Setting Up House

by Sandy S.

So, I try to play off the whole kneeling between Spike's legs and rubbing his thighs in front of the whole world thing. . . well, world of Willow anyway.

"Didn't know you were delivering pizzas now, Will."

Okay, that came out harsher than I intended.

"M'not." She tucks a scarlet strand behind one ear with a shaky hand. "Just saw the pizza guy driving up, paid him, and. . . Viola, pizza!"

Trying to act as casual as one possibly can when caught in an awkward position, I slowly bring my hands to the tops of my thighs and rise, ever cognizant of three sets of eyes watching my every move. My right leg has fallen asleep with a thousand little rubbery tingles, and I stumble a bit before I regain my footing. . . with Spike lurching forward from his slouch and grabbing my arm to steady me.

This was going from worse to well. . . worse.

"A-and I swear I didn't cast a sp. . . ," Willow protests.

Before she can finish the sentence, I seize her arm, taking the pizza box and practically flinging the pie on the coffee table.

I drag her onto the front porch, slam the front door, and release her. We both kind of sway as we catch our breath.

"I didn't do a spell," Willow says in a small, hurt voice. "No need to throw me out."

Color me a-bright-rainbow-full-of-colors confused.

"What are you talking about?"

My best friend is even more flustered now and stutters like Tara used to when she was shy around the rest of us. "Y-you know. . . with you a-and Spike and the t-touching. I-I didn't do that. . . this time. I've been staying off the magic; I swear." She raises her right hand as if taking oath.

I blink, and my eyes flicker sideways to Dawn who has opened the front door and joined us with her good arm crossed over her broken one. Spike has managed to follow and is leaning against the door frame with a smirk on his face. Smug bastard. He's enjoying every second of this.

Quickly running over all the options in my mind, I decide to tell the truth. That's simplest, right? "There's no spell."

"But then. . ." Willow stare shifts from me to Spike and back to me again. "Huh?"

Dawn seizes the moment to dance around Willow and interrupt her field of vision. Thank goodness. "So, Spike moved in with us."

"What?" Willow sounds tired, and I notice the circles under her eyes. She's been getting almost as much sleep as me. With almost exaggerated slowness, she eases onto the floor of the porch, using one of the posts as support. "I-I don't understand."

As usual, I start my babble fest. "Well, there was that thing with the social worker. . . can't remember her name, and she found some of your magic weed, and then, she saw Spike and his blanket and caught me lying about you living here. And then, this other social worker came, and he's a real jerk. Anyway, now there are cameras in the house, and Spike and I are pretending to be Dawn's parental figures, and. . ."

Willow squints at me. "But. . ." She points a finger at Spike. "But he's evil."

Raising both eyebrows at me, Spike straightens up like a dog whose name has been called. He nods at Willow. "That's me."

Dawn rolls her eyes. Apparently, her patience for the whole situation is gone, and somehow I can't blame her. "You guys sort this out. I'm hungry." With that said, she breezes past Spike and storms into the house.

Spike tightens his jaw, bobs his head at Willow, gives me that classic head tilt that makes me melt inside, and trails my sister into the house.

In and out of the house we go, wearing our emotions on our faces like clowns.

We're just doing so well for the cameras.

Bloody cameras.

XXXXXXXXXX

"So, Will, what do you think?"

"Bout Spike living with you and Dawn?" Willow is teasing now that's she's heard the whole story. . . or my edited version of the story sans Spike sex and the uncomfortable talk I had with him on the back porch.

"No, about the camera thing." I take a sip of lemonade and pick up my plate of pizza. Spike was sweet enough to bring Willow and me a plate of food. (Spike and sweet in the same sentence? Call me denial girl.) Now we're watching the rain fall to the ground in a soft curtain and happily munching.

"I'm not sure, but I don't think it's legal," Willow says after swallowing a bite.

Not legal? That means all the stupid little stunts Spike, Dawn, and I pulled in front of the cameras mean nothing! "That's good news, right? If we can prove what they're doing is illegal, then, Dawn's case gets thrown out."

"Not necessarily. And like I said, I'm not sure yet. I think I'll do some poking around on the net and make a few phone calls."

"Sure that you can handle that?" I'm worried about my best friend. Even though she's eating pizza, she doesn't look like she's been gorging herself of late.

"Yeah. I can." She catches my incredulous look and adds, "It's not like when Oz left. I'm taking better care of myself this time. Promise."

I accept her position without question. "Okay." She's my best friend; who am I to doubt her?

The wall of silence rules for a few seconds as we eat. Then, Willow asks, "So, the Spike thing is what?"

I set aside my empty plate, picking at the crumbs with my index finger. "A means to an end. A way to keep Dawn here with us and get social services out of our hair. . . for good."

"So, Dawn doesn't go live with your dad, and social services disappears. What'll you do about Spike then?"

Even though she's sitting right across from me, now I can't look at Willow . . . not when she asks me about Spike with such directness. "He'll go back to living in his crypt."

"You don't think this'll lead him on? Cause, well, last year, breathing in his direction led him on."

Last year was. . . last year. No one had died yet. Mom died. I died. That's a whole lot of death between then and now. "It's different now between Spike and me." At least, that's the truth.

I sneak a glance at Willow. The little crease between her eyes has appeared. "How different?"

"Well, he helps a lot more now instead of just skulking in the shadows. He's an out-of-the-closet Scoobie now." Willow doesn't look convinced, so I tack on, "It's not just cause of me either. He was helping you guys before I came back to life. He didn't even know what you guys had planned with the. . . resurrection spell thing."

