year-olds!”

“Sorry,” Buffy apologized. Anya soon followed, and everyone settled back into their not-so-comfy chairs.

They couldn’t go home; Tara needed them. All they could do was wait.
 

Chapter 17:

Ten o’clock at night came and went, and still the group sat in the vinyl chairs. They hadn’t talked much, because there was really nothing to say. Tara came out often, staying with them for as long as an hour at a time. After talking for what felt to almost everybody like forever, Faith managed to convince one of the (male) doctors to let them go into Tara’s grandmother’s room. Willow and Xander knew the woman, so they went in and talked to her for awhile.

Buffy sighed and laid her head on Spike’s shoulder. She could understand why they were there, even though they were completely useless, but she still hated the situation.

“G-guys?” Tara’s quiet voice interrupted everyone’s thoughts. “Look, it’s late, and the doctors say that her condition isn’t likely to change. You should head home.”

“Tara, we’ve been through this. We’re here to support her, so that’s what we’re going to do.”

“Xander.” Tara’s voice was quiet but firm. “You need to leave. You guys have school tomorrow.”

“And you don’t?” Xander said challengingly.

“I’m excused. Family emergency.”

Buffy wrinkled her nose at Spike. “Think we should go?” she asked in a whisper as the others continued to argue.

Spike nodded. “Like she said, it’s late. We’re damn near useless and ‘f we don’t get come rest we’ll be completely knackered come tomorrow.”

Buffy sighed. She knew he was right, but still...”I don’t wanna go home,” she admitted, resting her head on his shoulder.

His fingers came up to touch her hair. She almost sighed at the emotions that simple touch could elicit. “We can’t live at the hospital, pet.”

“Why not?” Buffy pouted.

He tapped her bottom lip playfully. “Now, don’t you be gettin’ all pouty on me,” he said teasingly. “And we can’t live here ‘cuz hospitals are for sick people, you silly bird.”

“But...” she trailed off, recognizing the futility of the situation. “Oh, fine,” she said, sighing and getting up. “Although you’re pretty sick, you know.”

He smirked. “Wrong kind, kitten.”

After they said goodbye to Tara, Willow approached Buffy. “My mom’s gonna come and pick me up,” she told the blonde. “Do you want a ride home?”

Buffy looked at Spike, who took her hand again and said, “I’ll get her back, Red.”

Willow smiled, which made Buffy frown. She didn’t like that smile. It was too...smile-ey. “What?” she said grumpily.

“Nothing,” Willow said quickly. “You guys just make a cute couple, is all.”

“Bloody hell, pet. Did you just growl?”

~*~

They argued about it almost the whole way back. Buffy claimed that she hadn’t growled, and that even if she had it had nothing to do with the fact that Willow had called them a couple. There was really nothing unusual in it. She was perfectly fine with them being called a “cute couple”.

He just laughed at her.

Both their laughter died when the DeSoto reached Buffy’s house, though, because all of a sudden they both realized that their ridiculous half-argument had been stalling and nothing more. The fact was that in a few minutes they’d be parted, she’d be back in her home—and they still hadn’t talked about what had happened after the couch incident.

Spike glanced at the girl beside him and sighed. She was staring at the house, eyes wide, clearly reluctant to go in. He still couldn’t believe what he’d heard her father say. If her mum didn’t divorce the bastard, he might just kill him, messy or not. No one get to treat her like that, he thought savagely, gripping the steering wheel.

“I guess I should go in,” Buffy said quietly, interrupting his mind-rant.

“Uh, right.” He tried to focus on her. Her head was down, much the way it had been when he’d seen her that evening at the hospital. All of a sudden his anger drained away, to be replaced with an overwhelming urge to hold her, protect her, from everything that made her beautiful face bear that expression.

Suddenly he had an idea. Granted, it was an idea that was rather stupid, but—“You wanna come home with me?”

Her little mouth fell open. “Huh?”

God, she was adorable when she was all confused like that. “I said, you wanna come home with me? I mean, I doubt the ‘rents’ll notice ‘f you don’t slip in tonight.”

She grimaced. “Probably not. But I can’t anyway.”

“Why?”

“I don’t have any clothes,” she explained.

“So I’ll get you some. You just stay here, an’ I’ll shimmy up the tree and grab ‘em.” he started to unbuckle his seat belt. Part of him was feeling like a complete ponce for being so pushy about this, but the other part was insisting that now that he’d voiced the daft idea, he’d be damned if he let it go.

