4. Rock and a Hard Place

"Oh, hey," Buffy said with forced enthusiasm, "You guys made a cake!"

"Well -- Safeway did. We are not so much of the cooking. But... we got Barbie, see?" Willow pointed towards the gaily airbrushed grocery-store confection. "And Xander drew a little stake in her hand."

"See all the powdered sugar?" Xander grinned. "Vamp dust. Just... ignore the pink convertible and the pony."

Willow smiled nervously. "So... it's not homemade or home-decorated, but it is home-customized. With the love."

"What happened to Ken and Skipper?" Buffy asked, mouth quirking.

"Yeah, I tried to make them into Giles and Dawn," Xander said sheepishly. "It turns out, those little frosting-writer tubes are not an easy art form to master."

"That's why Ken has an eyepatch?"

"The beginning of a glasses attempt."

Buffy studied the cake at an angle. "But you drew glasses in his hand."

"Well, after further reflection, I figured that pirate!Giles would be polishing them, y'know? Since you're all about to be stampeded by the pony and run over by the pink convertible. That's why there's the bubble over his head that says 'Dear Lord'."

Buffy squinted. "It says DFOP LORQ."

"Okay, not Martha Stewart here."

"It's really sweet, you guys," Buffy sighed. "Thanks a lot."

"I'm sure compared to, y'know, French pastries, it is kinda of the suck," Xander put on his widest grin. "But hey, mass-produced, licensed sugar products... nothin' says 'home' like, right? Living the American Dream of early-onset diabetes, and say, can I cut you a slice?"

"Maybe in a minute," Buffy smiled. "I'm, uh... gonna go talk to Giles for a second."

She disappeared across the shop, and Xander frowned towards Willow.

"Well yeah, she'd want to do that, 'cause she only, y'know, spent the last three years talking to Giles..."

"She's probably jet-lagged," Willow said softly. Her watch began to beep, and she silenced the alarm, reaching into her purse for a bottle of pills and a folded sheet of paper. "And I mean... Hellmouth, y'know? This is probably like the first day of school for her, and in that dready Buffy/Xander way, not the barely constrained glee at the thought of new school supplies me way."

Willow smoothed out the paper, double-checking Tara's color-coded medication schedule, then doled pills out into her palm and grabbed a cup of punch. "She's just got a lot on her plate, that's all."

The door bell jingled, Angel striding through it with an armful of impatient toddler, Cordelia following. "Hey guys -- we made it..."

"Down down down," Connor begged, pushing frantically at Angel's chest.

Angel's eyes did the parental laser room-sweep. "Anya?"

"Got a thing," Anya replied efficiently, pulling a brightly-colored rolling contraption from behind the counter. "Stuff it in here."

"It's actually a he, y'know," Cordelia rolled her eyes, taking Connor from Angel and settling him into the seat. Connor began joyously making racket with the attached plastic toys.

"You guys hungry?" Xander asked. "We've got pizza, sugary stuff and..." he turned towards Spike, raising his voice. "What kind did you get?"

"Duck!" Spike yelled back. "Some kind of bloody Polish holiday, butcher said, thought hell, why not try somethin' different."

Xander turned back to Angel and Cordelia. "And yummy, yummy, duck blood, which apparently has something to do with Poland."

"Where's Buffy?" Angel asked.

"Uh... she said she was going to go talk to Giles..." Xander lowered his voice. "She doesn't seem to really be in the party place. Will thinks it's jet lag."

"Or maybe it's because she got yanked out of her little demon-free Parisian dream vacation and forced to return to what will probably be her very early death," Cordelia replied. "Probably takes the shine off the welcome-home party."

"So glad you came," Xander drawled, heading back for the punch bowl.

--------------------------------------------------

"Buffy, are you quite all right?" Giles whispered.

"Sure. I mean, sure." Buffy forced brightness into her voice. "All this... freako bipartisan camraderie is a little wiggins-inducing, but I'll deal. I mean, how can I complain that people are getting along? Just... not used to it."

"I rather meant the... er... Angel situation."

"It's kind of funny, isn't it? He leaves me so I can have a normal life, and look at him. Steady girl... and yes, I'm still in a happy warm bubble of total denial that it's Cordelia... cute kid. He's like the Waltons, if, y'know, Pa Walton was the former Scourge of Europe and Ma Walton had migraine visions and there were a lot less kids and... okay, so he's nothing like the Waltons, but still... major normalness, like ABC Family normalness."

"And how do you feel about that?"

"Good! Relieved. Cause, y'know, it's a weight off. Not having to worry about him all cursed and pine-y in L.A. He's moved on. It's very... freeing. Freeing."

And she went back to staring at the little group across the shop, flinching a little as they burst into laughter at an unheard joke.

"Dawn seems to be adjusting well," Giles commented.

"Are you kidding? She's back with her undead partner in mayhem, she's over the moon. You're sure the whole eighteen thing means I can't ground her anymore?"

"She's requested to stay in Spike's crypt tonight."

"Oh, God," Buffy groaned. "Fantastic. Like the two of them aren't hyper enough. They're gonna stay up all night and watch disgusting horror movies and eat sugar until their eyeballs explode. I'm so convinced that Spike likes Dawn 'cause she was the first person he met on his maturity level."

"Dawn is... quite a bit older now..."

"In body, maybe. Look at her -- she just tied his shoelaces together. You can practically hear her squee-ing over her little vamp crush."

Giles cleared his throat. "Speaking of vampires and their crushes, Buffy... Willow informed me that Spike does not appear to have gotten over his on you in the slightest. Do you have any idea how you plan to handle it?"

"Beyond my normal regimen of calling him a pig and hitting him in the face?" she chirped.

"That may, perhaps, be inappropriate. He has, after all, done a commendable job here, for no reward. You don't suppose..."