I flat out state Willow's responsibility for my current situation in this world. She deserves to hear it. After all, she brought me back when I shouldn't have returned. Plus, she almost got Dawn killed with her selfish abuse of magic.

Me? Resentful? Maybe just a little.

Willow shifts uncomfortably. "He's still soulless."

Exactly my point. That's what I keep telling him. He doesn't listen, and he's not letting me listen. "Doesn't mean he isn't useful muscle to have around. I mean, a demon killing other demons is an excellent weapon."

"Nice to know I fit in the 'object' category," a gruff voice comes from behind me.

I freeze. Damn. I'm not even getting the vampire vibe off him anymore. Without turning around, I ask, "How long have you been there, Spike?"

"Long enough," he mumbles almost inaudibly. Then, with greater volume, he adds, "So, Red. Thought I'd ask you to mind the Little Bit tonight while the Slayer and I go out."

Suddenly, I'm annoyed, and I twist to glare at him. "We're not going anywhere tonight."

His eyes narrow in return, but I catch the flash of hurt before he quickly buries it. "Don't you want to get in a workout?"

My heart skips a beat. Please don't let Willow notice anything. "What? Eww. Get your brain out of the gutter."

I expect a smart-ass line in response. Instead, he gives me, "I meant patrolling, pet."

"Oh."

Willow rescues me, "That'll actually give me an excellent chance to check out their camera system and give Dawnie and me some time to maybe reconcile. . . or start anyway."

"Oh." I'm not getting out of this, am I?

"You may at least want to pretend it's a date, Buffy," she adds in a much less rescue-y fashion.

Spike is silent, and I hold my breath.

"For the benefit of the social workers, of course," Willow adds as she pushes up from the ground, picking up her glass and plate.

Right.

Look at newly undead Buffy. She already has a date.

XXXXXXXXXX

"You're not wearing that out of this house!"

Balancing on the third step of the staircase, I teeter on the tips of my toes so that I'm taller than Spike. "Why not?"

"Because that is not an outfit for patr. . . a date!"

Shifting my weight in my highest high heels, I examine my short black skirt and cherry red blouse. My short blonde hair is freshly washed and styled around my shoulders. I'm actually quite proud that I've managed to hide two stakes beneath the flimsy fabrics. "What's wrong with this? It's what I wear all the time."

Here I am caring about what Spike thinks of my appearance.

"The whole outfit's not practical. You might fall in those bloody. . . ," he waves his hand at my feet, ". . . insignificant shoes. . . and and di. . . get hurt."

I ignore his reference to my recent passing. "I have very good coordination, thank you. And since when was this whole arrangement practical?"

Spike's just wearing his usual black jeans and black T-shirt. For once, his long coat is missing. "Since you said so."

Oops. I walked right into that one.

"So, on our date, I should dress in the same old thing I always wear like you do?"

Almost self-consciously, Spike touches his chest and turns his attention to himself. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You always wear black! Don't you like any other colors?"

Spike's lips quirk, and he spreads his arms to me. "Looks like you dressed to match me. We fit."

Okay. That's it. Spike and I so do not fit, especially together! "Fine. I'll change."

Willow appears at Spike's side as I start to stomp back up the stairs. "Buffy? Enough with the arguing already. You better get going on your date before it gets too late." She taps her watch. "It's already 10 o'clock."

I pivot on Spike. "I can wear the heels?"

Spike snorts. "Fine. Don't say I didn't tell you so."

I scamper down the stairs toward the front door, snatching my light leather jacket from the coat rack. Can't have Spike getting too many ideas. I pull the coat over my shoulders, push my left arm through a sleeve, and hold the door open for Spike with my newly cloaked arm. "After you."

Spike shakes his head at me before passing me and intentionally brushing his arm against my lone bare one.

I shiver in a cloak of deep, penetrating waves of desire.

Oh, boy.

I'm a Slayer in big, big trouble.

With determination to fight my feelings, I shrug on my jacket and follow the vampire into the night.

XXXXXXXXXX

Focusing my Slayer senses, I weave my way through the cemetery, dodging tombstones and stepping over flower arrangements with the deft grace of a huntress. The moon is full above, casting a hazy white glow over the graveyard and heightening the need for silent movement. A light breeze trips over the edges of the tree leaves and lifts the ends of my hair, making me feel light and somehow more powerful. My ears remain perked for any sound that is out of the ordinary. I cradle a wooden stake against each palm, ever ready for dusting.

No vampire better cross my path. That's all I have to say.

Spike can't keep up with me.

Well, that's a bit of a stretch.

At first, Spike stalked along beside me, but when I ignored him, he disappeared behind, melting into the shadows like a ghost.

Good.

I want to shake him. I have to protect myself because if I'm alone too long with him, how am I going to focus on patrolling?

There are vampires out there who could kill innocent men, women, and children while I'm. . . handling Spike.

A scratching, almost like a rat climbing through the walls of an old house, resounds from my left, and I hone in on the noise, being silent as a whisper as I circle round and come at the noise from between two large bushes. I find myself on the perimeter of a grave secluded from the rest of the graves and surrounded by a few trees whose branches are blocking the moonlight. The ground next to the small marble tombstone is covered in freshly turned soil.

A new grave.

New soil coupled with scratching can mean only one thing. . .

A fledgling vampire is rising.

Squatting to the ground to wait in the brush, I grip the stake in my right hand and slip the other in the waistband of my skirt.

In an instant, the breeze changes, and the gust pushes aside the tree branches over the tiny clearing, illuminating the grave in a ghostly light. A hand thrusts forth from the soil, sending crumbles of dirt raining across the headstone.

Without warning, clumps of earth begin pouring from above, pummeling my shoulders, arms, and head. The light intensifies to an almost blinding white, and I spring forward to escape the onslaught only to crash into the emerging vampire. My high heels squish into the soft, damp dirt, and I vaguely think that Spike will be soon be pelting me with "I told you so's." The vamp grunts softly on impact with me, and his newborn strength pushes me so that I hit the icy stone behind me.

Using the energy from falling to lurch off the uncertain ground onto the firmer grassy areas around the grave, I hear more scratching sounds. . . like a thousand rats clawing under the ground. The noise increases exponentially with each second, mirroring the thunder of my heart and the unevenness of my breath.

Somehow, someone has buried an unknown number of vampires in this clearing, and I couldn't detect them until they were all rising at once.

I blink rapidly in the sudden complete darkness, trying desperately to see the fledgling that I know is somewhere around me. My head is pounding with the almost thrum of approaching danger. Maybe I can at least dust him before the world around me is consumed with who knows how many other vampires.

Before I can do anything, the steady rock beneath my feet begins to rapidly melt away like a sugar cube in hot coffee. The stake drops from my hand as my arms fly out to grasp onto anything.

But I'm too late to find a grip.

I try to cry out for help. . . for Spike whom I know is out there somewhere, but no breath passes my lips. Like a fish out of water, I find myself gasping for air that's not to be found, and my body is consumed by cold arms and bodies that are grabbing and pummeling at me from all sides.

Death wants me back.

XXXXXXXXXX

I blink.

Yellow. . . all I see is a blurry soft-gold color over me.

And I can breathe again! Air is actually entering and leaving my lungs without effort.

"Shouldn't have worn the heels, love."

I turn my head toward the familiar voice and grimace as every muscle in my body cries out with a single motion. Funny, all my sexy Spike thoughts have gone down the toilet. "Ha ha."

I wiggle my toes and discover I'm no longer wearing shoes.

Something soft and moist runs over my forehead. The touch feels wonderful. The voice that accompanies the feeling soothes me even though I don't want it to. "You almost let that vamp kill you."

My mind is having trouble focusing. "What do you mean?"

"You don't remember?" The motion over my head pauses, and his surprise is unhidden.

"All I remember is. . ." I hesitate. Everything in my head is a blur. . . kind of like my vision right now. I shake my head, groaning at the pain.

"You saw something, didn't you, pet?"

Flashes of arms and legs, blinding light, and showers of soil fill my mind's eye. "Yeah. . . I-I think so."

He says nothing for several seconds before he asks, "How many times have you seen something that wasn't. . . like that?"

"Heard," I whisper, closing my eyes.

A cool hand touches my forearm. "What?"

"T-there were sounds, too."

"What kind of sounds, love?"

Rats. . . lots and lots of rats. That makes no sense. "Dunno." I bring my hand to my head as if touch can shake my memories loose.

"How many times have you. . . experienced something like that?"

Irritation shoots through me. I wish he'd just leave me the hell alone. Isn't he making this harder for me by constantly reminding me that something's wrong with me? "Don't know."

Impatience highlights his tone, "You'd better figure it out."

Abruptly, he leaves my side, and I re-open my eyes to find the world is slightly less fuzzy and bright. I determine not to speak again until he apologizes for being so intrusive. He's the vampire; I'm the Slayer. For all intents and purposes, he should be a pile of dust right now.

I know I'm being irrational, but I don't care at the moment.

Spike can't stand silence for too long; he'll come up with something to say.

What he chooses to say better be off the topic of me falling apart.

I have more important things to think about. . . like keeping Dawn out of the clutches of social services.

I've pretty much made up my mind to be stubborn, so I'm startled at what comes out of my open mouth, "So, this type thing is similar to what you saw with. . ."

His voice is muffled, "Angel. Yes."

"Angelus," I insist.

He emits a humorless laugh, "Whatever. Angel, Angelus. . . essentially the same being."

Despite my brain's better judgment, I sit up on what I realize is a pile of mats and face the now significantly less blurry form across whatever space we're in, "No! Angel without his soul. . . he has no choice in his behavior."

His volume doesn't raise a notch. "That's just what you like to tell yourself. Makes you feel better about how things turned out between the two of you. Makes you feel less responsible for what he did."

I hate when anything he says contains a grain of truth.

I cross my arms over my sore midsection. "It's common knowledge. Vampires are soulless. . . and therefore lacking in a conscience and therefore evil."

He gets closer so that I can see the seriousness of his expression. He better watch himself, or I'll clock him. . . despite the beating I've taken. "Won't argue on the evil vampire bit. But in reality, all beings have a choice. . . soul or no soul."

"Okay, Mr. Smarty Pants. You've lived so long; you've seen pretty much everything. Or you think you have. Name one instance where that's the case."

Then, he's no longer in my face, and he turns his back on me. "If you don't know by now, pet, I can't help you."

For reasons I can't fathom. . . or let myself fathom, I stand in what I now recognize as the Magic Box training room. With a slight limp from pain in my knee, I reach out and place my hand in the small of Spike's back. I can feel the strength of his back muscles through his cotton shirt. He's so strong. . . . He could have let me die tonight, and he didn't.

"What happened. . . out there tonight. . ." I hesitate. "I-it's never happened before."

Statue-like, he still doesn't face me. "No? That's good." He sounds tired.

My heart rate accelerates. "W-what does that mean?"

"I'm not sure." He steps forward away from my touch.

He's not letting me close. My whole world feels like it's falling apart. What happened in the graveyard tonight doesn't make any sense at all, and now he's rejecting me.

Hot tears bubble up from nowhere and course down my cheeks. My legs threaten to buckle as I start to shake.

"Spike. . . I-I'm scared."

I'd forgotten my injuries until his arms are around me, and then, bright stars sparkle in my eyes. I groan despite my best efforts.

He whispers in my ear, "I'm here. I'm sorry. . . it's just. . ."

I catch my breath and match his tone, "I hurt you."

Boy, I'm admitting some interesting things to myself tonight. Must be because I'm feeling vulnerable.

"Yeah," he acknowledges.

I snuggle into his embrace and bury my face into his chest. Figure that's the only way I can hold myself up. "W-what did you see happen out there?"

"You were fine, and I was following you."

I sniffle. "What else is new?"

"And then, at the grave when the vamp punched through the ground. . ."

"Everything went bonkers. . . so bright," I finish for Spike.

"I just saw you start to fight him, and you staggered around like you. . ."

"Dirt was falling all over me. . . from somewhere," I finish lamely. "A-and the rats. . .scratching. . ."

His hand twines in my hair. "The vamp grabbed you. . ."

"The ground. . . went away, a-and all these d-dead a-arms. . ." A sob escapes unbidden, and tears blossom and fall anew.

"Shhh." His arm tightens around my waist. "You're safe now. I dusted the vamp and brought you back here."

"Was. . . did he?"

"He was beating you pretty badly, but I pulled him off of you before he could bite you. He met a dusty ending. I promise."

I can't seem to stop crying. Spike lifts me gently and carries me to the pile of mats. He slides on top of them and cradles me in his arms.

As soon as the sobs cease and the hiccups are under control, I ask a tentative question, "T-this is what happened to Angelus. . . his victims?"

Spike says nothing as he formulates an answer to my question. Then, "I believe so, love."

I look up to search his eyes. "Why is it getting worse?"

"Explain what you mean."

I stare off at the display of weapons on the Magic Box wall. "B-before. . . what happened tonight was just a dream. . . a nightmare."

Spike shifts his weight slightly. "I think that it's getting worse because you're talking about it. . . or at least thinking about it more."

"About what?" I already know the answer.

"How you came back."

I feel like a child asking her parent too many questions. "B-but. . . what's wrong with me?"

Spike changes position again so that I'm upright in his lap, but his arms are still supporting me. "Buffy."

Now he's got my attention. He's using my name. I lower my eyes to avoid his gaze.

"Buffy, you were taken out of. . . a place where you were at peace and thrust into this world of death. . . of sacred duty. . . of unhappiness. You had to dig your way out of your own grave. You had to deal with the fact that your most trusted friends took away that peace and presented you with pain."

I'm crying yet again.

He changes the focus off me, "Angel's. . . Angelus's victims went through something very similar. They were at peace. . . happy with their lives. The torture they endured. . . it was very traumatic. . . more than many of them could handle, including Dru. Their minds rebelled against such trauma. . . it couldn't be happening to them. They denied it, but the memories of what they endured. . . were enduring remained bubbling under the surface."

The picture is becoming clearer. "They. . . the memories. . . the trauma. . . c-came out."

"Yes. They had dreams. . . they saw and heard things that weren't there. I saw it all."

I shake my head. "B-but I'm supposed to be stronger than them. . . I'm the Slayer. This shouldn't be happening to me."

"Dru was strong. Her faith in God was almost unbreakable, but Angelus persisted, and she broke. Poor woman was never the same again. She had nightmares for the longest time, and her mind. . . not always very clear. And little things stressed her."

"And you took care of her. . . like you're taking care of me." My eyebrows furrow, and I almost pout. I'm too drained to be angry. "I don't need you to take care of me."

Before he can respond, I add with a trace of bitterness, "You just like women who need you to take care of them. You like to keep us down, so you can do whatever you want."

"That's not true!" Spike retorts, gripping my elbows. "I'm here because I. . ." The storm in his eyes winks away. "I'm here because I know that unlike Dru, you have the strength and tenacity to beat this, too. I want you to be the feisty Slayer I know and. . . care about."

Choosing to ignore the implication about his feelings, I ask my most burning question, "Think I can?"

He sighs. "Can what?"

"Stop this stuff. . . the nightmares. . . the hallucinations. . . from happening to me?"

"Yes."

And to top off my shocking revelations of the evening, I dip my head close to his. "Will you be there with me?"

"What do you think?" he breathes, his lips millimeters from mine.

"I think. . . this has turned out to be some date."

With every nerve in my body singing, I dive into the deep end of unknown territory.

TBC. . . Eighth, Make Love and Not War

Eighth, Make Love and Not War

I'm lost.

I'm completely and utterly lost in Spike.

Here I am with Spike in the Magic Box. . . in my training room, no less, and my warm lips moving against his cool ones in time to the steady rhythm of my heart. For the first time, I don't feel the hasty urgency of needing to fix everything right away. . . of having to fill the hollow pit of my stomach with the heat of passion.

There's an answer to the desperation I've been feeling since I returned to life. . . there's a reason for the nightmares and the disconnection and the wildly shifting emotions.

For the first time, our hands aren't moving everywhere across the landscape of our bodies in a haphazard endeavor to remove clothing and press flesh to flesh. Instead, Spike's hands remain steady against my back and right hip, and my hands are around his unmoving waist.

All our energy is focused on the gentle glide of lip on lip, tongue over tongue until I'm left gasping.

He pulls back just enough to let me catch my breath. "I'm here, pet. I'm here."

His eyes are as clear as the ocean around one of those tropical islands that I've only ever seen in pictures. I can't help myself. "Thank you." The words come out in a whisper.

His lips part as if he's about to reply.

