A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing. It means SO much to me and I really appreciate it :)
Buffy stared at the illuminated red numbers on her alarm clock as they switched to 7:00 am. She'd been lying in bed without so much as an hour of shut-eye, and had been biding her time, waiting until it was late enough to call Cordelia and beg for a ride. She'd heard Spike go to bed shortly after she'd run out on him. He didn't try to talk to her, though she didn't really expect him to. She grabbed her phone from it's place on the pillow and dialed Cordelia's number.
"What?" Cordelia's voice snapped after seven or eight rings.
"Can you come get me?" Buffy whispered. Her bedroom was not far from Spike's and she really didn't want to deal with him this morning.
"Where the hell did you go last night? One minute, you were dancing with Angel and the next you were gone."
"I'm sorry. Spike could tell I was drunk and made me leave."
"Whatever. At least tell me you had sex with him."
"A world of no."
"God, you're such a wet blanket."
"Can you please just come get me?"
"Fine. But I've got a horrible hangover and I got, like, three hours of sleep. You owe me a Frap. And lunch."
"Deal."
Spike rubbed his eyes as the alarm next to him started beeping at 8:30 in the morning. He'd forgotten to shut it off this morning. Honestly, if he'd had it his way, he would sleep until the sun was down. He was a night owl, that's for sure. After Buffy had run out of the room in tears, he'd sulked on the couch with a cigarette and a six-pack. He could hear her wailing for almost an hour, but he'd had to admit he was too chicken to try and comfort a sobbing seventeen year old. When Dru had cried in the past, she'd lock herself in the bathroom where the sounds were magnified, so the sobs would resound through the entire house until Spike's ears and heart were bleeding.
Spike rolled out of bed and pulled his tee-shirt and crumpled jeans on. Probably best not to parade around in a pair of boxers after he'd ravaged his…he stopped the thought before it could come to a head. It wasn't even worth it. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he wandered out of the room and down the hall. Buffy's bedroom was wide open. He peered in, curious. The bed was neatly made, a stuffed pink pig sitting proudly on the throw pillows. He looked over the edge of the balcony, into the foyer. Her shoes, which she'd abandoned at the door the night before, were gone. All traces she'd ever been here had been erased. It was probably for the best.
It was Sunday evening and Spike was standing on the front porch, smoking a cigarette and watching the sun lower beyond the horizon. He had worked another long night on Saturday night, but his tips has been great. He was feeling more optimistic about his situation, although he'd had to spend most of the night dodging his biggest fan: Nikki, who he'd met on Friday. She'd spent three hours at the bar, downing jager bombs and flashing her ample cleavage at him. He'd flirted with the idea of taking her home. He'd even kissed her up against the wall outside of the bar after closing. But when he thought about bringing her into the Summers home, he cringed.
Spike watched an elderly couple walk by, hand in hand. It was the picture perfect suburban town, something so different from anything he'd ever experienced. As a child, he'd lived on an estate, in a big house, with only his nanny to keep him company. Rupert was always on business, or locked up in his office, while his mother entertained guests at all hours. Once his mother died, the house had grown even emptier, and the small things that had once made it feel like a home died away. Her garden shriveled and the smell of cookies was replaced by the sent of Rupert's abundant wine collection. Spike used to sit in his room and drink his father's brandy, as if getting drunk on his father's prized liquor at sixteen was the biggest 'fuck you' he could muster. By the time he was eighteen, he was living in the shithole of a flat in London, where mold grew on the walls and the sound of couples fighting overpowered the constant noise of traffic.
Spike watched as the familiar Pontiac GTO turned onto Revello Drive. Quickly, he tossed his cigarette to the ground and smashed it with the toe of his combat boot. The window rolled down and Joyce stuck her hand out.
"Spike!" She waved. Spike waved back. He could see Dawn in the passenger seat. The pulled into the driveway and Dawn bounded out of the car.
"Spike!" She called. He gave her a high-five.
"How was your weekend, bit?"
"It was awesome. Janet got Guitar Hero!"
"I have no bleedin' idea what Guitar Hero is, but I like the sound of it," He laughed.
"Maybe you can come over to Janet's sometime and play it with us. Her mom makes the best peanut butter brownies."
"Only if she makes hot chocolate too."
"With the little marshmallows?" Dawn rolled her eyes. His hot chocolate fetish had become somewhat of a running joke between he and the Summers women.
"How was your weekend, Spike? Any problems?" Joyce came up the driveway, her suitcase in hand. He grabbed it from her and shook his head.
"Nothing of interest." You know, except I made out with your daughter.
"New York was fantastic," Spike followed her and Dawn into the house, "Is Buffy here?"
"No. Haven't seen her all weekend."
