On Sunday night, Dawn wipes her mouth after finishing something interesting Buffy has made from leftover Chinese take-out and fish sticks.

            "Well, gotta go,"  she says cheerily.  "I've got five chapters of American history, a Joseph Conrad short story and a geometry theorem all waiting for me in my backpack."

            "Not to mention a certain fifteen year-old named Travis,"  Buffy says, taking her plate over to the sink.

            "Yeah, him too,"  she blushes. 

            Spike has been immobilized by nausea throughout the dinner, watching the two sisters chow down on what looks like something that could have very well come from a dumpster behind a diner.  Sometimes he is so glad he doesn't have to eat.  He doesn't have to pretend that Buffy is a gourmet cook and say things like, "Honey, this is great!  Demon lover in the sack, demon fighter in the graveyard, demon cook in the kitchen.  You're one well-rounded woman, Slayer."  He takes a grateful sip of his butcher's blood.

            "You need a ride?"  Spike offers.

            "No.  It's still kinda light outside.  I can manage by myself, I think."

            "All right.  But at least let me come and get you."

            Buffy is momentarily amused by this.  The vampire wants to come and get the Slayer's sister.  Ha!

            "OK, but I don't know how long I'll be."

            "Just give me a ring when you're ready, then, Bit."

            Dawn smiles over at him warmly.  "I will."

            Once she is gone, Spike sidles up to Buffy who has turned on the garbage disposal to get rid of the evidence that she'll never be mistaken for a Cordon Bleu chef.  She is mashing down a stubborn fish stick when Spike takes her in his arms.  When she shuts off the disposal, he whispers into her ear, "I know a little place not too far from here where we could go and be very, very naughty.  You interested?"

            "Can't,"  she sighs.  "I told Will I'd come over and help her move her armoire.  Well, actually move it for her, probably."

            "Move her armoire?  Is that Scooby code for something?" he says incredulously.

            "Nah.  She's rearranging her apartment.  She and Tara bought a new living room set."

            "You have got to be kidding."

            "Sounds lame, I know.  But they are my friends."

            "They're witches.  Why don't they just do a spell and let the furniture move itself?"

            "Because then they wouldn't have that quality Buffy time they've been missing lately.  You can come too, if you want."

            "No thank you, pet.  If I want to spend an evening with two lesbians, I'll watch Cinemax after hours."

            Just about an hour after the female contingent of the apartment has left, Spike hears someone unlocking the door.  He mutes the sound on the TV and cocks his head towards the door. 

            "Buffy?"  he says cautiously.

            Presently, Dawn enters the apartment very slowly, shutting the door tightly.

            "Oh, it's the other white meat,"  he says.  "I didn't expect you back so soon.  Why didn't you phone me?"

            Dawn is leaning against the back of the door.  Spike isn't exactly sure, but in the dim light he thinks he can discern a thin veil of tears over her eyes.

            Instantly he springs from the sofa.  "Dawn, are you all right?  What's wrong?"

            There are definite tears.  As he walks over to her he can see them glazing her cheeks now.  Pain pierces his heart. 

            "Oh, Sweet Bit.  Honey, tell me.  Did something happen at the library?"

            Dawn has not looked at him until now.  And when she does, he sees nothing but cold, bitter hatred being aimed his way.  He takes a step back.

            "Stay away from me, Spike,"  she spits out as tears moisten her mouth.

            Though he knows better, he reaches for her.  "Bit…"

            "Don't!"  she says, flashing a warning glare.  "You are not my brother.  You're not my father.  You're nothing to me.  You're just the guy who fucks my sister."

            She breezes past him, heading straight for her room.  The next sound he hears is her door slamming shut and with it, the sound of his own heart breaking in two.

            "She said that to you?"  Buffy asks incredulously a few hours later.

            Spike is outside the apartment building, smoking his tenth cigarette of the evening.  "That's what she said, all right,"  he says, exhaling a stream of gray smoke into the darkness.

            "Well, what did you say to her?"

            "Here.  I'll try it on you.  See if I get the same reaction."  He stamps out his cigarette and stands straight, clearing his throat before saying, "'I didn't expect you back so soon.  Why didn't you phone me?'"  He jerks his chin to one side.  "Anything offend you about that?"

            "No.  Something must have happened at the library,"  she deducts.

            "Ya think?"

            "And if my sister/Slayer senses are on target, I'd say whatever happened involves a certain teen-aged boy."  She touches his arm.  "Don't worry.  I'll sniff this thing out."