Buffy leaned on the counter, her eyes following Spike as he leaned down to whisper something in Dawn's ear. "He expects big sloppy Buffy kisses as payment for services rendered? Probably. Gotta give him points on persistence."

"And do you?" Giles asked pointedly. "Give him points on persistence? Despite my constant attempts at denial, I am aware that the attraction is mutual."

"Okay, Buffy cannot help it if the vampire is very, very pretty. But hello -- been there, done that, gotten the t-shirt and mental scars."

"Spike is not Angel," Giles murmured.

"Believe me, I know. Dawn won't ever shut up about him. It's like a 24-hour station of Spike's Greatest Hits, brought to you by You're So Stupid For Not Dating Him."

"Spike's actions in your absence certainly speak well of him, Buffy... however, you remember the content of his... well... obsession would perhaps be the applicable phrase. You've been gone for three years, with no contact with him whatsoever... and yet it does not appear to have made any difference in the way he feels about you."

"Looks like he's the only one," Buffy replied under her breath.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing. Nothing. Jet lag. I'm gonna go... try to mingle, or something."

--------------------------------------------------

"M'not bloody purrin'!" Spike protested, yanking his hand back from its former petting of Dawn's hair. "Vampires don't purr. Peaches, back me up here."

"We don't purr," Angel agreed, ignoring Cordelia's snickers into his bicep. "Ever."

"Dork," Dawn said from her cross-legged seat at Spike's feet. "I'm not deaf."

"That is a low, manly growl of contentment. An' quit tyin' my shoelaces together."

She wrapped her arms around his leg, leaning her head against his knee. "It sounds just like a cat."

"'Cause you've got sub-standard human ears, Nibblet," he insisted, his hand returning to slide through her curls, Dawn's eyes closing in pleasure. "Low, manly growl of contentment."

"Unlike my stomach's low, manly growl of why-god-why," Xander groaned, lifting up his head from the cushion to poke at the offending body part. "Remind me again why we indulged in this cardiovascular fiasco?"

"So my arteries knew I was back in the land of the free and the home of the super-size Big Mac?" Dawn grinned. "Speaking of which, that's so the next thing I'm eating."

"Plus, some of us are capable of stopping after five donuts," Cordelia pointed out.

"Maybe you'd feel better if you vomited," the Bot said helpfully. "It worked for the Romans."

"Thanks, but I'm thinkin' not so much. Just have to let the Harris iron constitution work its magic."

Anya raised an eyebrow. "Oh... is that the 'iron constitution' that makes you carsick, airsick, seasick, and turn a bizarre shade of green at feminine hygiene commercials?"

"Green is calling to green," Tara whispered, looking pleadingly up at Willow, who just smiled and stroked her hair.

"That's right!" Anya patted Tara's knee. "Exactly."

"I just can't get over how cute he is," Willow said, grinning down at Connor's sleeping face as he sprawled across Angel and Cordelia's laps. "Every time I see him, I think -- this is it, this is as cute as he can possibly get. And then the next time, no! I was wrong, he's cuter. How does he do that?"

"Thank God he got Darla's forehead," Spike sighed melodramatically.

"Shut up," Angel and Cordelia said in unison, then met each other's eyes with a shared grin.

"How 'bout you, Buff?" Xander asked, making another attempt to draw her into the conversation. "Dawn get her saturated fat fetish from you, or was that a special bonus gift from Monks Incorporated?"

"I'm fine," Buffy said quietly.

Awkward silence stretched out, and Xander leapt to fill it. "Dead Boy, you staying in town tonight, or heading back to L.A.?"

"Back to L.A.," Angel said, tucking Connor's foot back under his blanket. "Which reminds me... Buffy, if you get a chance, I'd like to talk to you about a project we've got going on."

"Huh? Oh sure, yeah... go ahead..."

"Rachael ran some data for us..."

"Rachael?" Buffy frowned.

"That's me," the Bot raised her hand slightly. "Spike and Xander selected that name to appear on my falsified identifying documents."

"Spike and Xander are nerds," Anya grinned, nudging Xander with her knee.

"Blade Runner is not nerdy," Xander protested. "Blade Runner is a masterpiece of..."

"Most people call me Bot," the Bot explained, drowning out Xander's escalating Harrison Ford rant. "Like 'Red' or 'Peaches' or 'Evil Dead' or 'Glinda'. Spike and Xander both seem to gain pleasure from spontaneously renaming people; between them, they have created many alternate names you could call me, like Robo-Girl, Robo-Bint, love, pet, sweetheart, Circuits, R2, Rosie and Terminator. I could print you out a list with usage statistics, if you're interested."

"Uh. That's really okay."

"Anyway, Buffy," Angel interrupted, "We're working on taking out this organization called the Black Thorn..."

"Cream at the top of the big evil milk jug," Spike added.

"And I've..." Angel smiled at Connor and Cordelia, "... kinda lost my taste for suicide missions. I had Rachael run an actuarial analysis on my original plan..."

"Which sucked," Spike grinned.

"It did not suck," Angel protested. "It needed tweaking."

"Tweakin'," Spike grinned. "That's his special way of sayin' we all woulda snuffed it."

"Your presence on the team would decrease the odds of injury considerably," the Bot said to Buffy. "In my best-outcome modification, you back up Gunn against the Senator, decreasing your odds of mortal injury to 3.4."

"Back up Gunn," Buffy repeated incredulously. "I don't get my own team?"

"Buffy..." Angel began.

"The plan is to be implemented very soon," the Bot smiled. "My extrapolations of the decline in your physical fitness due to your hiatus suggest that the most advantageous position for you is backup. Should the plan be delayed long enough for you to resume your standard training regimen, I would of course need to recalculate."

"I'm fine," Buffy hissed.

"You are fine. Your health is well within normal human parameters. However, your muscle mass has declined and your fat-to-muscle ratio has increased considerably, all factors which need to be taken into consideration when..."