But I never hear Spike's response.

"I don't believe I've ever seen training done quite like this," an irritated voice says from across my sparring room.

Anya's caught us.

I jerk back from Spike, my hands fluttering in the search for a place to light other than Spike's body. Spike is equally shocked and probably upset by my behavior, but he protects me anyway.

Grasping my hips, he lifts me and sets me gently on my feet. "Buffy was hurt."

Anya frowns and shifts the rather large book she's holding in her arms. "How? In lip lock?"

I clear my throat. Can't stand when people talk about me in front of me. Seems a lot of people have been doing that lately. "We went patrolling, and there were. . . was. . ." How to explain that one measly vampire got the best of me?

"There was an ambush," Spike finishes.

We glance at each other, and his right shoulder gives a little shrug. I continue, "And Spike helped me."

"And Buffy was hurt," Spike repeats in an awkward fashion.

"R-iii-ght." Anya narrows her eyes.

Even as Xander's fiancé is staring Spike and me down, I have the urge to step back into his arms. After all, aside from Dawn, he has been the only one truly there for me since I came back. . . here.

Spike hops off the exercise mats and steps away from me. . . farther away from me than is required, and now I know he's bothered by my reaction to Anya's entrance. "It's true," he says, and I'm reminded that he's a terrible liar. That's one thing I usually appreciate about Spike quite a lot, but today, not so much.

"Say, what are you doing here so late? It has to be what. . . one in the morning or later?" I note.

Anya looks uncomfortable and suddenly seems to be studying the wall. "Nothing."

"Yeah. What's with the book?" Spike asks, advancing on the ex-demon.

Her eyes shift to the right as she slams the open volume shut. The pages emit a small puff of dust. "Nothing at all."

Anya's not such a great liar herself.

"Well," I say, bending over to slip on my heels. "If you're doing nothing. Spike and I were doing nothing, too."

Confusion transforms into understanding in the blink of an eye. "Okay," she agrees with haste. "I saw nothing. . . no way, no how." And then, she scurries out of the training room and into the front of the store.

I follow her to the door. "Us either!"

Shutting the door firmly, I turn back. "Well, that was a close. . ."

Spike is gone, and the back door is still moving from the motion of his exit.

Bewildered, I scramble after him, filing Anya's behavior away for another day.

I have too much else to worry about. . .

. . . like a cranky. . . well, hurt vampire.

xxxxxxxxxx

Arms swinging, Spike hurries around the corner. He's using the extra height he has on me to outdistance me. Skipping a bit on my good leg to avoid putting too much weight on my injured knee, I attempt to catch up.

"Hey!" I shout.

He keeps going.

"Wait up." Tufts of my new shorter haircut blow across my eyes, and I unsuccessfully blow the strands out of the way.

No response.

Finally, at the entrance to the movie theater, my leg starts throbbing.

"I can't keep up. My knee." I grab his hand in attempt to slow him down.

At my touch, he abruptly stops, arms still moving. As if my hand's made of acid, he yanks his hand away.

"What's wrong with you?" I demand. "Why are you acting this way?"

"No reason," he growls.

I try to hold his eyes with my own but fail. Annoyance boils in my stomach. My emotions can't take much more of the emotional-roller-coaster thing tonight. "Yes. It's something. What?" I can't stop the bitchy tone from coloring my voice, and for the first time, I'm not happy that I'm aiming it at Spike.

He starts to leave again, but I grasp his upper arm with my right hand and whirl him around despite the pain still groaning through my body. I really need to go to bed.

"Tell me what's wrong," I command, emphasizing each syllable.

The muscle in his cheek twitches as if he's gritting his teeth, and he keeps his eyes lowered.

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on." The longer he's not being responsive with me, the more my inner self is quivering in fear. I don't know what I'll do if he decides to go away right now. I'm the one who's supposed to be avoiding him. . . not the other way around.

"I'm tired, Buffy," he says so quietly that I almost can't hear him.

My gaze is intent on him. My voice lowers to match his, "Tired of what?"

"This game. . . this charade."

My heart sinks; I hate this space between us. "What game?" I know very well what game.

"Hiding what's going on between you and me."

"We're doing it for Dawn. . . so she doesn't have to go away. It'll just be a little longer, and you can go back to your crypt and doing your. . . vampire things."

That's not what he means, of course.

And he gives me that look that says he knows the words I just uttered are total bullshit.

"You mean what we just told Anya? That's just to keep her and Xander off our backs. We really don't need more people knowing until the situation with social services is resolved. Then. . ."

"Then, it'll go back to being the way it was before. . . instead of partially hiding this. . ." he gestures back and forth with two fingers, ". . . it'll go back to complete denial of any connection between us."

Right. Well, that's right, right? Really. Sleep is needed. "Yeah," I murmur as a half-statement, half-question.

He closes his eyes at my confirmation, and he slumps against a half-torn movie poster. "Don't know if I can keep doing this, Slayer."

His words cut me like a knife.

And before I can think, I launch myself into his arms and hug his ribs tightly. "Please."

He hugs back but without much enthusiasm. "After this. . . after I help with Dawn, I'm not going to do this anymore. I'll still help out, but I'm not going to let you keep on. . ."

"You said you'd be here for me. . . help me with the hallucinations and nightmares." I hate the whine in my voice, but my insides are consumed with genuine panic.

Could his bizarre push and pull with me be related to the push and pull I'm doing with him?

"Yeah. I'll be there, but not this way. If you need more support than just listening, you'll need to see a shrink or something, pet." He sounds defeated.