            "Well, until you do, I'm going back to the crypt for a while.  I was just waiting 'til you got back to tell you."

            "You're going back to the crypt?"

            He shakes his head.  "Can't stand to have the Nibblet angry with me.  You know, Buffy, even when I was evil she never looked at me like she did tonight."

            She sees the ragged hurt in his eyes as he aims his stare at the ground and for a moment, she can't believe she ever thought he wasn't capable of having any feelings.  She cradles his cold cheek in her hand.  "It's going to be all right, Spike.  OK?  I'll talk to her.  Get everything out in the open.  Don't worry."

            He catches her hand in his and closes his eyes as the warmth of her touch invades his skin.  He opens his eyes and a wry smile spreads across his face.  "Gotta give you Summers girls some credit.  You know how to hurt a fellow.  I just hope this Travis bloke got worse."

            The apartment is dark and the TV is still on, but no one is watching.  Buffy strides to the end of the hall to Dawn's room and knocks on the door.

            "Dawnie?"

            "Go away!" comes the immediate reply.

            "No, I'm not going away.  Let me in."

            "Just leave me alone!"

            "Let me in, or I'm breaking the door down."

            "Ooh!  My tough sister is going to break door—" and at that moment, the door flies open, Buffy's foot still extended in a kick as Dawn observes her from her bed.  "—down,"  she finishes.

            Buffy enters the room, arms akimbo.  "What the hell is going on?"

            Dawn returns her head to her pillow.  "It's none of your business."

            "Yes, it is my business!  Look, the two people I love most in the world aren't speaking to each other and I want to know why."

            "I don't want to talk about it."

            "Well, I'm sorry.  You have to.  Now talk or your autographed picture of Lance Bass is going in the trash."

            "I don't care.  Even if I do tell you what happened, you'll just take his side."

            "Oh, yeah?  Try me!"

            Dawn turns and lies on her back, staring at the ceiling.  A fresh set of tears course down her face.  "Why does he have to live here?"

            "What kind of question is that?"

            "I mean, are you so horny for him all the time that you can't drag your lazy ass to the cemetery when you want to get laid?"

            Buffy's mouth flies open as she says to herself, This cannot be my sister talking.  It can't be…"Dawn Summers!  Whatever it is that's bothering you, you don't have to be insulting."

            "I'm serious!  Why does he have to live here?"

            "Because I love him, OK?"

            "You loved Angel.  And Riley.  You didn't ask them to be all Jack Tripper on us."

            "Dawn, I don't have to justify why he's here to you or to anyone else.  He lives with us.  We're a family.  We take care of each other.  If I thought for one second that Spike would not lay his life down for either one of us, he'd be outta here.  He loves us, Dawn.  Both of us.  Do I have to remind you of how he allowed Glory to torture him for hours rather than tell her where to find you?  She almost killed him."

            "That wasn't for me.  It was for you,"  she says through a grating of gritted teeth.

            "That's shit and you know it!"  Buffy says, not afraid to use curse words now since Dawn seems to know them all.  "You know what we talk about most when we're together?  You!  All the time!  And I'm not the one bringing up Dawn as the hot topic.  It's always Spike saying, 'Dawn said the funniest thing today…Little Bit certainly is growing…the Nibblet and I watched the best episode of The West Wing…"  Buffy approaches Dawn's bed, smoothing a hand over her shoulder.  He talks about you with a father's pride.  He adores you.  Everything about you.  You know that."

            Dawn sniffs.  "I wish he didn't love me as much as he does sometimes."

            "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard!  Would you rather have him hating you and threatening you all the time?  Believe me.  I've been on the receiving end of that.  Not a good place to be."

            "At least then he wouldn't be thinking about snacking on my dates."

            "Excuse me?"  Oh, the near vamp-out, Buffy realizes.  Had he seen?  Apparently.

            Dawn wipes her face with her shirtsleeve.  "Travis was at the library tonight."

            "Yeah.  Kinda figured that.  What happened?"

            "I overheard him talking about our date…and Spike."

            "What about Spike?"  Oh, God.  He did see him do that thing with the eyes and the fangs.  Now how is she going to explain this to worried members of the PTA?

            "When I came in on the conversation, he was all, 'Yeah, we had a good time and Dawn's great' and I was thinking, 'Go team me!'  But then he started talking about 'the creepy assed guy who lives with her.'  Now who might that be?"

            "Did he say anything else?"