“Spike! Would you think about this, just for one second? How in the world are you planning on sneaking me past your parents? They’ll, like, kill me! Especially your uber-bitch of a mother!”

Okay, she had a point. But still...”Fine, then. ‘ll come into your room.”

Now she was staring at him, which in his book wasn’t such a bad thing, because he got to look at her eyes to his heart’s content. “Spike, you’re really insane, aren’t you?”

“What? No!” Silly bird, why’d she think he was insane?

“Okay, first of all, if you didn’t come home your parents would, like, start a search party. And also, you don’t have any more clothes, so unless you want to go to school tomorrow stinky or naked...” she trailed off, giving him that smug little I-told-you-do look that he’d so loved back when they fought all the time.

Two could play that game. He smirked and sidled closer. “Bet you’d like ‘f I came naked, wouldn’t you, luv?”

Her eyes widened. “N-no,” she stuttered. “Not a bit.”

Though she was truly adorable when she got all flustered like that, he left off—he was tryin’ to charm his way into her house. “Look, you go on into your house, an’ I’ll drive back in a few minutes and come up through your window. Just keep it open, yeah?”

She frowned at him. “You’re gonna stay in my bedroom?”

“Yeah, pet.” He smiled gently, trying as hard as he could to seem unthreatening. He really couldn’t understand why, but the thought of not being near her tonight was damn near torturous.

She blinked, and for a second he was sure she’d refuse. Then, to his amazement, she smiled her beautiful smile and said, “Okay!”

His mouth was open. He probably looked like a soddin’ fish, but he couldn’t seem to concentrate enough to close it. How could he be so spellbound just by her smile?

Wonderful. Now he’d drifted off again like a complete poof. “Uh, right then. Guess I’ll go get m’ clothing and...stuff.” Bloody hell. Welcome back, William.

She smiled again, a slow smile that he’d seen only a few times on her face. It was the smile that said she knew exactly what she was doing to him. Oh, balls. “See you, then.” She opened the passenger-side door and slid off the seat, an action that made him gulp, before walking bouncily to the door—another action that made him shift uncomfortably. Dammit. He knew he was in trouble when just watching a pretty bird walk gave him a stiffy.

With a resigned sigh, he headed back to his house. Sneakin’ in might take awhile, and he wanted to be back at the Summers house as soon as possible.

*

Her bouncy step and happy face disappeared as she crept up the stairs. She was still waiting for the eventual talk with Spike about what, exactly, was going on between them. Because the whole him staying the night thing? Totally, insanely freaky.

Not that she didn’t want him to stay, or anything. Because she did. A lot. But at the same time, she wasn’t so sure, because she didn’t know how far he wanted to go. She was a girl, so she was thinking they’d just cuddle. But she hadn’t exactly missed Spike Jr. in the car, and she didn’t know if he’d want to...act on his urges.

The idea that he did, and that he’d be mad if she didn’t want to, was uber-freaky.

Once she was safely in her room, she opened the window before going into her closet and changing into gym shorts and a loose t-shirt. She kept her underwear on.

Ears perked for even the slightest sound outside, she crawled into bed, hesitantly pulling the covers over herself. This is not a date, this is not a sexy late-night rendezvous thingy, this is just...comfort. And some really uncomfortable talking about what a butthead Dad is. That’s all.

And that sarcastic inner Cordy said, Right, Buffy. Just how long are you going to keep telling yourself that?

She sighed and lay back on the pillows. Whether or not she was nervous, she had invited him in, and he was coming. She just had to wait for him.

Twenty minutes later, she was still waiting, and starting to fall asleep. Geez. He wore the same thing every day—what was taking him so long?

Thud. “Bloody hell!”

Buffy smiled as the body fell into her room. “Hi, Spike,” she whispered. “Keep it down, okay?”

He righted himself. She couldn’t really see very well in the dark, but somehow she knew he was glaring at her. “That window’s damn hard to get into, you know that?”

She giggled. “Because my parents don’t approve of boys who sneak into my room as eleven at night,” she told him as he came closer.

“That so?” His voice was quiet, thoughtful. It made her shiver. “Do your parents approve ‘f boys who come into your room to ravage their daughter?” He crawled onto the bed until he was hovering over her.

She laid her hands on his shoulders. “You’re still dressed,” she said in surprise. Why wasn’t he in pajamas? Unless...

Oh, crap. She could feel her face getting redder. “Oh.”

He smirked and lowered himself till he lay half beside her, half on her. “Didn’t wanna scare you, luv.”

“What if I wanna be scared?” she asked playfully, wriggling under him.

“Oh, God. Pet, ‘f you wanna actually get some sleep, don’ do that.”

“What’re you going to do, spill it in your pants?” Buffy challenged playfully.

He gritted his teeth before doing something completely unexpected: he swept down and blanketed her lips with his, scraping her lower lip, plunging his tongue into her mouth. It made Buffy’s world spin, so she clung to him—and then blinked in confusion when all the heat and spinney-ness left.

He rolled over so that he was lying next to her. “That answer your question, luv?”

“Um...yeah, I think so.” Buffy almost scowled when she heard her voice. Could she be any more frightened schoolgirl?

That thought in mind, she rolled over and ran a hand down his chest, taking time to fully appreciate his muscles, before skimming down and just barely flicking the zipper fly of his jeans. “Think you should give yourself a little more freedom? I’d hate to see you ruin a pair of jeans.”

“Right, ‘cuz you’re so irresistible that ‘ll spill it just by lyin’ next to you,” Spike shot back, his voice heavy with playful sarcasm.

She let her knuckles graze across his hard-on just the slightest bit. When he jumped, hips thrusting in the air, she smiled smugly and said, “You know? I really do.”

Not that she wasn’t just as turned on herself. The whole underwear thing was turning out to be a really good idea, because the bottom of her panties were completely soaked.

“Bloody hell,” he moaned. “You’re gonna kill me, pet.”

“But what a way to go, right?” She grinned.

“Actually, if ‘m gonna kick the bucket right now, I’d rather be—“ he broke off, lunging for her. Before she even had time to squeal he’d pinned her to the bed, his lower body weighing her down, emphasizing just how much her little brushes had aroused him. “—here,” he finished, smirking down at her. “Hello, kitten.”

She couldn’t make herself say anything—she was too shocked.

He pushed his hips into hers slightly, making her catch her breath. God, was he making with the sexiness or what? “You are such a pig,” she managed to get out, wrinkling her nose at him. “Jeez, you’re even so pale you’re practically pink.”

His smirk didn’t diminish in the slightest. “Oink oink,” he whispered, letting a hand stray to her breast and just graze the nipple, imitating what she’d done to his cock a few minutes ago.

“Oh God.” The exclamation flew out of her mouth before she could stop it. “You really are a pig, you know that? Being all sexy and everything.”

“What can I say?” he shrugged, a purely evil grin on his face. “Just can’t help myself.”

“Spike.” Her tone stopped the half-playful banner.

His face became immediately serious. “Yeah?”

“I just want you to know—“ she broke off, taking a deep breath. It would be nice if she knew what was going to come out of her mouth before it actually happened. “I’m not—this isn’t gonna be easy, with the fact that both our sets of parents suck beyond the telling of it and everything.”

“I know,” he said quietly. Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to her lips before again rolling off of her. This time, though, he pulled her into his arms. “You’re right ‘bout one thing, luv—‘m a right pig when I wanna be. I get what I want, an’ now, I want this to work. So it’s going to, simple as that.”

She smiled at his assured tone. “Yes, sir,” she said, snuggling into his arms. She could still feel his—erm—thingy—but neither of them really wanted to act on it.

Yet.

“Look, baby. Your dad’s a bastard, your mum’s not that much better. ‘f I could knock some sense into ‘em, I would.”

“You didn’t mention Dawn,” Buffy felt the need to point out.

She felt him smile. Funny how she was so close she could feel his expressions. She snuggled a little closer. How could muscles that were so hard and strong-looking be so soft and comforting?

“Bit’s okay,” he told her.

“Humph.”

Now he chuckled. “Anyway—point is—‘m here for you. Always,” he said seriously.

Now she smiled, squeezing him in a horizontal hug. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem,” he assured her, before adjusting them so they lay more comfortably against the pillows. “Now, get some sleep, yeah?”

Sleep. That sounded good, especially since given the muscles and the warmth and the fact that this was Spike, and right now she really didn’t want it to be anyone else, she was drifting off already. “Night, Spike,” she whispered.

“’night, kitten.”

And then, just like that, she fell into the best sleep she’d had since she was a toddler.

