Flooded

"So, what do you know about finances?"

Spike looked at her long and hard. "Finances?" he repeated. "Money?" This was definitely not the conversation they had started having.

"Yeah. Mom's insurance has run out. And the bills kinda piled up in my... absence," she shrugged.

"I see." Spike looked out into the garden. "Willow, she never mentioned anything."

"Probably didn't want Dawn to worry."

"She could've mentioned it to me. Privately. Been with her all summer."

"She probably didn't think you could help."

"You did," he retorted.

"You think differently," she said simply.

"Uh-huh. Thank you?"

"It was a compliment," she assured.

"Don't start, Slayer. I could get used to it," he smiled. The side of her mouth went up but that was as close to amused as she had the strength to get. "So. How bad is it?"

"Extra extra negativo. Back in Black is not a song I'll be playing any time soon. I've probably got another two weeks of groceries and lights. And if Dawn keeps eating like she does, we'll knock it down to a week and a half, tops."

"Yeah? And what about Xander's illustrious career in blue collar middle management?"

She put her arms between her knees to block out the chill of the night air. "He's tried to do what he can. He helped out a lot with the plumbing. And he's been great about making sure things get fixed instead of replaced. But he's got a life to keep up too."

"And the ladies? Wil and Tara don't exactly seem the bring home the bacon types," he admitted, leaning back on the stair behind him.

"Ha, yeah, I guess not, not with school. And I can't ask them to... They've already done so much, taking care of Dawn, everything. Besides. It's kinda tacky. Asking someone who brought you back from the dead to lend you money."

He snorted and nodded. "If you want, I've got a couple of ideas. But you probably won't like them."

"I probably won't. But, then again, I did ask you."

He looked at her with a pretty obvious expression and said, "Well, there's always the bank."

"I'm not robbing a bank, Spike."

"Hey, I never said the word 'rob.' But you can get a loan. Either on you or the house. If it's worth anything. Don't expect property value in Sunnydale to actually be soaring."

She thought for a moment and then nodded. "That's not a bad idea. I could, couldn't I?"

"You can at least try. Then there's sellin' the house. But I doubt you'd be for that, what with the Munch an' all. Stability. That sorta thing. Bein' yer mom's place."

"Yeah. It's possible, but... I can't really see having the Scooby meetings in a two bedroom apartment. Of course, it worked at Giles'," she shrugged.

"Then, there's always my way."

"Oh. And what is your way? Extortion? Black mail? Fencing televisions from the back of a van?"

He sat up quickly and glared at her. "No! Jeez, Slayer, what do you think I do in my spare time anyway? No. Gambling! Where d'you think I get my money from? An honest day's work? Not hardly. Poker. Dog track. Piddly stuff, but it keeps me rollin' in sexy shirts and scotch."

"I don't know if someone who's died twice in four years is qualified to try her hand at games of chance."

"S'right, maybe. But you don't have t'go it alone. Hate t'break it t'ya, but you got a lousy poker face, luv. Me, on the other hand..." he said, looking smug.

"I'm not going to have you play poker to save my house, Spike."

"Now, I bet you never thought you'd say that!"

Suddenly she started to laugh, and he smiled again, feeling accomplished.

"I should go in," she told him, pulling her hair back behind her ear.

He watched her rise and brush off her backside. "Is it because we're talking, instead of fighting?"

She stopped and looked down. "What? No! No, it's not... Maybe. I don't know. I'm just tired."

"Okay," he conceded.

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight."