They lie next to each other panting. Spike shakes his head dispelling the demon features, his own human face settling back into place. There's a couple of scratches on Buffy's neck and chest where his fangs have caught her but they're faint, barely there at all.
He traces his fingers across them, feeling the raised welts underneath his fingertips.
Buffy melts at the touch, his cool hands on her chest and neck.
"I've got to get up," she sighs.
"It's Saturday, you don't have to do anything."
"I'm still the Slayer, even on the weekend."
"It's daylight. Stay here with me."
She rolls her eyes as he pulls her across the bed into his arms.
"Just because it's daylight doesn't mean I can lounge around with you in a dark room all day."
"Why not?" He pouts in mock hurt, kissing her neck.
"Dawn's probably up by now, I can't just abandon her to herself. God knows what will happen."
"She's not even up yet, we would've heard-"
There's a click from the hallway as Dawn's door opens and then shuts, and the sound of her stomping down the stairs. Spike sighs.
"Oh, balls."
Buffy moves to pull away from him but he doesn't let go.
"Spike, off."
"No."
"Yes! Let go."
"Don't rightly feel like it," she tries to skooch out from under his arms but he yanks her back, "mmm, love it when you wiggle like that. Do it again."
"Stop it, I need to have a shower and make Dawn breakfast."
"I'll make Dawn breakfast if you let me in your shower?"
"I'm seriously not making deals with you!"
"Yes you are," He climbs on top of her, his hands cupping her face. He kisses her deeply, "shower and breakfast is my final offer, or I'll tie you back up again."
Dawn's curled up on the sofa watching cartoons when Spike descends the stairs running his hands through still damp curls.
"Morning, Bit."
"Hey."
"You hungry?"
"Starving."
"Want eggs?"
"Yes! And Willow got sausages with the shopping yesterday? And she got you a couple of blood packs too."
"Nice of her." Strangely not hungry for it...
Dawn follows him into the kitchen. The blinds are still drawn from last night. She opens the curtains of the backdoor where there's no direct sunlight, brightening the room a little. Spike moves round to the cupboards, pulling out a frying pan and Dawn's eyes widen as the side of his head catches the light. He sees her staring at him and raises an eyebrow.
"What are you looking at?"
"You've uh... got a bite mark on your ear."
Uh shit.
"And?"
"It's just... a weird place for a bite mark."
"Get all sorts of marks monster hunting, Bit. Nothing to write home about."
"Yeah. Weird that you didn't have it when you came in last night though."
He winces, meeting her eye across the kitchen table. She raises an eyebrow back at him. If it wasn't for the happy breakfast cereal pyjamas that look would bore a hole through him.
He turns back to the oven, trying to shrug off her gaze.
"You want scrambled or fried?"
"Fried."
There's silence as the fat sizzles in the pan. He adds the sausages, turning them every so often with a fork so they don't burn, keeping his hands busy.
"Did Buffy do that?"
He mumbles what sounds like fucking hell under his breath, "Niblet... I-"
"I might technically only be a year old or whatever, but I'm still in high school. I'm not an idiot."
"Clearly not."
"Or deaf."
"Oh fuck me," he turns back to her, clenching his jaw waiting for an onslaught, "alright, is this the part where you say if you hurt my sister I'll stake you good and proper? Get it over with then."
"I would. But we both know she's not the one who'll get hurt, don't we?" They square off, glare for glare.
Standing in front of him, big grey eyes pining him to the spot, Spike is struck by how much she looks like Joyce. The cut of the jaw, the hard stance, the not-quite-scowling-but-just-you-try-it-look.
Doesn't need Slayer powers to make you feel like you're on thin ice... Joyce would be proud. Glad we didn't get her that axe...
"You Summer's girls really got the death stare nailed," he turns to crack eggs into the pan, "gotta say though, the smiley breakfast night wear undermines it slightly."
"Did you bite her back?"
He freezes, nostrils flaring.
"How can you ask me that?"
"I saw the love bite the other day."
"That's not...that's different, and you know it."
"Is it?"