~*~

 

Chapter 18:

Spike didn’t. Fall asleep, that is.

He really should’ve. Stayin’ awake like a nancy-boy, stroking his girl’s hair—that had never been his style. He didn’t have the patience for it.

But tonight, all he really wanted to do was lie there and bask in the knowledge that the girl who’d hated him for three years—the one he’d loved for longer than that—was lying in his arms.

Wait. Hold that thought. Spike suddenly stiffened, scowling.

Loved?

Bloody, sodding, buggering, rat-ass-shagging hell.

He was a dense one, wasn’t he? That whole sodding time at the hospital where he’d just sat with her, the fact that every time she smiled, or laughed, or—bloody hell—even just looked at him he went straight back to bein’ William...it all pointed to one thing. He was head over heels, point-of-no-return, bloody-awful-poetry-inspiring in love with her.

Damned if he wasn’t love’s bitch.

What was pathetic was that he hadn’t known earlier. He’d always loved fighting her; hell, for a little while, he’d practically lived for it. Every day he used to look forward to clashing with her, to fighting and eventually coming out on top—or not, depending on the day.

He was startin’ to think this was better than fighting.

She was so small, so soft, lying there in his arms. He’d never really realized how tiny she was before. She was a shirty little thing, usually—when he was fighting with her, he didn’t even really think about height.

He stroked her newly golden hair and sighed into the darkness. She was lying in his arms—that was progress. But he didn’t have any way of knowing whether or not his feelings were reciprocated.

Reciprocated. Sodding hell. Poetic thoughts and big words. He really was far gone, wasn’t he?

She shifted in his arms; automatically, he shifted with her. Christ, they fit so well together. He’d slept with enough girls to know that this was different from anything he’d ever experienced before, different even from what most kids his age experienced. This was special.

Goddamn it.

Not that he wasn’t glad it was special, or anything. Because he was. But how the bleeding hell was he supposed to make sure she felt the same way? He could exactly just shake her and say, “Hey, pet, are you as head over heels in love with me as I am with you?”

Oh, God. Now he’d said the word in his head. Talk about the point of no buggerin’ return...

He was contemplating just jumping out the window when the girl lying in his arms gave out a little sigh and shifted, gripping his arm like it was a comfort blanket. Her face was perfectly peaceful.

How the bloody hell was he supposed to hate this whole falling in love business when she pulled delightful little stunts like that?

And he could see down her shirt, which wasn’t exactly wonderful because it was making him get a hard-on, which she was lying on. It was a vicious circle. And yeah, he could have fixed it by just not looking—but her tits were right there. Anyone would’ve looked at them. Hell, their stuffy, never-been-shagged English teacher woulda looked at ‘em. And Spike had shagged and been shagged enough times to know that her breasts were rather nice ones.

The images they were causing to form in his mind were nice, too, the same way that fire was nice—get too close, an’ you get burned.

Although with his luck, by the time this night was over, he’d be so damn horny all he’d be able to think or say would be caveman-like.

Her leg twined with his, pressing her stomach more firmly into his burgeoning erection. He barely bit back a groan. Come sunrise, he’d be lucky if he could manage saying “Fire pretty.”

And the worst part? He felt like the biggest prick ever born. Moments like this were supposed to be all “Gone With the Wind”, not “Penthouse XXX.” He was supposed to cuddle her, maybe kiss her forehead, not spend all sodding night wishing he could sink himself into her and pound her into the mattress.

He groaned as the visualization made him twitch. ’m a soddin’ idiot, he thought angrily. God knows she deserves better.

She sighed again in her sleep; he echoed her. Thank God she doesn’t seem to want it.

Though he was sure that with Spike Jr. making himself known he’d be up all night, after awhile he began to drift off. After awhile, he was able to relax enough to drift into full-fledged sleep, Buffy still in his arms.

*

Shouting woke him up.

He damn near sat bolt upright before he realized that Buffy was sprawled practically on top of him. Even with worry roiling round in his stomach, he couldn’t help but smile fondly.

He’d been awakened by shouting coming from the downstairs. He listened closely for a moment before recognizing Buffy’s parents’ voices. He couldn’t hear clearly enough to know what they were saying, but he’d bet a pretty penny they were arguing about what that bastard had said to Buffy.

Their voices got closer. Spike must have tensed up, because suddenly Buffy stirred and opened her eyes.

“Spike?” she said quietly, her voice slurred from sleep. “What’s going on?”