            "Oh, he said a lot.  He talked about how Spike was sizing him up when he walked into the apartment like—and these are his words, not mine---like he was thinking about dating him himself.  And then he talked about how when we were all sitting there together, how Spike was looking at him like he wanted to eat him.  And then he heard Spike's stomach growl."

            "Dawn, please tell me,"  she says haltingly, afraid of what she's going to hear next.  "At any point was the 'V' word mentioned?"

            Dawn rolls over onto her stomach, burying her face in her pillow.  "Yes," comes the muffled reply.

            "How?"  Buffy asks, her heart beating audibly.

            Dawn lifts her head.   "Travis was describing him and Eric Daniels said, 'Oh, I think I know that guy.  He used to hang out at the arcade and threaten everyone for their quarters, saying he was a vampire and he'd kill them if they didn't give him money.  Did Spike really do that?"

            Buffy wouldn't put it past him.  In the early days of his chip-controlled existence, he would do just about anything for cheap thrills.  She remembers hearing Anya talking about a time in which Spike scared her, made her squeal, and then asked her for money.  Buffy doesn't share this information with Dawn, though.

            "I don't know.  He could've…"  Buffy says quietly. 

            "At any rate, Travis doesn't want to see me again.  He says I'm not worth being a vampire's special of the day."

            "Oh, God!  Travis really thinks Spike is a vampire?"

            "Yeah.  Well he is, isn't he?  Breaking news, Buffy.  The guy you're sleeping with is dead and lives off blood."  Dawn shakes her head.  "You always say you love him for who he is.  And what he is is a vampire.  You know that.  The Scoobies know that.  Now the kids at school know it too.  The word is out.  The boyfriend of Buffy Anne Summers is a living-- make that undead-- Halloween costume the 365's of the year."

            Buffy always knew her relationship with Spike would be fraught with conflict, mostly internalized.  She was foolish to think that after such a long time their Bewitched lives wouldn't be intruded upon by at least one braying Gladys Kravitz.  Now how to repair?  There wasn't much to do, except drag Spike out in the broad daylight and say, "See!  He's not a vampire.  He'd be dust right now—oh, he is.  Scratch that."

            A thought occurs to Buffy.  "But did Spike ever actually fang up for anywhere there?  Did anyone ever actually see him vamp?  Ever?"

            "No.  It was the suggestiony thing, I think.  You know, even without the vamptitude, Spike can be pretty tough."

            Yeah, like when he almost cried tonight because he was afraid you'd never speak to him again.

            "Dawnie, what you have to remember is Spike didn't mean to sabotage your date, I'm sure.  Whatever he was feeling and however he reacted…I'm sure it was all out of his love for you and his need to protect you.  He's been the main man in your life for a long time and I think he was more than a little scared that he was being replaced.  You do care about Spike, don't you?"

            There is a long pause from the younger Summers girl before she speaks.  "Yeah.  That's why it hurts so much.  But I guess this is how it's going to be.  If I'm going to like Spike, then I can pretty much forget about anyone else liking me."  Dawn sits up on the bed and crosses her legs, reaching over for a Kleenex on her bedside table.  "Is he coming back tonight?"

            "I don't know.  I'm sure he'd like to talk to you about this."

            "I'm not ready to face him yet,"  she says, blotting her nose gently.  "Can I go to Amelia's?"

            "On a school night?"

            "We both have the same stuff due tomorrow and when I talked to her an hour ago she hadn't started any of it either.  She wanted to know if I could come over and work on it with her."

            "I guess.  But I'm not crazy about you spending the night there.  You'd better get some sleep and not stay up all night giggling."

            "I don't feel much like giggling.  I don't even feel much like studying.  I just need to get away."

            "I understand.  But you can't keep hiding from Spike.  You're going to eventually have to talk to him.  If we had a huge place like Travis, you might be able to avoid him, but these four rooms are all we got."

            "I don't want to hide from him,"  Dawn says, a few more tears escaping her eyes.  "I just wish…God, Buffy, you and the Bad Boy thing.  You just can't help yourself, can you?"

            Me and the Bad Boy thing, Buffy thinks on her way to the cemetery.  Birds of a feather, fucking together.  

            As she approaches the center of the cemetery, she can hear the grunts and groans of a scuffle ensuing.  She extracts her stake from her pocket, feeling like she really should be punching a clock when she goes into the cemetery.  She is just here to pay a visit, dammit!