"I'll give her a call and see if she wants to join us for dinner." Spike leaned awkwardly against the door and Joyce dialed Buffy on her cell phone.
"Hi honey. I just got back and was seeing if you wanted to head home for dinner. What? Oh, yes, Spike is here. Well…okay. If you're sure. See you later on. Love you too." Joyce set her phone back in her bag and shrugged. "She's having too much fun with her friends."
"Ah."
"Before you take me home, can we stop at Starbucks? I need coffee, stat."
"I don't think you need any caffeine, Buffy. You've been unnaturally bouncy. It's….odd."
"Please, Cordy? The longer I can avoid home, the better."
"Fine. I'm getting ice cream next door anyway."
"Since when do you like ice cream? I thought you didn't eat fat. Or carbs. Or calories."
"Since Tasha told me that Larry likes girls with a little meat on their bones. Curvy is so the new thin."
"Uh-huh." Cordy pulled her car into the parking lot and parked. Buffy scanned the storefront. There was a huge line at the ice cream shop. "I'll meet you in there after I get my drink."
Buffy took a long sip of her coffee and looked around the Starbucks. She realized it was the first time she'd been there since she and Giles had come here to study a few weeks earlier. She expected the memory to hit her like a knife, but instead, she felt a comforting warmth take over her body. Giles had been trying to help her review her statistics before the semester started, and she'd been completely lost. He'd been cleaning his glasses obsessively and caught Buffy's disapproving eye. They'd burst into laughter, forgotten about her studies, and decided to get ice cream next door.
With a newfound desire to find Cordelia, Buffy wandered outside and into the Dairy Queen. Before she could eye Cordelia, her eyes landed on another sight. Dawn and Spike were sitting in the back of the shop, sharing a giant hot fudge sundae. She watched as Dawn plucked the cherry from the sundae and lobbed it at Spike, who dodged it. The cherry landed on another couple's table, who glared at them disapprovingly. Both Dawn and Spike cracked up. Buffy attempted to blend back into the crowd behind her, when Cordelia spotted her from the front of the line.
"Buffy!" She called. Dawn and Spike turned their heads to see her standing there, clutching her coffee, and looking like a total deer in headlights.
"Hi…" she waved awkwardly. Spike's eyes averted from her, focusing instead on the floor under her flip flops.
"Come sit with us!" Dawn insisted.
"No, no…we have to go anyway."
"Um, no we don't." Cordelia walked over, her ice cream cone in hand. She eyed Spike with more interest than the treat. "Let's join your sister and stepbrother."
"We'd be intruding. Looks like you two were having some bonding time."
"Yea-" Spike started. Dawn slapped him on the arm and he shut up. "Sit down, love."
"I…" Buffy's voice trailed off as Cordelia took a seat next to Spike. She leaned down and licked her ice cream suggestively. Buffy cleared her throat and sat down next to Dawn. "Did you have a good weekend, Dawnie?"
"Yeah! Janet and I played Guitar Hero and stayed up until, like, 3am."
"Wild."
"Did you guys have fun?"
"Yeah. We stayed in mostly. Girly stuff, you know." Buffy eyed Spike dangerously, urging him not to say anything.
"Congrats on your new job, Spike." Cordy tickled his wrist and smiled flirtatiously.
"You got a job?" Dawn widened her eyes.
"We ran into him at the Bronze. He's a bartender." Buffy elbowed Cordelia as hard as she could.
"You didn't tell my mom you saw Buffy." Dawn looked up at Spike curiously.
"Slipped my mind. It was only for a second. Aren't you glad I got a job? I'll be out of your hair soon."
"Oh." Dawn looked down, her eyes dark.
"What's the matter, bit?"
"I don't want you to leave." She looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. Buffy felt a mix of disgust and jealousy. She couldn't understand why Dawn was so attached to Spike, but at the same time, she wanted to be part of their secret club, too.
"I'll come visit. Maybe you can come to London. We'll go see Big Ben." He patted Dawn gently on the shoulder, who practically launched over the table and wrapped her arms around his neck.
"It's nice to have a brother." She whispered in his ear.
"T-thank you." Spike rubbed her back awkwardly. He'd never had anyone to miss him before.
Buffy sat down on the steps of the back deck. The weather was beginning to cool down into autumn, but it was still warm enough in California that she was wearing denim shorts, a green halter top, and flip flops. Her empty coffee cup was sitting abandoned next to her, and she fiddled with the sparkly strap on her shoe. She was angry…. angry that Spike had rejected her. She was angry at herself for being an idiot and kissing him, and angry that everyone else seemed so peachy keen with his presence. After she'd come home, Dawn, Spike, and Giles had played Yahtzee while she'd unpacked her things. It was the kind of stuff they used to do, except Giles was there and Spike wasn't. Without her dad, it felt wrong.