“Shh, love.” He pointed to the clock: 1:27 AM. “Looks like your mum and da ‘re having a row.”

Buffy groaned, slumping back down on his chest. “That sentence was too damn British for the middle of the night.”

He smirked. “You think that’s British, luv, you’re gonna lose your knickers ‘f I ever decide to talk like a real Brit.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’d hate that,” she mumbled. “Now shut up. Sleep good.”

He grinned at her sweetly grumpy attitude—and at the images that floated through his mind with her comment. “Dunno, pet, they seem pretty mad. Might come up here to check on you.”

She stiffened again. “Oh, shit! The door’s not locked!”

She bounded off the bed and practically ran over to the door, pushing the simplistic lock down. Spike arched an eyebrow at her. “Not gonna be much protection, luv,” he informed her. “Pop a screwdriver in there and we’re caught.”

She wrinkled that little button nose of hers at him. “You think my parents are that smart?”

He grinned. “Point taken.” Then he got an idea. He smirked, crooking his finger at her. “C’mere.”

Her eyes instantly turned wary—he gloried in the idea that lying in her bed, he could put her on her guard. “What’re you gonna do?”

He smirked. “Guess.”

“I don’t wanna.” Childishly, she stayed near the door.

He gave a derisive snort. “Knew you wouldn’t have the stones. Just like you, Summers, you let a man get into your bed, and then you get skittish later on.”

“Hey!” she snapped indignantly. Her eyes lit up with that fire that he loved so much. “I got stone! I got a whole lot of—stones!”

He smirked again. He couldn’t help it. Bein’ in her bed, surrounded by her scent, was turning him into both a ponce and a wanker at the same time. “D’you even know what stones are, Goldilocks?”

Her angry expression faltered. “Um…not exactly…”

“Balls, luv.”

He watched in delight as a bright red blush, visible even in the pale light cast by her bedside lamp, spread across her face. Funny how after snogging and nearly shagging him on the couch, she chose now the blush.

“Um. I knew that.”

“Right, then. Come back to bed, pet.”

She neared the bed, but he could see that she was scowling. “God. Do you have to make it sound like that?”

“Like what?” Spike said in a deliberately innocent voice, even though he was pretty sure he knew what she was talking about.

“Like we’re—like we just—you know,” she hissed.

She was blushing again. God, he loved that. ‘course, he loved everything about her, but he particularly loved the blushing. She was so damn tempting…

And just a few feet away from the bed. He rolled over, the sheet slipping off of him, and grabbed her wrist, yanking her to him. She let out a little “eep!” as her knees hit the edge of the bed and she tumbled into his lap.

She scowled at him. “Cheater.”

“You know you love it,” he shot back, leaning up and covering her lips with his.

What ensued afterwards was, to Spike at least, the purest form of heaven there was. She was so soft, so warm, and so incredibly enthusiastic—she seemed happy beyond measure to be writhing about in his lap, panting so loudly it was really a wonder her parents didn’t hear them.

He slid his hand up and cupped her breast—both of them moaned. They were small, nowhere near as big as some girls’, but to Spike they were the most perfect bleeding tits he’d even come across. God, just touching them was making him want to spill his pants like some poncy virgin.

Luckily, his girl had common sense and the hottest pair of breasts he’d ever come across, because after a few breathless minutes, she pulled back.

“We can’t—do this—now,” she gasped, straightening the t-shirt where he’d mussed it. “Way—too—slutty.”

“I like slutty,” he growled, trying to sit up and nip at her nipple.

She shook her head. “Uh-uh. School tomorr-oooh….” She trailed off in ecstasy as Spike pushed her hand aside and soaked the cotton covering her breast with hot, open-mouthed kisses.

Dammit—she had to be wearing a bra, didn’t she? He growled and reached around to unfasten it, thanking God that his kisses were preventing her from stopping him.

Knock knock.

“Buffy?”

*

Her eyes flew open as her mother’s voice came through the door. Wide green eyes met blue for a split second—their lips crashed together for a last kiss—and then Spike was up and half out of the window.

Buffy slipped down in her bed and pulled the covers up. Oooh, she could still feel his warmth…

“Buffy?” Again came the call, and this time a rattle of the doorknob accompanied it. “Buffy, why is the door locked? And what are you doing up so late?”