I'm dizzy at the thought of losing the cushion of his presence. "W-what if I consider letting the others know. . . after the social services thing is over with? I can't promise miracles, but I can try." I pause and then add, "I-I just can't handle another emotional upheaval right now on top of. . . everything."

His arms pull me closer, and a mix of desire and relief floods over me.

His voice is still soft as he speaks against the top of my head. "I know you've been through a lot, Buffy. But do know that there's only so much one. . . vampire can take."

He's highlighted his demon for me. . . his lack of soul.

I make a feeble attempt to remind myself that I can't let myself get too close to a soulless demon. . . not again.

And yet. . . here we are.

After a long embrace, I slowly push away and look up at him. Now his clear blue eyes focus on me instead of elsewhere. I can't read them.

I stroke his cheek with the back of my hand. My words tell him that for now, we're together, "Let's go home."

xxxxxxxxxx

Willow is sleeping on the front porch swing wrapped in a blanket she's pulled from the closet. A little piece of paper is propped on the front of the cloth, and from the sidewalk, I imagine what it probably says:

"Please do not disturb."

"Redhead at rest."

"Witch a'waitin'."

"Kiss me. I'm yours. . . . but only if you're Tara."

Spike squeezes my hand. We've been holding hands since my house came into view from the street corner. Gotta at least look the part of girlfriend and boyfriend. His hand is cold and heavy against my palm, and I'm reminded that our connection is still far from sturdy despite his outward placidity.

"What are you talking about, pet?"

Oops. Hadn't realized I'd said that stuff out loud. "Nothin'," I say with a levity I've sworn to use around Spike. . . for now.

Besides, I sometimes get these pockets of time when I feel okay about being alive, and they mostly happen when my brain is too tired to form a coherent thought.

"Talking to yourself. Never a good sign of sanity," he teases. Apparently, he's decided to play along, too. I have to admit that I feel better, and for some reason, shoots of desire streak across my belly along the inner length of my thighs.

I giggle. "Nope. Not sane. Buffy is not and never was sane." I let go of his hand and dance ahead of him in a little circle. The pain in my body is much less, but I can't tell if it's because I'm so worn out. "Certifiably insane. . . that's me."

"Going all Dru on me, then?"

"Yep." God, I'm drunk with exhaustion. I skip up the front steps and teeter back and forth a little as I face Spike. I spread my arms. "Hee! I'm drunk."

"Or something," he says as he catches up with me.

"Or tired," I amend. "The bed sounds good about now."

Spike leans around me in attempt to check on Willow. "Let's see what Red has to say first."

"I'd rather. . ."

I take him by the shoulders and kiss him hard on the lips. I have to know if he's going anywhere just yet. He hesitates at first. . . just long enough for my heart to skip a beat, and then, he kisses me back, matching my ardor with his own. I relax into the kiss with relief.

As I pause to catch my breath, he asks, "Shouldn't we?" He gestures at the sleeping Willow.

I put my finger to my lips and shake my head no. Tilting my head toward the front door, I give him a little grin, hooking the same finger in the waist of his jeans and giving them a tug.

He groans as my skin contacts his. "Wanna give the cameras a show, love?"

The corner of my mouth quirks up, and he takes that as consent.

Within seconds the door is open, closed, and locked, and he's leading me toward the kitchen.

As he flicks on the light switch, I ask, "Here?"

He spares me a brief glance, and I see the merriment in his eyes. "No, that won't do. Dawn might catch us. But. . ." he flings open the refrigerator door, "thirsty."

"Oh." I'm amused. Guess he hasn't had any blood all day.

Spike stops touching me long enough to rummage around in the back of the appliance. He locates the empty milk carton of blood he's hidden behind a container of moldy cheese, spins open the lid, and drinks with such swiftness and neatness that he's done before I realize.

He licks his lips, replaces the carton, and rinses his mouth with water from the sink. "Done."

Before I can say anything in response, he seizes my hips and presses them into his own so that I quiver with longing. "Want me, love?"

"Yes," I breathe as I feel just how much he wants me.

He bends to whisper in my ear, "We've talked about a lot of stuff tonight. Before we do this, I just want you to know that I haven't forgotten it."

I nod; at this moment, I don't care. I just want him to never stop touching me.

"Truce?"

I nod again.

"Great."

With that, he lifts me in his arms, and being of weary mind and body, I let him carry me up the stairs. . . even though I can most definitely take care of myself.

He takes the stairs two at a time, pausing to kiss me every so often. His lips are firm, and I relish the slight tang of coppery blood that remains on his breath. I'm impatient with hunger and flushed with desire as we enter my bedroom. He hurriedly turns on the lamp beside my bed, and cool air rushes between us.

As if surprised by the change in temperature, he stops short.

His eyes lock with mine, and a blaze of passion sparks between us. I squirm and climb out of his arms, kicking off my high heels and peeling off my blouse at the same time. I'm grateful to be on even ground again, but my knee objects, and I perch on the edge of my bed for a moment until the pain subsides.

I watch him. I can't help myself.

Spike slides his shirt over his head, and in a single movement, he slings the cloth over the end of the camera in my bedroom, effectively shielding us from those-who-are-watching. Then, he's upon me, gliding his hands on either side of me and leaning me back against the pillows. In a familiar dance, he slips off my panties and skirt and unlatches my bra, and I unbutton his jeans and peel away his jeans, freeing him of constraint.

"Now. Please," I beg as he knocks our clothing to the floor.

As he presses into me, he murmurs, "They don't get to see more than I do."

Before I let myself get completely lost again, I finish with the same words I uttered earlier, "Thank you, Spike."

Things between Spike and I aren't perfect. . . aren't as tender as before we were caught by Anya, but they are definitely different. For the first time, I have hope that I'll be okay.

