The next afternoon, Buffy is busily preparing for her shift at the Bronze.  It's a Saturday night and she's expecting a crowd.  She gathers up everything she will need; her tip purse, her Advil and her stake.

            "Spike, there's a Stouffers in the freezer for Dawnie and for you,"  she reaches into the fridge and extracts a carton of butcher's blood, swishing it from side to side.  "Don't get them mixed up."

            "Got it,"  Spike replies.  "When will you be home?"

            "Two, three.  I dunno.  I have to close tonight."

            "Are you patrolling afterward?"

            "Hell no.  The only thing I'm going to be patrolling tonight is my bed."

            "Mmm…promise?"  Spike asks, encircling her waist and kissing the side of her face.

            "Honey, you know how I am after a Saturday night.  If I can drag myself home by my knuckles, I'm doing well."

            "You want me to come pick you up?"

            "No, that's all right.  I can manage."

            He takes her into his arms, squeezing her tight, noting that there's a wince in her return.  He pulls her away gently, looking down at her breast.  "Is that…painful?"

            "Just a little tender.  It'll be all right, though."

            "You're still OK with what happened last night?"  he asks softly.

            "Yes, honey.  I told you I was.  It was just a little love bite, that's all.  My boobs are a little sore anyway.  It's almost that time of the month."

            He arches an interested eyebrow.  "You mean it's almost time for Buffy to make her special blood pudding for her special fellow?"

            "In a couple days.  And if you're thinking what I think you're thinking, DON'T!  That's disgusting."

            "Aw.  It's such a shame to let a tube of cotton soak up all that bloody goodness."

            "Sorry.  And if I ever catch you going through the trash in the bathroom looking for a snack, you're couching it for a week."

            Buffy looks down at the assortment of drinks on her tray and tries to identify the syrupy brown drink coagulating in a clear tumbler.

            "What the hell is this?"  she asks, pointing to the libation in question.

            "Manhattan,"  the bartender barks back. 

            "Manhattan what?  Sewer run-off?"

            "Just serve the drinks, Buffy!  If they say anything about it, then they can talk to me.  I don't need your lip too."

            She sighs and shoulders the tray, walking over to table six.  They've already had quite a few.  Maybe they won't notice.

            But on her way back to the bar, she notices something.  Someone. 

            Off in the corner, near the heavy fire exit door that leads to the alleyway, she sees him.  He is sitting by himself, the blond curtain of hair obscuring his features.  He is nibbling at a platter of buffalo wings, regarding each one thoughtfully before sucking off the meat and grease from the spindly little bones.  He's not so much a dipper as he is a coater.  He immerses each wing into the ranch dressing, making sure it's all white before he devours it.

            So this is how Travis spends his Saturday nights?  Buffy wonders, making a note to keep an eye on him.  Single white boy, pre-requisite presence of vamps out for a nip-and-suck.  Open season.

            As she returns to the bar, she hears an exaggerated spit take from table six.   "What the hell was that?"  he explodes

            "Table six needs another Manhattan.  And one not made from whatever you put in it when you couldn't find the right bottle behind the bar,"  Buffy says.

            The bartender glowers.  "All right, Carla.  Would you go and get a bottle of sweet vermouth from the storeroom?"

            "Sure thing, Sam."  She stops short, curiosity making her ask, "What did you put in instead?"

            The bartender swipes a rag over the top of the bar.  "Sambuco."

            "Eww!"

            "What?  It's sweet."

            Back from the storeroom, Buffy notes that the usual coterie is assembling.  The band has not arrived yet, but the stage is being set up.  Tonight's entertainment is provided by What's My Age Again, a Blink 182 tribute band from Fresno.  She had to read the flyer three times before realizing it was not meant as a joke.  She can scarcely believe Blink 182 has been around long enough to earn its own tribute band. 

            The bartender mixes the drink correctly this time.  As he's straining the cocktail into the glass, Buffy looks over at Travis again.  He looks like a big Blink 182 fan.  Maybe he's here for the band.  He's almost finished with his buffalo wings and he doesn't seem anxious to leave.

            "Here,"  the bartender says.  "Tell them this one's on the house."

            "Yeah, or I imagine it will be in your face,"  she says, taking the drink.  She walks over to table six with her most innocent smile on her face, realizing she will probably take the heat for the bartender's sloppy mixing.  "Sorry.  Bartender goofed.  He thought you ordered a Bronx Zoo.  Wrong New York borough.  Bartenders are notoriously bad with geography."     