Shit, she thought as she heard Spike hit the ground two stories below. Shit shit shit shit shit. Run fast, Spike. “S—sorry, Mom!” she called, hopping up again. “I got cold, so I was—um—changing.” She opened the door and smiled at her very worried looking mother. “See? No biggy.”

Joyce peered past her daughter. “Buffy, if it’s cold, why are you wearing shorts? And why is the window open?” She strode into the room and fixed her daughter with a hard look. “Elizabeth Anne Summers, what is going on?”

“Um—well, it’s—“ Dang it! She’d lied before, why couldn’t she do it now? “I—it got stuffy, the room I mean, with the—stuffiness of rooms, and all, so I opened the window, but then I got cold so I closed it again, but then the stuffiness came back, so I opened the window, and I was going to change but for some weird reason sleeping in pants wigs me out in a big way, so I just—um—changed my mind about changing!” She beamed at her now very perplexed mother.

“Buffy, honey, why don’t you just get some sleep, okay? I know—you’re probably not telling the truth, but it’s far too late for me to bother with trying to figure you out. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow. Tomorrow ‘s good!” Buffy was still beaming falsely as she led her mother out of the room.

As soon as Joyce left, Buffy practically ran back to the bed and dove in, panting from sheer fear. God…her mom had been thisclose to finding out what really happened. They would have been finding my body for weeks if they knew I was having this major heavy makeout session…with a really, really hot guy…in my room…

She gave out a tiny whimper and buried her head in her pillow, which smelled comfortingly like him—tobacco mixed with leather, soap, and just a little bit of smoke. She inhaled heavily, thinking about the hours she’d been in his arms.

Too bad she wasn’t still there…

After awhile she drifted off again. This sleep, though, was fractured, completely unlike what she’d had when she was lying with him. She didn’t really want to be there—she would’ve much preferred chasing after him and jumping him in his room. But tomorrow was a school day, and she was going to have to do some serious Mom-dodging—however bad it was, she needed her sleep.

~*~
 

Chapter 19:

Buffy dodged her mom and ran out of the house about a half hour earlier than she usually did. She’d probably be at school way before anyone else, but school—even early on a Tuesday after getting like three hours of sleep—was better than home with a mother who wanted to know exactly what she’d been doing the night before.

When she got there, she dropped her bag by the entrance and sat on the steps, waiting dejectedly for someone to show. She’d prefer it wasn’t Spike, just because—well—so much had happened that night, she would’ve liked to talk to someone else about it. Especially now that she had lots of time alone to mull over the events of the day, with the hospital, and the Dad thing, and the growling—which had been her regressing into Denial-Girl mode, and had been seriously weird.

You know, if it wasn’t for the truly spectacular kissage, yesterday would have sucked so bad…

“Buffy!”

“Huh?” Buffy’s head jerked up. Willow was running towards her, beaming. “Hey, Wills!” She tried to smile welcomingly, but the bags under her eyes felt like they were pressing down on her mouth. It wasn’t half as comfortable as a certain other pressing…

Oh, boy. Panties a la completely friggin’ soaked.

On the heels of that thought came another: Yeah, cuz that made lots of sense…

“So, Xander told me something interesting,” Willow said with a smile that on anybody else would have been called sly. “He saw Spike leaving your house.”

“What?” That made Buffy snap to attention. “What the hell was Xander doing outside my house?”

Willow’s smile turned to a giggle. “He, he wasn’t! I just told you that so that you’d admit it—he was in your room last night! Oooh—was there kissing?”

Buffy smiled tolerantly. It was kinda hard to stay depressed and horny when Willow was smiling at her so eagerly. “Yeah, there was a little kissing,” she admitted, smiling happily. “And some—you know. Second base stuff.”

“Now, let’s see, why am I not surprised?” Willow tapped her lip in mock-thoughtfulness. “Oh, yeah. You used to fight him all the time.”

“So?” Buffy knew her face was blank; what did fighting Spike have anything to do with it?”

“Buffy. You of all people know that with, with Spike? He loves fighting so much, it’s third base for him!”

Buffy laughed. Well, she couldn’t help it; Willow’s nose was wrinkled primly, but it was obvious that she knew what she was talking about. ‘That’s so sick, Wills.”

“Sick, but very true,” Willow said cheerfully. “Anyway, details NOW, Buffy Summers! As your new best friend, I demand the full scoop!”

“Okay. Not much happened last night, we just kissed, and—and kissed…” Buffy trailed off into fantasy land as she remembered that night on the bed.