The white flag is raised.

Everything and everyone else can wait until tomorrow.

Ninth, Don’t Neglect Responsibilities

Note to self: make sure to arrange sleeping positions so that the vampire doesn’t end up by the telephone.

Cause then, well, bad things tend to happen.

In the haze of sleepiness, I think I heard the phone ring once. . . and I definitely remember Spike’s brief curse as he picked up and slammed down the receiver.

But then, dreams claimed me again, and the next thing I know. . .

“Good morning!” a voice sing-songs in my ear. . . loudly in my ear.

I groan as my dreams are disrupted. They were peaceful dreams, too. . . the kind I haven’t had in a while.

“Rise and shine, Buffy!”

“Dawn?” I croak, stirring my arms and legs to wake them from the pull of unconsciousness. I seem to have grown an extra set of legs, and there’s a third arm around my waist. Either that or someone’s in bed with. . .

Oh. My. God.

I abruptly sit up, somehow mindfully holding the sheet to my bare chest. The sheet is wrapped around the still sleeping vampire next to me, and he emits a small groan as the cloth stretches taut. Thankfully, the sheet still covers us both.

My voice is a sharp croak. “Dawn!”

She’s staring at me, taking in. . . my nakedness. Her eyes flicker to Spike, but before she has a chance to fully realize what she’s seeing. . .

“Get out!” I don my best pissed-off-sister face and distract her with my finger pointed emphatically at the door.

Eyes wide as a rabbit’s, she scampers out the door, and I hastily disentangle myself to follow after her and slam the door. Heart pounding, I lean against the door in partial relief.

But now I have to have yet another talk with my little sister. What can I possibly

say to explain this?

Leaning against the wall, Spike looks comfortable with the sheet around his waist.

And he’s watching me with a smirk on his face.

I shoot a glare at him. “It’s not funny.”

“Didn’t say it was, love.”

Dashing around, I throw a pair of jeans and a fairly unwrinkled peasant blouse on

along with a pair of sandals. In between articles of my own clothing, I toss Spike his jeans and a fresh shirt out of the closet. He dresses much more slowly than me.

“Hurry up,” I command with my arms crossed.

“Eager to get out there and explain to Dawn exactly what she saw?” he asks, his voice slightly muffled by the cotton shirt he’s putting his head through.

“No. Eager to get things in order.” I yank his dirty shirt off the camera. “Dawn has school tomorrow.”

“Riigghhht.”

Piling up all the dirty clothes and bed sheets, I point to the pile. “And Spike has laundry to do.”

“Let’s see here.” He puts a finger to his chin and looks thoughtful. “Ummm. No.”

I bat my eyes and tilt my head toward the camera. “Now, hun. You know it’s always been your job around here to do the laundry.”

Getting the hint, Spike sighs, gathers up the laundry, and stalks past me, making sure to shoot me a soft growl of discontent. “Not in the contract,” he whispers, almost inaudibly.

Despite the issues between Spike and me that lurk in the morning shadows, I can’t help but grin.

xxxxx

Dawn’s standing at the kitchen island, awkwardly pouring herself some cereal and trying to turn the page on the comics section of the newspaper at the same time. She doesn’t even bother to look up as I enter. “It’s raining.”

For the first time, I notice the wet windowpanes through the open blinds.

“Was that Spike who just came by with the laundry?”

I bite my lower lip and try to play it cool. “Yep.”

“That’s interesting. Think he’ll do mine, too?” She shakes the Pops box up and down. “Ugh.”

“Here let me.” Anything to avoid the topic that I know will inevitably come up.

I take the box from my sister and straighten the plastic bag so that the puffs can pour into the bowl more easily. “He might. If you’re sweet to him.”

“Are you speaking for me again?” Spike asks, appearing from the basement where the sound of the washer has started.

“Pretty please?” Dawn begs.

Spike rolls his eyes. “Fine.” Grumbling, he crosses behind us to get to the refrigerator and his carton of blood. “What I do to hold this household together.”

“What did you say?” I ask just as the phone rings.

He shrugs as he takes a big swig out of the milk carton. He shakes the box at me as I pass him. “Need more milk. Gotta develop big, strong bones.”

“Later.” I pick up the phone. So far, so good. Dawn’s said nothing about what she saw this morning. “Hello?”

“Let me in!”

“Willow?” Oh my go. . . we left Willow outside!

The doorbell rings.

“H-hang on. Just a sec.” I hang up the phone and race to the front door, flinging it open.

A gust of cool air and the clean smell of rain greet me. . . along with a rather rumpled, shivering Willow.

“Fell asleep outside. Why didn’t you wake me?” She seems more sleepy than angry. At least, the porch is covered, so she didn’t get soaked. . . and she had a blanket.

“I’m so sorry. We got in late. . .”

Willow stands beside me in the entry way as I shut the door. “Did you have a long night patro. . . on your date?”

“You could say that.”

She brushes a lock of hair behind her ear. “Did you stak. . . get a lot of. . . have fun?”

“I didn’t have. . . steak. Spike got that.” I won’t tell her it was in more ways than one. “And we spent time. . . talking. Too tired. Went right to bed.”

“O-oh. Maybe next time, you could invite me in? I forgot my key.”

“I’m so sorry about that. Why don’t you take a shower?”

“Thanks.” She starts to ascend the stairs. “Oh, and Buffy?”

“Yeah?”

“Got info for ya.” She hands me the slip of paper I remember seeing last night.

“Oh good!” Yay! No more stupid camera stuff!

She studies her shoes. “And the stuff with Dawnie. . .”