Buffy's eyes flashed dangerously. "You're saying I'm fat?"

"Oh, no, of course not! Not fat. Fat implies that you have reached obesity levels. You merely possess more fat."

"Hey!" Xander blurted, panic bubbling over. "We brought Trivial Pursuit! Who wants to play Trivial Pursuit!"

"If you two are going to fight, please do it away from the merchandise," Anya added.

"We're not fighting," Buffy snapped. "And I am not fat."

"I think you look really nice, Buff," Xander tried. "You got off the plane, and, uh, yowza. Not that I was checking you... o-or anyone with you out in a nasty, perverted way where one might use the word 'daddy', I'm a man and I am allowed to appreciate a well-sculpted female form without any ungentlemanly intentions, someone back me up here...!"

"Your hair's a very nice color," Angel added, one eye on Cordelia for line-crossage.

"And for once in your life, I actually like your outfit," Cordelia added.

"It was obviously expensive," Anya smiled.

"The new highlights are very pretty," Willow chimed in.

"Spike?" Buffy demanded.

He looked up from where he'd been thumb-wrestling Dawn. "Yeah?"

"Anything to add?"

"Er... what were we talkin' about?"

"Your creepy sex toy just called me fat."

"Always said you could stand to gain a few, Slayer." He gave her a vertical glance. "Looks good on you."

"I'm not Spike's sex toy," the Bot said pleasantly. "And I was not aware that I was creepy."

"Of course you're creepy. Spike ordered a sexbot that looked like me. That defines creepy. And the fact that he had you fixed the minute I left town? So not diminishing the big fat eww that is you."

"Spike did not order a sexbot that looked like you," the Bot protested. "That's what he received, but it's not what he ordered."

"Hey," Spike blurted, "I'm with Harris here, where's that board game?"

"What do you mean, you're not what he ordered?"

"Warren did not even attempt to build me to Spike's actual specifications; according to his notes, it would have taken too long, and he wanted to leave town quickly. Instead, he merely replaced enough of the speech matrices in April's programming to fool Spike until Warren could leave town. Having examined my original code, I doubt Warren had the skill to fulfill Spike's actual request."

Buffy's eyes narrowed. "Which was...?"

"You're right, Slayer, your ass is simply enormous. Wanna go outside n' fight about it?"

"You're such a pig, Spike."

"Nah, pet. If I were a pig, I'd point out how much bigger n' wrigglier you've gotten up top." He ran his tongue over his teeth, looking her up and down with all the heat that had been missing from his gaze before. "Effect's fetchin'. Specially when you're all snarly n' jiggly like you are now."

He shot her a leer. "Call me a pig again. You do this little head-flip an' it just goes all... the... way... down."

"Oh, you wanna fight me?"

"Dunno, love. Would it even be worth my while? Hear your muscle mass has decreased considerably."

"Outside, Spike. Now." Buffy grabbed him by the duster collar and hauled him through the back door of the shop.

"What the hell was that?" Xander blurted.

"Fun?" Cordelia grinned mock-innocently.

"I don't think Buffy likes me," the Bot sighed.

"Women are... sensitive... about their, um. Muscle/fat ratio," Angel offered.

"Buffy seems to be very easy to irritate," the Bot mused. "I will have to amass more data and modify my conversation matrix so as to avoid provoking an angry reaction."

"Um, yeah... when you do that?" Angel said sheepishly. "Can I, um... get a copy?"

--------------------------------------------------

Buffy threw Spike into the wall of the alley, his head cracking hard against the dirty brick, and flung herself towards him...

Collapsing against his chest, sobbing.

"Er," Spike said uncomfortably. "Thought you wanted to dance, pet..."

"Will you just shut up and give me a hug or something?" Buffy whispered, muffled against his t-shirt.

Spike wrapped his arms around her tentatively. "Didn't mean it, love. Not the slightest bit fat an' never were. Just wanted to distract you... never meant to make you cry..."

"I know," Buffy sniffled. "Shut up."

"Is this about Peaches? Don't be fooled, love, he's not near as..."

"Tell me you love me," Buffy whispered.

Spike stiffened. "Er... what?"

"I know, I know, I didn't want you to say it before. You can say it now." She snuggled closer to him. "I just kinda really need to hear it right now."

"Well, I... care about you, Slayer, of course I do..."

"Oh my God," Buffy hissed, pushing away from him. "Et tu, Spike-ay?"

He shot her a quizzical look.

"I guess you're not drowning in me anymore, huh? Not all you bloody think about, dream about? You follow Dru around for a century, but I go off for a few years and you start playing tuba in the Sunnydale Who Needs Buffy Parade?"

"Anyone ever tell you you're the most confusin' bint ever created?"

"Oh? Is that what you sit around with your bestest buddies Xander and Angel and talk about while the overgrown toaster makes battle plans?"

"What are you on about?"

"Nothing. Nothing!"

"Buff? ... Slayer? What's wrong?"

She looked down. "I'm fine. Just... grouchy, I guess."

"Look, Slayer, maybe it was dumb of us to throw a shindig after you'd been on a plane... what, fifteen hours? If you're jetlagged, pet, why not have Harris take you home?"

"It's not the jetlag," Buffy sighed. "It's... it's just... being here."

"Alley's hardly fragrant, love, but..." Spike trailed off. "You mean Sunnyhell in general, am I right?"

"I kept putting it off," Buffy sighed. "Coming back here. Dawn wanted to come back so badly, but I... I just keep looking at it like it's this... mountain I have to climb. Being General Buffy again. Making all the decisions. Slayage."

Spike wrapped his duster around himself, sitting on the box next to her. "Don't have to jump off the plane hackin' n' slashin', Slayer. 'Sides Peaches' gig, all quiet on the Hellmouth front, yeah? Hasn't been much pop up of late that Harris n' me n' the Bot couldn't handle... no reason you can't just ease back into it."