“Buffy? Oh my God, it’s so great to see you!”

Buffy whirled around. There, in all her teen Queen glory, was—“Cordelia,” she greeted the other girl dryly. “You’re talking to me—why?” God, if her teeth got much brighter they’d be blinding.

“Well, I was thinking last night, and I decided that I was so totally unfair to you last Wednesday,” she explained, still with a smile on her face. “I mean, you were my best friend since, like, forever, so the whole falling out thing? Not cool at all!” Cordelia’s eyes suddenly shifted to Willow—her smile became, if anything, even brighter. “Hi, Willow! I like your outfit!”

“Cordelia.” Buffy’s voice was mean in a way she hadn’t known it could be. “Why the hell are you talking to me?”

“Okay, you caught me. I need a favor,” she admitted. “See, Angel’s been this like complete idiot for about two weeks now, and even though he’s a total honey, I’m thinking of dumping him.”

“And?” Buffy said skeptically, trying to ignore the fact that if Cordy took a step forward, her huge breasts would knock Buffy flat on the floor.

“And I was wondering if you, you know, knew of anybody you could…hook me up with!” Cordelia finished brightly.

“Am I the only one who thinks she’s making with the lying?” Buffy asked Willow.

Willow shook her head. “No, I think we’re on the same page.”

Cordelia sighed impatiently. “Okay, fine. The whole me and Xander thing got out, and now I can’t find a date for the Halloween dance, and I really, really need one or Harmony will totally make my life suck!”

“Wait—thing with Xander?” Buffy wrinkled her nose, trying to picture the two having a fling. Ugh. Major ick alert...

“They got cozy for awhile,” Willow told her. “It was really low key, though, and Cordelia told Xander that she’d—“

“Cut off his dick and shove it down his throat if he told anyone,” Cordelia interrupted. “Which I am so going to do, since he blabbed to like everyone!”

“Well, it could’ve been someone else,” Buffy said hurriedly, trying to save Xander from dick-cuttage.

“Oh, please, I wasn’t serious,” Cordelia said scornfully, rolling her eyes.

“Okay, guess we don’t need to find you a date then,” Buffy said with a bright smile. She had to fight not to laugh when Cordelia’s eyes widened comically.

“No, no, I really, really, really wasn’t kidding about that! I totally need a date!”

Buffy clapped a hand over her mouth, trying frantically not to burst out laughing—out of the corner of her eye, she saw Willow do the same. “Um, sorry, Cordy,” she forced out, “I think all the guys I know have dates.”

“Wait—what about that weird one—the one who, like, sings at the talent show every year? What’s his name?”

Poor Willow...her hair’s starting to match her face. “Are you t-talking about Lorne?” The redhead asked, practically choking with mirth.

“Wow, Cordy,” Buffy said, smiling mischievously. “You must really want a date.”

“Duh,” Cordelia said, rolling her eyes.

“You do realize that if you go with Lorne you’ll kinda be—you know—“ Willow began to stutter when Cordelia stared at her coldly.

“Um...a laughingstock?” Willow finished tentatively.

Cordelia stuck her nose in the air. “Not after I’m through with him, he won’t be,” she informed them. “If I can make Angel chew with his mouth closed, I can de-gayify Bourne by the time the dance comes.”

“Lorne,” Willow corrected.

Cordy rolled her eyes. “What-ever.”

The teen queen stalked off. Buffy watched her go with a wrinkled nose, thinking, I can’t believe I was actually like that. It had only been two weeks, but she felt so far removed from the Cordys of the world that it was like they were from separate worlds.

“I hope Lorne watched his back,” Willow told Buffy, eyes on Cordelia.

Buffy laughed, thinking of how Lorne would react when Cordelia accosted him. “Poor guy. The trials and tribulations of playing for the other team...”

“B! Wassup?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Buffy said dryly. “How are you?”

“Five by five,” Faith replied with a grin. “Scored some serious dick last night—Devon’s got this buddy, see, and—“

“Uh, Faith?” Willow cut in hurriedly. “Not so big on the details, please?”

Faith laughed. “Right. I got laid.”

“So I gathered,” Willow muttered, looking down.

Buffy knew that Willow and Faith weren’t exactly best friends, so she blurted out the first thing that came to mind to lighten things up: “Oh, look, it’s Tara! Tara!” she yelled, hopping up and down, “Over here!”