“Yeah?”

“Not so good.”

“I’m sorry. I want to hear about both things,” I reassure her.

“Shower first?” Poor Willow looks miserable after a night on a porch swing.

“Yeah, yeah. Definitely.” I wave my arms to point toward the kitchen. “I’ll, I’ll be in the kitche. . .”

Then, I hear, “So, Spike, tell me about your date with Buffy last night. When’d you guys get home?”

Gotta put a stop to that before Spike says too much.

“Well, pet. It was definitely interesting.”

Great, just great. Why do I always feel like I’m doing a dance to hold things together around here?

As soon as I walk in the kitchen, I give them a pointed look, and they quiet down like cats who have been caught with a canary. At least, I still have some bit of control. . . for the moment.

I nod, and they follow me onto the back porch. Little drops of rain are still lightly drizzling, but what Willow’s written on the slip of paper may be too important to worry about getting a tad wet. And hey, grey sky means that Spike won’t combust. . . although I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing right now.

“What does it say?” Dawn asks eagerly, cradling her cast under a kitchen towel to prevent the plaster from getting too wet.

“I gather that you and Willow still aren’t speaking.”

She juts her chin out in a flash of defiance. “I gather that you and Spike were doing something you don’t want to talk about last night.”

A grin spreads across Spike’s face. I shift from one foot to another. Stupid vampire’s loving this. “Let’s just see what Willow wrote.”

“I think I want to hear the other part of the conversation first,” Spike says, raising his eyebrows and leaning against the house.

“No!” Dawn and I say at the same time.

“Fine. Open the bloody paper and tell us what it says before the sky opens up again.”

My hands tremble a little as I unfold the note. I don’t know what I was expecting, but the words on the page were not what anything I would have remotely thought.

“What’s it say?” Spike asks me, startling me out of my shock.

When I don’t respond, he pokes at the top of the paper, pushing it down so he can read the message aloud. . .

“Watcher’s Council?”

xxxxx

All I know is I’ve got to get out of this house. If the Watcher’s Council has anything to do with the state of my. . . this household and Dawn’s future, there’ll be hell to pay.

I grab the car keys, barely noticing the cold metal against my palm. I turn to the bewildered vampire who’s followed me into the kitchen.

“Here,” I say, my tone flat. I dangle the keys in front of his nose.

“What’s this, pet?” he asks gently.

“Drive me.” I can’t look him in the eye, so I stare at his chest.

“Drive you where?”

“What’s going on?” asks Dawn, slamming the back door.

I give her an even expression. “Spike’s taking me to the Magic Box.”

“What for?”

“Gotta call Giles,” I reply, starting for the door and the car. My mind is set on one goal and one goal only. . . confronting the man who has all the answers.

“Can’t you drive yourself?” Dawn asks.

I don’t answer. I can’t tell Dawn that I’m afraid if I drive, I’ll use up the remainder of my resources. . . resources that are holding me together right now and keeping me from completely breaking down in tears and climbing back in bed. Gotta keep moving.

Flinging open the door, I pause on the threshold, glancing back over my shoulder. “Coming?”

Spike has a silent exchange with my sister and then, makes a decision. “Right.”

Dawn makes a move to follow him, but I hold up my hand. “Nope. You stay.”

“But I wanna come!” she pouts.

My mind races. “You need to stay here and let Willow know where we’ve gone.”

She frowns at me like she might insist on coming. Then, “Fine. I’ll stay.”

Geez. The ice is just hanging off her words. Since when did my little sis get so angry?

I’ll worry about that another time. . . just like everything else. Damn it.

I’m already out the door when Dawn shouts after us, “And what if the sun comes out when you guys are driving?”

I waver; then, clear my throat. “We’ll deal!”

xxxxx

Does Dawn have to be right? Little sisters aren’t supposed to know what they’re talking about.

Halfway to the Magic Box, Spike’s hand bursts into a bright flame as the sun peeks around a cloud. With a curse, he jerks his one hand from the steering wheel, and the car lurches right. My heart jumps with the motion.

With my right hand, I grab for the side of the car and reach a steadying hand for the steering wheel with my other.

Spike shakes his ignited hand and slams it into his stomach, rolling the bottom of his shirt up to put out the fire.

The car wobbles precariously in the lane under my one-handed guidance. “Spike! Help!”

Another sunbeam finds a home in the car just as he reaches out to aid my efforts, and Spike’s bare arm ignites. This time, he shouts, “Bloody fuck!” and slams the breaks on.

The car traveling behind us honks loudly and swerves around us, narrowly missing the back bumper.

Once we’re steady, I unbuckle my belt and reach around the seat to grab the old bath towel on the floor in the back. Tugging Spike close to me and away from the deadly light, I wrap his hurt limb in the cloth and batter down the blaze.

The cloud cover becomes whole once again, and greyness prevails.

Spike hasn’t said anything, and now I’m antsy for action. . . anything to have some semblance of control. “So, what should we do?”

His voice is an almost inaudible growl, “What do you mean what should we do?” He sits up and away from me. “Open up the sodding trunk! I’m getting in it!”

Pressing my lips together, I push a button on the key ring still dangling from the ignition. The trunk clicks open.

Without acknowledgement, Spike pulls the blackened bath towel over his head, glances in the side mirror for passing cars, waits a moment for a blue truck to pass, slams the door almost off its hinges, and climbs into the trunk. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen him move so fast.

And for several minutes, I can’t bring myself to move at all.

Guilt pervades my stomach, heavy as an anchor on a ship.

I definitely should have stayed in bed today.

Next: Tenth, Be Truthful with Other Household Members

Next