            In the clearing, she observes two figures struggling.  Moonlight illuminates the familiar white head of her black-clad lover being dwarfed by some horned beast with wild, long hair and arms as big as Redwoods.   She puts the stake away.  He'll holler if he needs her. 

            She watches from afar as Spike is flung to the ground.  He doesn't linger there long.  In seconds he is back on his feet.  He doesn't have a weapon on him.  Though seemingly slight and out leagued by the hulking, Shaquille O'Neil of a demon he is tangling with this evening, he will not give up.  The demon levels a blow at his face that would leave even the most experienced prizefighter down for the count.  Spike merely sputters, before returning a, equally forceful punch that staggers the demon. 

            "You demon types are always trying to re-arrange my face,"  Spike says, coming for the demon again.  "No doubt from some deep-seeded envy.  I'm a bloody Adonis and you…well…"  he lands the demon with a roundhouse kick, sending him to the ground.  "If I can't say something nice, I won't say anything at all."  He lifts the demon into a seated position before delivering the coup de grace.  "Actions speak louder than words anyway, mate."  He places both hands on either side of the demon's grotesque and dazed head, giving it forceful twist.  There is a deadly snap and the demon's body flails helplessly.  Spike releases his hold and allows the carcass to rest on the ground.   "Death by cliché.  Sad, really."

            "Good job, honey,"  Buffy says, making her presence known as she walks towards him slowly.

            His eyes find her face instantly and he smiles.  "Bloody Ger'acht demon.  They're big and as dumb as a NFL linebacker, but in the right setting, they can be charming and quite the dinner guest.  Met one in Tunisia years ago who did these amazing card tricks.   They feed on human connective tissue.  Never understood the appeal myself, but the one I spoke to said you haven't had anything until you've tasted the Achilles tendon of a Bedouin."

            Spike is walking off in the direction of a low-to-the-ground tombstone and Buffy notices he's favoring his left side.  He sits carefully as pain breaks out on his face.

            "Looks like he got a taste of Spike,"  Buffy says, walking towards him.

            "Yeah.  I got snagged by one of his horns.  Shall I fill out a form for workman's compensation?" 

            "Let me see it,"  she says, her hands reaching for the hem of his untucked tee shirt.

            "It's all right, Slayer.  It's just a scratch."

            "Spike, you know how I hate the I'm-fine-go-on-without-me bullshit.  Let me have a look."

            He sighs and rolls his eyes, lifting his shirt just a peek. 

            It's a clean puncture wound that has gone all the way through.  As she presses the flesh around the red bulls eye of the wound, she catches the scent of butcher's blood.  Pig's blood.  She thinks about all the times she has called him a pig in the past, thinking it ironic that now he is mostly pig on the inside.

            "What's the prognosis, doc?  Am I gonna live?"

            "Yeah,"  she says.  "If you were human, probably not, but with the convenience of being a vampire, you'll be up to kicking demon butt again in no time."  She pulls the shirt back down and hops up on the tombstone.  He swings an arm over her shoulder and tugs her close, kissing her on the forehead.  She looks over at the still form of the demon, noticing a trail of sherbet orange fluid oozing from its nose.  "Spike, why did you kill him?"

            "Why?  Oh, did I not mention the whole bit about Ger'acht demons feeding off human connective tissue?"

            "Yeah, you did.  And that makes them a threat to humans.  Not to you."

            "You're the only threat to me, love.  And seeing as we're currently post-coital every post meridian these days, I'm not too worried."  He swipes a wicked tongue across the arch of her eyebrow and cups her breast.

            "I'm being serious, Spike,"  she says, pulling away from him.  "Why did you kill him?"

            Spike's eyes register a complete lack of comprehension.  "That's…what…we…do, isn't it?"

            "That's what I do, yes."

            "Sorry, love.  I've just been following the non-Judeo Christian credo that a couple that slays together stays together.  You've never asked me why I killed demons and vamps before.  Why now?"

            "Well, it's just that…for a while there you were just killing for the fun of it.  When you couldn't kill humans."

            "Buffy, I was killing vamps to--  "  He catches himself…and the meaning of Buffy's interrogation.  He rocks back slowly on the tombstone, folding his arms.  "Oh, I think I'm beginning to 'catch a clue' as the young ones say.  This all has something to do with what you and Dawn talked about tonight."

            She is relieved by this, but she does not look at him, worried that he'll see more about what went on written all over her face.    "Sort of."

            "The Travesty caught a glimpse of Mr. Jaundice eyes.  I thought as much.  And now he's afraid of me."  He laughs and pats himself on the back.  "I still got it."