Buffy heard the back door open. From the heavy footfalls and smell of smoke, it was easy to tell that it was Spike.
"You're smoking."
"Very observant, pet."
"You never smoke when my mom is home." She hadn't even looked at him yet.
"She's in bed. Same with Dawn."
"Oh." She leaned back on her elbows and stared out into the darkness. Spike didn't say anything for a moment, then joined her on the stairs.
"Your sister won Yahtzee. Firecracker, that one."
"Ah."
"You should've played."
"Stop." Buffy narrowed her eyes at him and plucked a blade of grass from beneath her foot.
"Stop what?"
"Stop trying to talk to me. We both know how that turned out last time."
"Pet…" It wasn't often that Spike struggle to find words.
"Just don't." Spike placed a hand on her knee. It was out of character, but he found it fitting for the moment. He stroked a thumb over the bare skin and she shivered. He moved his hand back to own lap and took a drag of his cigarette.
"Everything is going to be okay, Buffy," her name sounded foreign on his tongue. "I'll be out of here soon enough."
"I know." Spike stood and put his cigarette out in the flower pot next to them. "Wait."
"What?"
"You don't have to go inside. I'll go." She began to stand up.
"It's a big deck, love." He grabbed her hand and helped her stand. She folded her arms and looked up at him, her mouth set in a hard, firm line.
"I don't know what Cordy sees in you." She smiled, just enough that Spike knew the tension was thinning.
"Are you kidding? I'm a handsome bugger."
"If cheesy eighties throwback is your thing, sure." She grabbed the box of cigarettes from his back pocket and plucked one out.
"What are you doing, love?" She placed the unlit cigarette between her lips.
"'Ello, I'm Spike! Bugger! Wanker! Bloody 'ell! Look at my bleach blonde 'air and big bad boots! It's obvious I'm overcompensating!" She rambled in a cheesy, overdone British accent.
"Your accent is awful, pet. And the only one you're insulting is yourself." She dropped the cigarette to the ground and raised her eyebrows.
"Say what?"
"You're the one who likes kissin' me." He smiled teasingly and she flushed bright red.
"I was drunk. It was gross anyway." She folded her arms and lowered her eyes, focusing on the cracks in the wood beneath her feet.
"Was it, then?"
"Very. Can we not talk about that? Perhaps scrub my memory with bleach?" She looked up at him, her green-blue eyes wide.
"Have it your way, pet." He stretched his arms over his head, and the porch light illuminated the scars on his forearm. Buffy's eyes wandered over them and he suddenly yanked his arms down.
"What are those?"
"That's none of your business, Summers."
"Sorry." Spike sighed and touched the skin on his arms protectively.
"I didn't mean to snap. It's just a touchy subject."
"Got it." Buffy eyed him for a moment, focusing her gaze on his angular face, full of frustration. She slumped against the brick of the house and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I miss him," she whispered.
"I do too."
"Can I take you somewhere?" Buffy walked toward Spike and grabbed his elbow gently.
They stared down at the headstone, silent. Buffy had dragged Spike silently on the mile walk to the Sunnydale Cemetery. They'd barely spoken a word since they arrived, especially once Spike realized where they were. Spike looked down at the pictures that covered the freshly turned dirt. The photographs, faded and curled from recent rain, depicted Buffy and Giles at various ages.
"How did these get here?"
"I put them here." Buffy kneeled and picked up one of the photographs. It was taken at Giles' and Joyce's wedding. They'd looked so happy, and Buffy has insisted on ruining their moment by squeezing in between the bride and groom.
"When?"
"After the funeral. A week ago. Two days ago," she shrugged and shoved her hands in her pockets, "I come here at night sometimes. When I can't sleep."
"Can you tell me about it? How he died? I know the gist of it….but…" Spike trailed off. Out of habit, he grabbed a cigarette from his pocket and lit it with his Zippo.
"Mom was out of town. Dawn was with a friend. I was at the house with him when he had the heart attack. I tried to help. I called 911, but it was too late. He was gone so fast."
"I didn't know you were there."
"Yeah." Buffy sucked back a rush of tears threatening to fall.
"Heroin."
"What?"
"My arms. The scars. They're from heroin. I was an addict." He lowered a forearm in front of her face. She pressed the pads of her fingertips to the markings.
"Why are you telling me this?" She continued to trace them lightly, mulling his confession in her mind.
"You told me a secret., pet."
"I guess I did." She grabbed his hand in her own and squeezed it tightly. He brushed his thumb over her grip as they stood, transfixed in the moment.