"Ease back into it," Buffy scoffed. "Great. Fighting things all the time, big secret identity, never able to have a normal life or a normal relationship, covered in demon guts, watching as everyone I care about gets picked off one by one by one until something finally picks me off... it's okay, I'll just ease back into it."

"Well... er... think about it this way, love. All the normal humans runnin' about, wishin' they were someone special... you are. Everyone's lookin' for the meanin' of life, and yours came pre-programmed with a big shiny one."

"Uh-huh. Yeah. Right. Rid the world of soulless, evil vampires... like you?"

Spike chuckled nervously. "Sorta hopin' you'd make an exception for me."

"Well that's just it, isn't it? You're exactly what I was made to kill. I mean, I should kill you. That's my job. And here you've been, doing that job for three years, saving the world for justice and the safety of puppies and Christmas... and a freaking robot is the one who saved the world."

"She's not a replacement for you, Slayer. Don't go thinkin' that... was that what all that inside was about?"

"No, she's better than me, isn't she?" Buffy asked, lips compressed in a thin line. "She got the job done. I didn't."

"Yeah, I suppose... but love, she had to kill a human to do it. That's kinda your thing, innit? Place where you draw the line? You have wanted that on your head? Ben bloke was made to be Glory's prison just like Nibblet was made to be the Key's, right? Who was more wrong... us, killin' Ben to get rid of Glory, or those Knight blokes wantin' to off Dawn to get rid of the Key?"

Buffy looked even more depressed, and Spike continued gently. "Ugly, ugly business, Slayer. Maybe... maybe it was a job best left to Team Soulless, when it's said n' done."

"So... what?" Buffy snapped. "In order to keep my hat Clorox White, I need an ethics-free backup team to do all the dirty work? How does that translate? Do I start walking through the graveyard, going 'Hi! Should I dust you, or would you like to be kept on retainer to do yucky gray-area jobs for me?"

"Er..." Spike squirmed. "This is the bit where I need one of those soul things, right? You want me to go inside, get Harris?"

"Do you think he'd know?" Buffy whispered.

"Y'know, love," Spike said carefully, "If you're well n' truly sick of the Slayer gig, you could let Faith do it. Technically speakin', you earned your retirement with that little overdressed mud-puddle swim you took..."

Buffy let out a harsh laugh, leaning back against a box. "Well, there's the central paradox of Buffy, isn't it? I don't want to do it, but I don't want anyone else doing it either."

"So... you're pissed off that you had to come back, and you're pissed off the place didn't go to hell when you left... it annoyed you that Peaches n' I were holdin' torches, but you're annoyed they've gone out, an' you wish you could be replaced, but you think you've been replaced an' that pisses you off...? Give a bloke a bloody decoder ring, pet."

"You're doing okay so far," Buffy chuckled angrily, banging her head against the box.

"Any issues I'm missin'?"

"Anya, Xander, Willow, Tara," Buffy sighed. "None of them have superpowers. Well, I guess Willow does, but... she earned hers. And they all came back."

"Slayer, everyone understands why you stayed away. You wanted Dawn to have a normal life... hardly somethin' to feel guilty over. Your mum woulda been proud as hell of you."

"Well then nobody understands anything," Buffy snapped. "If they think I did it for Dawn. I did it for me."

"Hardly high treason either..."

"Dawn doesn't want a normal life," Buffy sighed. "Dawn thinks Big Evil You is the greatest thing since sliced bread and wants to learn to slay and reads Giles' books for fun and... why am I not like that?"

"Just your poor taste, pet. I am the greatest thing since sliced bread."

"So not what I meant, and hi, Mr. Ego! No, I mean, it's like... when they made Dawn out of me, they gave her all my enthusiasm or something."

"Everythin's more fun when you don't have to do it, Slayer. You took a job as a personal shopper, you'd probably be comin' home all grumpy sayin' 'If I have to look at another pair of shoes...!'"

"So don't see that happening, but yeah, I get that," Buffy sighed. "How do you do it?"

"Gonna have to be a bit more specific."

"It can't just be the chip. I mean, where are Hostiles 1-16? Your grand mission statement of life is eat people... and here you are."

"What I eat for dinner's not my bloody mission statement. But you're right... s'not the chip. Dru offered to kill people n' feed 'em to me... coulda gone back to my old life easy enough."

"Why didn't you?" Buffy asked softly.

"Was tempted," Spike confessed. "My old life made sense. Been at it for a century, right? But I just... well, felt like I was... on the edge, y'know? Edge of somethin' scary and unknown... and goin' back with Dru, that woulda been backin' away from the cliff, turnin' around an' goin' home, never findin' out what the mystery was. An' part of me... wanted to jump, felt like I might never get a chance to stand there again."

Buffy's eyes grew wide, staring at Spike. He continued, oblivious.

"So... I jumped. An' life's a hell of a lot weirder now, more complicated, painful... but it means a hell of a lot more, like it's... hell, I dunno, Slayer, like it's richer or deeper or some rot to that effect, an' sometimes I think I finally got what I wanted when I let Dru bite me in that alley, right?"

"Thank you, Spike," Buffy whispered.

Spike blinked in shock. "Anyone ever tell you that you make no bloody sense, Slayer? Pull a vamp off you, y'punch me in the face... tell you a stupid story 'bout Dru, gratitude? You ever publish a manual, do get me a copy, would you?"

"I might even autograph it," Buffy chuckled, her eyes roaming him, taking him in. "You've... you're very large with the all-different. No nail polish, no eyeliner, no gel, less with the evil... I like it."

She threaded her fingers through his hair, tugging at the curls. "I never realized. Grow this out a bit, and you could have a total 'Blue Lagoon' thing going on."

"Think I'll skip it," Spike said warily.

"And hey... moderate clothing update," Buffy teased, sliding her fingers over the collar of his shirt. "I mean, still in your preferred color range of black and dark black, but fabric improvement... you didn't get all dressed up for me, did you?"

"Er... well, I..."

"Y'know, Dawn talks about you constantly," Buffy murmured. "Said I didn't really know you at all... and I guess she was right..."

"Nibblet's got too high an opinion of me..."

"Mom did, too. She liked you way better than Angel, you know..."

"Your mum was a class act," Spike joked nervously, eyes riveted on Buffy's hand as she continued to touch him softly. "An' she's damn good with an axe."

"Has it?" Buffy asked suddenly.

"Has what?"

"Gone out. Your torch."

Spike mentally backtracked through the conversation, trying to find the connecting thread.

"Angel looks happy... doesn't he?" Buffy added, staring into space again.

"Think the papahood agrees, yeah. Fond of the little midget myself."

"Well, hopefully he's not too happy," Buffy joked.

"No longer an issue, love. Heard about this bloke in Africa does soul-hoodoo, passed the word on to Peaches. He went down n' did the demon trials. Nasty business -- flamey action figures n' beetles n' whatnot. Still, he figured he did it for Darla, who's a right nasty bitch any way you slice her, worth doin' it for the cheerleader, right? Soul's all superglued now, he can get perfectly happy all over the place. Good thing, too. Sick of watchin' the bastard brood..."

Spike turned back to Buffy with a smirk, which faded instantly as he took in her stricken look and shiny eyes.

"Oh, hell," he swore. "Slayer, didn't get that info 'till you were long gone..."

The rest of his sentence was cut off as Buffy smashed her lips against his, knocking him backwards into the pile of boxes, Spike struggling to get out from beneath her.

"Ahem," a voice interrupted, and Buffy and Spike popped back up, frozen comically.

"Not to disrupt the excitingly grungy alley sex," Anya said, "But everyone is leaving."

"Right," Spike blurted, springing to his feet away from Buffy. "Gotta take the Nibblet home, then. Thanks for... er... helpin' me get that thing outta my eye, Slayer."

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"Okay, I so never understood why you love this show so much," Dawn said, flopping onto the couch and opening her pudding pack. "I've never seen you cook anything but onion blossoms, and you don't even have an oven. So why the cooking show? Inquiring minds wanna know."

"Bloody funny," Spike murmured, popping the top of his beer. "A bloke gets bored."

"No, no, it's more than that," Dawn insisted. "C'mon, fess up. You've got a little crush on the old Cajun man in the suspenders, right? Lie awake at night, listen to the Divinyls, and think about how spicy his blood must be from all that cayenne pepper?"

"It's funny."

"He's marinating a chicken." Dawn snatched the remote control, turning up the volume.

"Jes goin' stick my han' up heah a lil' bit, wiggle it 'round... aw yeah, git dat stuff all up in deah good an' tight, uh-huh," Justin Wilson crooned from the television set. "Git in deah, yeah, dat's right."

Spike snorted in laughter, and Dawn aimed the remote at him accusingly. "See? He's putting in stuffing, and you're acting like it's the Three Stooges. What gives?"

Spike sighed heavily. "Filter off, right?"

"Filter off," Dawn said firmly.

"Pretend he's narratin' porn," Spike admitted sheepishly.

Dawn's mouth opened in a wide 'O', and her eyes flew towards the screen, where Justin Wilson's entire fist had disappeared inside a chicken...

"You git in deah, git in deah, dat's right, no back-talk from you now, you's gwine taste so good when I eat you all up, I gah-ron-tee, jes' gwine slap a little bit mo' peppuh on y'deah, slap it right on deah, dat's right..."

Dawn burst into giggles.

"See?" Spike said innocently.

"Oh God. I'm never gonna be able to watch this show again," Dawn laughed.

"Uh-huh, dat's good now. Jes like dat. Uh-huh..."

"Oh, no. I'm so gonna hear his voice in my head at inappropriate moments."

"Be all right," Spike grinned. "It'll distract you from me decapitatin' the bloke you're with."

"Nuh-uh," Dawn made emphatic air-gestures with her pudding spoon. "I'm old enough to vote, serve in the military, and go on dates without you lurking outside with a battleaxe."

"What about a nice, shiny chainsaw?" Spike leered. "Says you really care..."

"Whatever, Spike. I spent three years in the romance capital of the planet without you or your homicidal tendencies. You can just back off, Mister Overly Protective Undead."

"Yeah, 'cause you got so wild n' crazy in gay Paree," Spike snorted.

Dawn glared. "Sexcapades were had."

"Bloody well were not."

"Bloody well were too. I might be in one of those 'Girls Gone Wild Abroad' videos."

Spike swigged his beer. "Nope."

"Fine, live in denial-land. I'll send you a postcard."

"S'not denial, Bit. S'knowledge."

"What, Buffy send you status reports? Giles keep a log? Hate to break it to you, Spikey old boy, but I had adventures of which they had noooo knowledge."

"Sure you did, love. However... you can fool Buffy n' Rupert, but..." Spike pointed to the scar on his neck.

"Whatever!"

"August fifteenth, 2001," Spike replied calmly, raising his bottle.

"Oh my GOD!" Dawn squealed, grabbing a pillow off the couch and throwing it in his face. "That is creepy and nasty and not fair! You didn't tell me anything about that! What, is this Claim thing some way that macho vampire guys can make sure they're not getting cheated on? Sick!"

"Didn't bloody know, did I? Never done it before, never thought I'd want to, didn't exactly have time to get researchy on the run in the Winnebago, now did I? Believe me, pet, I didn't enjoy knowin' you had your lips mashed to some tosser across the bleedin' ocean any more than you like me knowin'."