"You bloody know it is, Dawn." He keeps his voice low, but there's a deadly edge to it now, "I couldn't do that. Thought you knew me better by now."
"You couldn't because of the chip?"
"It's got nothing to do with the chip. If you think for one second I'd do anything to hurt her, then you really don't know me at all."
"Spike," there's a slight softening to her tone that makes him turn back around, "I missed you when you weren't around. Please don't mess up whatever's going on with you two."
He swallows, taking a breath, anger melting.
"I know. I'll walk the line, Bit. Believe me on that."
Dawn holds his gaze for a moment before nodding. "Ok."
Spike relaxes a little, running hands through his hair. He moves the eggs on to a plate and adds bread to fry quickly before plating up the breakfast for both of them.
"How's your arm?"
"Better. Doesn't hurt."
"You need me to cut up your food, killer?"
"I can manage. You're not having blood?"
"Saving it for later."
"I don't mind it, if it's because of me?"
"It's not, eat your breakfast."
Dawn flicks open the cap of a ketchup bottle with one hand and drowns the eggs, sausage and bread.
"Would this count as a Full English?"
"No, you need bacon, tomatoes and black pudding too."
Dawn frowns. "What pudding?"
"Black pudding. It's made with pigs blood, oatmeal and herbs."
Her face is a mixture of horror and fascination. "You're definitely making that up."
"M'not," Spike mumbles around a mouthful of egg, "haven't had it in decades."
"That's disgusting."
"Not as disgusting as your ketchup soup with breakfast lumps."
"That seriously can't be a thing. Is England just full of vampires? I mean, who eats that?"
"More like full of people unwilling to waste even the worst parts of food. Don't get me started on tripe and onions."
Dawn chews her food thoughtfully.
"So it's kinda the same as your blood and wheetabix? You could make it with the blood in the fridge. Think I'd heave though."
"That's where the line is, then is it? She of the iron stomach defeated by British cuisine."
"I don't think that counts as a cuisine." She smirks. "So was that you're favorite food? Back in England?"
"Not particularly, but it's good for a hangover."
"Did you have a favorite food? Before, you know. Blood."
Spike smiles at her, a questioning look flitting across his face, before he shrugs it off.
"Was a long time ago. But I remember I always had a sweet tooth. There was this place in London used to make clotted cream fudge. It got levelled in the Blitz, and I never found anything like it. We used to get a box at Christmas."
"We?"
"...Me and my mother."
He takes their empty plates and moves them into the sink, running the hot water. Dawn moves to stand next to him, leaning with her back to the sink. They're silent together for a little bit, listening to the sound of the water.
"What was her name?"
Spike blinks a couple of times, smiling a little sadly.
"Anne."
"Do you... ever miss her?"
"All the time, Niblet."
"Really? All the time? Even after... like a hundred years?"
"Yes. Time doesn't change things like that."
"People kept telling me time heals all wounds. When mum died."
"People say a lot of bollocks. Losing someone you love... it's not something you just forget about."
"...It doesn't get easier?"
Spike looks at her, sees tears starting to brim. He rinses the last plate and dries his hands on a towel.
"It's not really about easier, Bit. It's..." he winces a little, trying to form the words. "It's like... lifting weights. At the beginning it's agony. Like it's going to crush you. But the more you do it, the less painful it becomes. The weight doesn't change. Some days it's still really hard to pick up. But eventually you just carry it around. Day to day."
He turns to lean next to her, shoulder to shoulder, and she rests her head on his arm. He pulls her into a one armed hug, resting his chin on the top of her head.
She sniffs, trembling from tears that are starting to seep into his shirt.
"You always told me the truth."
"M'sorry. Tact was never one of my virtues."
"I'm glad you said it. I feel like I've been going out of my mind thinking I should've... starting feeling better about it. But when it doesn't hurt as much as it did I feel guilty. Like I'm forgetting her."
"It's ok to have good days, it doesn't mean she means any less. Don't let anyone say your not grieving the right way."
Dawn wipes the tears out of her eyes, wiping snot onto the sleeve of her top.