Tara gave her a bemused look but obeyed, coming up the steps to sit next to Willow. “Hey, guys,” she said quietly. “Did I miss anything?”

“Actually, you and Faith both did,” Buffy said. “Cordy’s dateless for the Halloween dance, and she went into total meltdown.”

“She wanted us to hook her up with Lorne,” Willow added.

Faith started cackling. There was really no other way to describe it—she was bent over double, one hand at her stomach and the other gripping the stair rail, and the sound that was coming out her mouth was definitely more cackle-ey than laugh-ey.

Tara just looked stunned. “Does Cordy—does Cordy know that L-Lorne’s—“

“Kinda gay?” Willow supplied. Tara nodded.

“Cordy’s convinced she can de-gayify him,” Buffy told the others.

Faith snorted. “Fat chance of that. The day Lorne starts liking pussy is the day I go lesbo.”

“I thought you had a thing with Cecily in England last summer,” Willow said.

“That just makes me bi, not butch,” Faith said slyly.

Buffy groaned. “Okay, big yuck!”

The banter continued until the bell rang for first period. Buffy cast a concerned look around as everyone walked inside; Xander and Anya had joined them, but Spike was nowhere to be seen.

She sat down in English, still looking around for him. Oh, God, what if he’d gotten mugged or something when he was running home? He could be lying in a ditch, or dead, or—

“Miss Summers, may I have a word?”

Buffy blinked. Giles was looking down at her expectantly. “Uh, sure,” she said, automatically pasting a smile on her face. “Fire away.”

“I was wondering how well the project was going,” the Englishman said with a nervous smile on his face.

Her smile faltered as the memory of Spike’s body pressing hers into the bed came flooding back to her. Color rushed to her cheeks. “We’re—starting to get along better,” she stuttered. Don’t think about sex in front of the teacher, don’t think about sex in front of the teacher...gah!

Giles was beaming at her. “Excellent!” he praised. “I look forward to seeing your presentation!”

Buffy smiled wanly. “We’re looking forward to giving it,” she mumbled uncomfortably.

To her immense relief, the bell to begin class rang before he had a chance to say anything else. Giles smiled at her one more time before going to the front of the class. “Right then, class, take your seats,” he ordered, clapping his hands. “Today we’re going to be working on—“

“Sorry ‘m late!” Spike came skidding into class. “Giles, look, I know you said you’d give me detention ‘f I was late again, but ‘ve got a damn good excuse, so if you’d just hear me out—“ Buffy didn’t hear anything after that; like much of the class, she was too busy laughing.

Poor, poor Spike. His jacket was rumpled, like he’d slept in it; his boots were half-unlaced; and his hair was all messed up. Personally Buffy thought it looked pretty hot, but knowing Spike, he’d hate it being curly like that.

“It’s quite all right, William, now take your seat.” Giles interrupted Spike’s complicated explanation and pointed to the seat Buffy had been saving.

His eyes fell on her, and at once he seemed to relax. The half-panicked look he’d been wearing was replaced with his usual smirk. He sauntered over to the desk and plopped himself down.

As Giles turned back to the board and starting lecturing them on some author, Buffy wrote a quick note: Where were you?

Starting to worry about me? He wrote back.

Buffy glared at him and handed the piece of paper back to him. He rolled his eyes and wrote: Where the hell do you think I was? Up all night dreaming about you, kitten.

Another blush tinged her cheeks upon reading that. Really?

Well, yeah. Anything happen that I missed?

Cordy wants us to hook her up with Lorne for the Halloween dance. Apparently she can’t get a date because the Xander incident is out.

Spike collapsed in laughter. Giles stopped class immediately. “Mister Walsh,” he said, his accent crisp, “Is there a problem?”

“Uh—no. No problem at all, sir.” He schooled his expression till he looked serious.

“Then kindly keep quiet during my class,” Giles requested. His voice was cool, bearing just a hint of the anger that Buffy had heard rumors about. Apparently he’d nearly killed a fellow teacher, Ethan something-or-other, when the man had molested a young female student. Other, less sensational stories were whispered about in hallways.

All in all, if that look had been directed at her, Buffy would’ve backed down. Fast. Spike, though, just grinned at the older man. “Sorry, mate,” he said flippantly. “Didn’t know laughin’ in your class wasn’t allowed.”

“William. Am I going to have to call your mother?”

Spike was eerily silent for the rest of the class.

~*~

 

Next