"But it's not fair," Dawn protested. "It's... chauvinistic, and stuff. Like I'm your property or something gross. You're gonna have a front-row seat for everything, and I don't get diddly-squat? Hello, medieval much?"

"Works both ways, Nibblet," Spike said quietly.

"It does not! You've got my first kiss in your freakin' datebook and I have not gotten the first little flashy of anything! Did you not bite me right?"

Spike stared her down. "Works both ways, Nibblet."

"No, it... oh," Dawn said suddenly, jaw dropping. "Oh. You mean. Um. Three years?"

"Yep," Spike shrugged, taking another swig.

"What? Are people crazy? Have they not looked at you?" Dawn broke off, blushing. "I mean, uh. That's, um. Is it Buffy? Are you, like, saving yourself for Buffy or something?"

"Somethin' like that," Spike muttered. "Sides, been busy. Stuff to kill. Y'know."

"Wait a minute," Dawn said, eyes narrowing. "Tonight, at the Magic Box..."

Spike peeled the beer label from his bottle intently.

"When you... were outside... with Buffy," Dawn finished. "I didn't recognize what I was feeling..."

"Slayer got a bit worked up over Peaches, had a... weird moment." Spike reconsidered, shaking his head. "Weirder moment. They don't make a Buffy-to-English dictionary, do they?"

"Oh my God," Dawn said in sudden horror. "You're gonna boff my sister, and I'm gonna feel it every single time. I feel a massive drug habit coming on."

"Seriously doubt the former will ever happen. Latter bleedin' well better not."

"Your chances are better than you think," Dawn sighed, leaning back against the couch. "Buffy talks big with the Spike-is-Evil, but she so wants in your pants. She just doesn't want to want in your pants. I mean, you have to know that, right? Willow's spell was for you guys to get married, not... slurp all over each other like disgusting... slurpy things."

"Had a glimmer of an idea, yeah," Spike admitted. "'Sides... own a nose."

"Eeew, eeew, eeew," Dawn moaned, then sat up straight. "Spike? Touch it."

His eyes flew wide. "Pardon?"

"Touch it. My scar-thing. We're not in car, we're not driving, we're all alone on the nice safe padded couch. Touch it. I wanna see if it hurts me as much as it did you."

Spike stared at her.

"C'mon, Spike, I need to know. What if you accidentally touch my neck while we're fighting some big nasty demon thing and I keel over in agonizing pain? I wanna be prepared."

"Didn't hurt me, love," Spike said miserably.

"Oh," Dawn whispered. "Was it... was it like when you bit me, and I..."

Spike stared at his knees. "Imagine so."

"You know... that was the most amazing thing I ever felt. I mean, I... nothing's ever kind of... measured up, y'know?"

Spike let out an exaggerated yawn. "Think I'm gonna hit the sack, Nibblet. See you in the evenin'."

"Spike, wait. We need to talk about this, don't we? I mean, we've got this big thing, and we've never discussed it or dealt with it or anything..."

Spike leaned back with a groan. "Why not? Bloody Summers tag-team. You first."

"Well, um, okay," Dawn said, not quite sure how to begin now that she'd started. "The, uh. The measuring up. That was the thing, when that guy kissed me, I was hoping it would be... um, more of the same, y'know? Or better, 'cause hi, neck injury, not supposed to be nicer than smooches. And it so totally wasn't. It was just, like, wet. And made my stomach feel weird."

"Think I bollocksed it up, Nibblet," Spike said mournfully. "When I bit you. What I said then, about the different ways to bite, and the way I was gonna have to do it..."

"You bit me all sexy," Dawn guessed. "'Cause of the chip."

"Well... yeah. Think maybe that affected it..."

"So we're more of the matey kind of Claimed than the, hey, let me keep track of your kids kind of Claimed?"

"Think so. But... I looked it up, right? We can break it, get rid of it."

Dawn looked like she'd been slapped. "You want to get rid of me?"

"Not what I bloody mean an' you know it. Want you to have free will, love. Be able to date normal blokes and do normal things an'..."

"Oh, the Angel speech," Dawn glared, crossing her arms. "Couldn't even be bothered to write your own blow-off monologue, huh? Be still my heart."

"Dawn..." Spike tried.

"No, that's cool. I get it." Dawn sprang from the couch. "You're all up some Buffy, don't want some nasty attachment to her stupid little sister getting in your way. That's cool. It must be extra-gross for you. I get that."

Spike leapt up to face her, growling softly. "That... is... not... it."

"Whatever! You said it yourself, you've been all white-knight waiting-celibately for her ever since she ran off. Well, news flash, Spike...! She has so not been waiting celibately for you. She's been underneath every Jacques, Yves and Pierre that could buy her merlot since the Scoobies took off."

"Don't particularly care if she sucked off la Fédération Française de Football."

Dawn snorted, her eyes flashing. "You love her anyway, right? Even though she treats you like total crap? God, you really are a glutton for punishment."

"Suppose I am, at that," Spike glowered, the muscle in his jaw twitching. "You just don't get it, do you?"

"Oh, I get it, all right. You're the one who doesn't get it. Jesus, Spike. She puts you down, beats you up, orders you around and it's still Buffy, Buffy, Buffy! I feel like Jan in that lameass Brady Bunch movie, do you know how stupid that makes me feel? It's like when she's around, I just cease to exist! Every guy I've ever... and you think you'd understand, what with your little Angel issues, but no, of course, everyone takes one look at her and... and you! You're my freaking Vampire Mate, who's all... blood-bonded to me or whatever and still, it is All!About!Buffy! Every single time I..."

"Dawn," Spike sighed heavily.

"No, no. You were right. This conversation? So of the bad. Really liking your whole go to bed and never speak of this again plan. I'll clear out in the morning, let you get the place ready for the upcoming Slayer Sexathon. Go stay with Xander or something. Hey, maybe he'd like to unwrap the Buffy consolation prize..."