            "Congratulations on still being perceived as the vanquisher of innocents Spike.    Travis doesn't want to have anything more to do with Dawn and she's heart-broken."

            "Little cowardly minger!  I'd like to vanquish his innocent arse."

            "Spike, he thinks you're a vampire.  All of his friends think you're a vampire!  This could be a really big deal.  You know how teens talk.  Soon word would leak to the guidance counselors at school who could turn the information over to child protective services and before we know it, they'll be taking Dawn away from us."

            "You're forgetting, love.  Most of the world doesn't believe vampires exist.  Any adult in earshot of the sprogs prattling about bloodsuckers would turn a deaf ear.  To most, I may as well be Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny or even the bleedin' Tooth Fairy.  Don't worry, Buffy.  No one's going to take Dawn away from us."

            She settles uneasily into his arms.  There is more that is worrying her.  Travis thought Spike looked as though he wanted to eat him…He had heard the growl; he had felt the predator in Spike lurking.  She looks over at the dead demon again and shivers.

            "I could throw my duster over it if it bothers you,"  he says, close to her ear.

            "It's not bothering me,"  she says.  The other demon, sitting right next to me, is. 

            "Darling, look at me.  Turn your face and look at me."  She faces him as instructed.   "Who do you see?"

            She reaches to touch his cheek.  "You."

            "All right.  Now…"  before her eyes and under her hand, his face contorts.  She doesn't flinch as he reveals his inner self to her.  To her, sometimes, his demon visage is like a second set of clothing.  Sometimes she even lets him fuck her like that.  And sometimes she has no choice.  Always, just beneath the surface, lurks that being.  Sometimes it's hard to remember that when he's barefoot and disheveled in the morning, yawning at the kitchen counter or when he's lying on the sofa laughing at the exploits of Col. Hogan and the so-called prisoners of Stalag 17.  She has been laboring under the delusion that she has domesticated this beast with her love, but every once in a while that idea seems farcical and far-sighted.  She lets her fingertips whisper over the ridges on his forehead and tries to see, conversely, if she can perceive the man hiding behind the demon scowl, but it is only the hair that she recognizes with any clarity.  "Now what do you see?"  he asks.

            "Still you,"  she says softly.

            "I am a vampire, Buffy.  And I always will be.  It's who I am.  My vampirism isn't just a part of me; it IS me.   I wake every day fighting.  The struggle is with me from the minute I open my eyes.  And some days I feel like crawling out of my own skin and screaming.  But every day…"  his voice has become muted and tender and the fierce scowl dissipates until he is looking at her through his icy blue eyes again.  "Every day I wake also with the knowledge that you love me.  In the morning, when I can see the sunlight from behind the curtains, and I can feel your warm body next to mine, I feel like nothing can touch me.  I look at you, with your lashes against your cheeks and your sweet mouth slightly open and I think, 'Ah, now this is worth fighting against whatever is inside of me that wants to come out and not play nice.'  It's those small, quiet moments when I realize how much you mean to me, those times when you're not looking.  I've never had anything like this."  He tilts her head towards his as he speaks, his eyes downcast, his hands wrapping around her head.  "I made a pledge to you that I wouldn't kill, remember?  And I haven't.  And I won't.  I may be a vampire, but when I make a promise to a lady, I follow through 'til the very end."

            She runs a hand through his hair.  "But what if something ever happened to me?  Would you kill again?"

            He thinks for a minute.  "Yeah, I would."  He looks at her dead in the eye.  "Myself.  I'd kill myself is something ever happened to you, Buffy."

            "Don't be so melodramatic, Spike."

            "You're right.  I couldn't kill myself.  There'd be no one to look after the Nibblet.  That is, if she'll ever reach a point where she wants me hanging about again."  He looks at her sheepishly.  "After this conversation, I'm not certain you want me hanging about anymore.  Still love me?"

            She gives him a crooked smile.  "Hopelessly so."

            "So we're all right then."

            "Well, as all right as two people involved in the most dysfunctional relationship since the dawn of man and vamp, but we have something.  And it's special.  And it's all ours."

            He pulls her close to him.  "And it's the best thing that's ever happened to me."

            They linger there in each other's arms for a while as the night deepens.  There is no kissing, or touching beyond their arms wrapping around each other's forms.  And there is no talking at all until she breaks from his embrace and hops off the tomb, extending her hand. 

"Come on, Spike.  Let's go home."