"It sucks." She says, smiling at the inadequacy of the words.
He nods, not finding any more words to say. They stay leaning against the sink for a while. Eventually Spike fishes a bent packet of cigarettes out of his jeans and lights one.
"What's the plan for today, Niblet?"
"I'm meeting up with Janice at the mall. Need to get Buffy something for her birthday tomorrow."
Spike reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet, fishing out a handful of bills.
"Oh I- I don't need your money."
"Relax, I didn't work for it or anything. Get her something nice."
"Spike there's like $500 here."
"Yeah, it piles up when you don't pay rent or buy groceries-"
"Hey."
They both jump as Buffy comes into the kitchen. Dawn stuffs the money behind her back.
"Do I want to know why you both look like you've been caught hiding a body?" She hesitates, "Ok poor choice of words."
"We were just talking about your birthday present," says Dawn casting a glance at Spike.
"Uh huh," Buffy eyes Dawn and the hand tucked behind her back, "well if it is a dead body, I want a gift receipt."
"What if it's a designer dead body?"
"Har har."
Dawn slips the money up the sleeve of her pyjamas and heads out of the kitchen, up the stairs.
Buffy opens the fridge and pulls out a carton of orange juice, pouring herself a glass. She catches Spike's gaze roaming over her.
"What?"
He takes her in. She's wearing knee high boots with a black lace skirt and a strappy white top. There's still a couple of scratches on her neck but she's not hiding them.
"You look nice." He smiles. Taking another drag of his cigarette.
She smiles back.
"What smells like mint?"
He raises his cigarette, flicking the ash into the sink. "Menthols."
"Is that the vampire bad boy version of brushing your teeth or something?"
"I brush my teeth, luv."
"What, really? I've never seen you brush your teeth."
"Yeah and I've never seen you shave your legs, doesn't mean it doesn't happen. Dental hygiene's important when you can't check a mirror for something stuck in your fangs. You think pearly whites like these happen naturally over hundreds of years?"
"That's the weirdest thing I think I've ever found out in my life. And the bar is pretty high."
He flicks the butt of the cigarette into the sink, blowing out the last of the smoke. He takes the glass out of her hand and sets it down on the table, wrapping his arms around her waist, hands moving up underneath her top onto her back as he pulls her into a kiss.
Buffy sighs a little at the warmth of his hands.
Oh... warmth. She pulls back, feeling his neck just to the side of his Adam's apple, checking for a pulse.
"What are you doing?" he chuckles.
"Oh uh... your hands were warm. I thought... maybe William was about show up."
"They're just warm from washing up after the Bit," he holds her a bit tighter, and she breaths in the smell of his skin, sharp like soap underneath the smell of smoke and mint. Her fingers trace down his neck, stroking his skin. He moans softly, "feels so nice when you touch me there, Buffy." Her fingers dance over the faded bite from days ago, making him jump and clutch at the fabric of her top. There's a little snap as a thread splits in the seam.
"I swear to God Spike, I'm not going to have any clothes left at this point."
"Suits me fine," he mumbles into her neck, "kidding aside maybe we should get you some spare clothes. Things you don't mind getting a little torn."
"Were you always so destructive?"
"What can I say? I don't have a lot of restraint with you, pet."
"Just with me?"
"Just you."
"What about with Drusilla?"
He pulls back from her, and sighs, resting an arm on the edge of the kitchen table.
"Why are you asking?"
"I just... want to know I guess. I haven't clocked up a lot of experience. Variety wise. I just want to know if I'm... I don't know. Being compared."
"Even if you were, it doesn't compare. Dru didn't really love me I was more of a pet she fed scraps too. We were never really partners, as much as I wanted it to be."
"And with me?"
He pulls her closer again, stroking her arm, moving her hair back from her shoulder.
"It's more equal, isn't it? Or am I imagining that? Am I walking into another trap?"
"No trap. It does feel... equal. Like we're evenly matched," she leans her head against his, breathing him in, "I love you."
"...All of me?"
"All of you. All of me, for all of you."
"Equal."