Spike snarled, grabbed Dawn by the hips and smashed her against him.

"Oh," Dawn said, eyes widening as she realized what she'd been pressed against. "That is, um... when did you... what is..."

"That," Spike growled, "Is somethin' most emphatically not All!About!Buffy!"

Dawn blushed, and Spike pushed her off, stalking across the crypt. "You think this isn't easy for you? You were bloody well fourteen! Slept in a soddin' pile of stuffed animals, wearin' little pink sneakers... you got any idea how sick with myself I felt? Havin' nightmares where your mum staked me, couldn't bloody well tell anyone about it, knew every one of the damned Scooby Club would push me out into the sunshine if they had the slightest idea kind of dreams I was havin' bout you..."

"You had the dreams, too?"

"Maybe you're right. Maybe you stayin' with me isn't such a good idea," Spike blurted, running his hand through his hair miserably. "Gotten even worse since you came back, all..." he gestured vaguely towards her, "Not fourteen an' all. Look at you an' it feels like I'm about to bloody explode, all right? I'm a bleedin' demon, pet. Self-control? Not exactly my forte. Tryin' to be good an' then there you are and I..."

"And... Buffy?" Dawn asked carefully.

"Hasn't been the same since..." Spike let out a groan and fumbled for his cigarettes. "Always did like you better, Nibblet. Hell of a lot sweeter to me an' more fun to be with besides, but... you were a kid. An' then I bit you, an' then parts of me kept screamin' that you weren't a kid even though other parts were threatenin' to cut them off for sayin' it, an'... hell, I dunno."

He flicked his lighter, stared at the flame dully. "An' yeah, she kissed me tonight, all right? Not my bloody idea! Was just... wrong. Knew it would be, too. Known it a long time, I think... felt it in my bones. Was like... once you n' Buffy were on equal footin', woman-bein' wise, you just... eclipsed her."

"I... me. I eclipsed Buffy."

"Yeah." He put a cigarette between his lips.

"Don't light that," Dawn whispered.

"We're havin' this conversation? I'm bloody well smokin'."

Dawn walked over and pulled the cigarette out of his mouth, setting it on the sarcophagus behind him.

"Hey! Give that --"

And then her lips were on his, a ragged, needy groan tearing from his throat as he pushed her away, Dawn stumbling backwards across the crypt, kicked-puppy rejection in her eyes as she struggled to regain her balance.

"Nibblet... don't," he begged.

"I thought... I thought you wanted me," she said in a small voice.

Spike closed his eyes in frustration. "I do. God, I... Be a hell of a lot easier if I didn't."

"Then why..."

"S'not fair to you, pidge. Ought to be with a bloke you want to be with... not some old dead guy who got his fangs in you once n' messed with your head."

"You are such a dork. I had a crush on you way before. And hello, I seem to recall begging you to deflower me...! All before the bite."

"You were tryin' to save the world, love. Hardly like a date."

"And I picked you. Out of everybody."

"Out of Rupert and Harris, you mean."

Dawn glared. "You're really stupid. I mean, colossally, ginormously stupid."

He retrieved and lit the cigarette. "So you keep remindin' me."

"So," she spat, crossing her arms. "How do we take it off?"

"What?"

"Off. How do we take it off? If I can't have you, I'm not bloody well spending the rest of my life wanting to puke when anyone else tries to touch me. Really not down with the dying an Old Maid virgin because your inner Victorian is having a hissy fit."

They glared at each other across the crypt, chests heaving, silence stretching between them.

Finally, Spike sighed.

"Have to bite you again," he whispered miserably. "Vice versa. Only this time, we don't drink. Or rather, don't swallow. You spit. Normally, people breakin' a Claim are mighty pissed at each other, that bit might be symbolic... best to be sure, though. An' then you say somethin'... got it written down somewhere."

Dawn's eyes flashed. "Fine. Get in the comfy chair."

Spike blinked.

"I sit on your lap for this, right? Get in the comfy chair."

"You wanna... you wanna do it now?" Spike fought to keep the pain out of his eyes.

"No time like the present, right? Isn't that what you said?"

"Fine," Spike snarled, tossing his cigarette across the crypt and stalking over to the chair, dropping into it with a glare. "Let's get this over with."

Dawn tossed her hair. "Let me guess... reverse order? I bite you first?"

"'Bout the long n' short of it, yeah." Spike sprawled in the chair, leering angrily. "What you waitin' for, Dawnie? Chompin' at the bit a minute ago."

Dawn's eyes narrowed at his choice of nickname and she stalked over to the comfy chair, crawling onto his lap, straddling his thighs and glaring down at him.

"Not how you were sittin' in my lap before," Spike hissed between clenched teeth.

"Yeah, well, we were on a bed before," she smirked. "You wanna do this on a bed?"

"No," he groaned as she settled herself down on him. "What the hell you..."

"Just... getting comfy," Dawn said innocently, bucking her hips against him and watching his jaw twitch.

Spike growled. "Hurry up."

Dawn tilted her head, biting her lip as she pretended to search her memory. "Now... how'd you do this before? Oh, yeah..."

And Spike hissed, his fingers digging into the armrests of the chair, as Dawn lowered her head and deliberately swirled her tongue around his scar, sucking gently.

"Bloody... Dawn... fucking... hell..." Spike gasped, fighting himself frantically to keep still. "Don't... don't..."

"This is what you did," Dawn purred, flicking the tip of her tongue against the center of the mark, smiling when he cried out.

"Not the... bloody... same..."

She slid her fingers into his hair, tugging his neck further to the side, nibbling gently against the column of his throat. "I'm just being thorough..."

"Dawn... you don't... you don't know..."

Spike's protests dissolved into an anguished growl as Dawn ground her hips against him, her fingernails scratching his neck as her tongue traced slow patterns over the oval of her mark, chuckling against his skin.

"S'not bloody... funny," he moaned, a sharp crack echoing through the crypt as the wood of the armrest splintered under his grip. "Get on with it."

"One," she whispered into his ear, twirling her tongue around his earlobe.

"Bitch," he swore fiercely...

And then screamed as she bit into him, knife-edge of control fleeing as the sensations took him over, grabbing for her and slamming, arching up into her, pressing himself where he oh god desperately needed to be, nearly whimpering when she thrust back against him eagerly, their bodies taking up an unconscious, desperate, grinding rhythm and friction and heat and oh god her teeth and her teeth and his blood flowing down her throat and her heartbeat thudding against him and the the scent of her wanting swirling all around him and the blood and each swallow was echoing through him and fuck and fuck and fuck, she was not supposed to be doing that and make her stop he had to make her stop this was all going wrong and...

And she stopped, somehow standing a few feet from him before his brain came back online, leaving him gasping and empty and aching and hard and hurting and needing and he couldn't breathe right and he couldn't stop breathing and...

"You weren't..." he moaned, trying to get himself under control. "You weren't... supposed to... do that. You were supposed to... spit it out."

"Yeah, well," Dawn smirked, dragging her thumb across her lower lip and slowly sucking the blood from it...

(Bloody buggering fuck, I thought I was evil?)

Dawn grinned impishly. "Always figured I'd be more of a swallow girl."

Spike let out a groan and collapsed against the back of the chair. "Gonna be the death of me."

"You're already dead," Dawn pointed out helpfully.

"More dead. You will find a way to make me more dead." He opened one eye, glaring. "Shoulda bloody known. 'Dawn'. Named after the thing that dusts me. Warnin' from the Powers, that was."

"Well... I guess I screwed up, huh? Better do it over. Don't worry, Spike," Dawn shot him a winning grin. "I'm gonna try really hard to get it right this time."

"Don't you come even one foot closer to me."

"Oh?" Dawn raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

"Because..." he groaned. "Just bloody because, that's why."

"Filter off, Spike," Dawn reminded him gleefully.

"Filter off?" Spike challenged with a glare. "Fine. You take one bloody step towards me, I'm gonna grab you up an' toss you into that wall, right? Gonna rip every last inch of your clothes off an' fuck you senseless 'till you're screamin' my name an' can't remember yours. Pretty much gonna do that over n' over until one of us loses consciousness." He smirked. "Happy now?"

Dawn snorted. "That was the worst threat, like, ever. Don't come any closer! I'll feed you chocolate and give you foot massages! What happened to ripping my head off one-handed and drinking from my brain stem?"

"Other bits of you I'd rather drink from, pet." Spike deliberately gave her the full-on head-tilt tongue leer.

"And now you're threatening me with oral pleasure. Damn, Big Bad, I can see why the demons quiver in terror."

Spike chuckled despite himself. "Not really a standard battle tactic."

"Might wanna try it," Dawn grinned. "Very diversionary."

"Bloody well is when I do it," Spike growled.

"You know, until you just said that just now? It never really occurred to me that you had sex with Dru. Like, a lot. That's just... weird."

"Oh, but picturin' me with Harm gives you the warm fuzzies?"

"Hardly," Dawn scoffed, opening the refrigerator. "But Harmony was sane. I'm just trying to imagine what Drusilla would be like in bed. I mean, I always kind of saw her as this... overgrown, really creepy baby doll." She pulled out a bottle of Juicy Juice, closing the fridge with her foot. "I mean, she used to say the weirdest crap. I'm just picturing her in bed, talking about burning baby fish."

"Yeah, sometimes," Spike said fondly. "Hell, I'd take a million burnin' baby fish monologues over her nasty little habit of shriekin' 'Daddy' when a bloke hates to hear it most."

"Mega-eww," Dawn agreed, dropping onto the couch.

"Nibblet," Spike said, eyeing her return to good humor warily, "What are we gonna... er... do about the thing?"

"I kinda liked your toss me into a wall, rip my clothes off and fuck me senseless suggestion," Dawn grinned, chugging juice.

Spike flinched. "Not used to you sayin' that word."

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Dawn replied gleefully.

"You're just bleedin' determined to Hulk Smash my every memory of my sweet, innocent lil' Nibblet, aren't you?"

"I'm still sweet," Dawn countered. "And relatively innocent. Wanna fix that?"

"Yes... I mean, no," Spike spat, lighting a cigarette. "Quit confusin' me. An' don't sit like that."

"Like what?"

"All... leggy."

"Oh, do these bother you?" Dawn asked, rubbing her calf sensually over the back of the couch. "Hate to tell you, they don't detach."

"They bloody well do if you piss me off enough."

"Great plan, Spike. You're worried that Xander won't be your bestest buddy anymore if you fuck me senseless, but you think he'll be a world of yay if you turn me into The Amazing Torso?"

"Quit sayin' fuck me senseless. And Xander is not..."

"Oooh," Dawn leered. "It's even nicer when you say fuck me senseless."

"Stop that."

"Make me."

"You know..." Spike stabbed the air with his finger. "Your maturity levels leave somethin' to be desired."

"Told you we had a lot of stuff in common." Dawn rose with a yawn. "Okay, I'm really going to bed this time."

"G'night."

"Get all naked, snuggle under the covers..."

"I ever get this bloody chip out, Bit, I'm gonna..."

"Introduce me to the wide world of S&M fun?" Dawn chirped.

"Think I liked you better all ragingly insecure over Buffy," Spike grumbled. "I ever mention how bouncy her hair is?"

"Toooooo late," Dawn grinned, bouncing towards the ladder. "Goodnight, Spike."

"Smells like some kind of nice flowers!" Spike bellowed to her retreating back.

Dawn's echoing laughter from downstairs was his only reply.