            Out of the corner of her eye, she sees that a black figure in fishnet hose is now lurking by Travis's table.  At just once glance of the jet coatdress and spiked heels…well, she doesn't have to look much further.  She knows.  It's her business to be perceptive and intuitive.  But for the moment, things are all right.  Travis is ignoring the woman, wiping his fingers and munching on the celery garnish. 

            "Buffy!"  the bartender calls.

            She walks over distractedly, still aiming her stare at the goings-on at Travis' table.

            "Table ten just complained that they've been wanting to meet you all night and were wondering when you might make an appearance,"  the bartender says.

            "I was just over there.  They said they were deciding,"  she answers.

            "That was a half an hour ago.  They've decided already."

            She sighs.  Table ten is all the way across the room.  She weaves through the crowd as quickly as she can.  Hopefully they'll want something simple, like a pitcher of beer.  But no, they all want mixed drinks.  Damn, those Sex And the City women, Buffy thinks.  Do they have to be such trendsetters?  It used to be so simple.  Beer, wine, maybe the occasional scotch and soda.  Now it's all Candy Apple Martinis and Cosmopolitans.  She can bet she'll be having to make another trip to the storeroom after this drink order.

            Back at the bar, she angles for a look at Travis table.  Yep.  She should have acted while she had the chance.  The table is empty.  And the fire door is swinging shut.

            "We're out of triple sec,"  the bartender says.  "Could you---

            "Not now,"  she waves, walking away.  She begins to sprint.  She has plenty of time, she says to herself.  They couldn't have gotten that far.  She lunges for the door.  Out in the alleyway, she looks to the left, then to the right.  Then she hears the wail of a teen-aged boy whose voice hasn't settled on its adult pitch yet.  It's coming from over by the dumpsters.  Typical.  She often thinks she should hang a sign over the garbage saying, "This space for restaurant and vamp use only."

            She walks over casually to the pair, extracting the stake from her pocket.  She pats the woman gently on the shoulder.  The vamp whips her head around.  Her mouth isn't painted with Travis' blood yet.  Buffy's just in time.

            "And here's to you, Mrs. Robinson,"  Buffy says.  And she plunges the stake deep into her back.

            As the dusty remains of the vampire scatter on the pavement below, Travis' form slumps and falls hard.  Buffy catches him right before his head connects with the asphalt.

            "Whoa, you all right there, Travis?"  Buffy says, holding him just inches from the ground.

            The boy wears a dazed expression as he tries to put the pieces in place.  Buffy can almost hear his thoughts…strange woman…took me to the alleyway…she was very strong…

"What happened to the lady?"  he asks slowly.

            "Don't worry.  She's gone."  Buffy helps him to his feet, wary that those long, spindly legs may not carry him just yet.

            "That was so weird.  She just came up to the table and started talking to me, asked me if I wanted to go somewhere with her.  She wouldn't take no for an answer.  And then all of a sudden I couldn't take no for an answer.  It was like she hypnotized me or something."

            "Yeah, you got to watch out for the drive-by hypnotists in this town.  They do more than make people cluck like chickens."  Buffy relinquishes her hold slowly, making sure that Travis is capable of standing on his own now.  "Well, I gotta get back to work.  And you better go home."

            "That's probably a good idea.  Besides, I hate the band that's playing tonight.  I heard them when I was in LA last year.  They should call themselves, what's the Chord Again?"

            "I'll be sure to get out my ear plugs then,"  Buffy says. 

            As she begins to walk away, she hears Travis call to her.  She turns and sees that he has made no attempt to walk in the other direction.

            "Um…I was wondering…How's Dawn?"  he inquires sheepishly.

            "She's fine, Travis,"  she answers, irritation grating her voice.  "Hey!  I got an idea.  Maybe you should ask her that yourself!"

            He looks down at the pavement.  "I wanted to call her all week.  I really did have a good time with her last Friday night."

            "Oh, really?  Because she's under the impression that you didn't.  Could be all the phone calls that she hasn't been getting at home and the cold shoulder she has been getting at school."  Buffy folds her arms.

            "I do like her, Buffy.  She's smart and funny and so pretty.  I mean…wow…when I saw her in those jeans…"  When Buffy's protective instinct begins to surface in the form of her hands going to her hips and a furrowing of the brow, he stops.  "Point is, I like her.  But…but…"

            "But what, Travis?"  Say it, you coward!  My boyfriend scares you.

            "I just don't know how to tell her…and she's been kinda distant too.  Like she doesn't want to talk to me."

            Buffy doesn't know if she should be sharing this information of not, but she's going to, just so he knows he has made a big idiot of himself in front of her sister.  "You don't have to tell her anything.  She overheard you talking in the library last Sunday."

            Travis's eyes flash fear under the wedge of unruly blond hair.  "She did what?"

            "She heard you talking to your friends in the library about your date.  Something about the fact that you think my boyfriend might be a graveyard smash?"

            Travis exhales a breath.  "That's not even the reason I haven't called her."

            "Oh, yeah?  Well, according to Dawn you made it perfectly clear to your friends that that was the reason.  And perfectly clear to her as well."

            "I wouldn't let the fact that your boyfriend gave me the creeps keep me from seeing Dawn.  No offence."

            "None taken.  When I first met him I wasn't exactly charmed by his presence either."  His first words to me were in the form of a death threat.  Not exactly what I would call a come-on line, she finishes in her head.      "But why would you even say something like that in the first place?"

            "Because…I didn't want them to know the real reason."

            "Mind sharing what that real reason is?"

            "Yes,"  he says.  "Because it will hurt Dawn.  And I think I've hurt her enough."

            "What the hell is it, Travis?  Does she smell bad?  Does she have onion breath?  Does she snort when she laughs?  What?"

            "It's my parents, all right!"  he shouts out.

            Buffy narrows her eyes.  "Your parents?"  And then she knows.  All too well.  Travis had to make a trip to the wrong side of the tracks and his parents want him to stay on the right.

            "They're such snobs.  They always have been.  And I hate it.  It hate it because I don't want to be anything like them.  They're always so quick to judge, so quick to put other people down because they don't drive the right car and live in the right neighborhood.  Mom drives all the way to LA to get her hair done still.  And she won't go near the shops in town.  She says they're all so declasse.  And they're so strict.  You know one time they grounded me for a week because I said 'fuck'?"

            "Shocking,"  Buffy says, wondering if she is too strict.  But she doesn't have to wonder about the other matter.  She is not a snob.  And she is definitely not déclassé.         

            "I didn't want my friends to know that my parents told me not to see Dawn anymore.  How would that make me look to them?"

            "OK, so you lied and made up stuff about my boyfriend instead.  And saying that you're afraid of a guy who's almost a head shorter than you makes you the big man on campus?"

            "He is kind of short, isn't he?"  Travis shakes his head, as though realizing they're getting off the topic.  "Anyway, I didn't mean to hurt Dawn.  But I didn't see a way to avoid it.  I guess I really screwed this one up, didn't I?"

            "Yes, you did.  In more ways than one.  You don't know what's been going on in my house this past week.  Spike and Dawn are extremely close to each other.  I don't know if Dawn told you this, but at the beginning of the year, our mother died."

            "Yeah, she told me that.  And I'm sorry."

            "Well, thank you.  Anyway, I didn't know what to do.  Suddenly I had to be a parent to a fourteen year-old girl.  Not something a twenty-year-old usually faces.  I needed someone to look after her and to help her through her grief, since I needed to cope with my own loss.  Spike was there.  He was more than there.  He took over as surrogate parent, brother and confidant.  And the two of them developed a close bond.  He would do anything in the world for her.  He sees himself as         her protector, a role he takes very seriously.  Sometimes too seriously.  So if he came off a little too shielding over her, that's why.  But when Dawn heard what you said in the library, she withdrew from him.  They're OK now, but what you said made for some really tense moments in the apartment."

            "I really, really didn't mean to cause any trouble."

"Well, you did.  So now what are you going to do?  Keep hiding behind all the lies or come up with something that resembles an apology?  Saying you're sorry would be the gentlemanly thing to do, not to mention the non-snobbish thing to do."

            There is a look of honesty shining from his face.  "I would like to talk to her."

            "All right, then.  Why don't you start by giving her a phone call, letting her know you're alive and a real dork for saying what you said in the library."

            "I'll go call her now.  Is she at home?"

            "Yep.  Hanging with Spike watching Hogan's Heroes."

            The fire door opens and the bartender sticks his head out into the alleyway.  When he sees her, his reaction is one of complacency.  "Buffy, this happens every night.  You run from the bar and out into the alleyway.  Isn't this one a little young for you?"

"I'm coming.  Keep your pants on,"  she answers tiredly, adding to herself, "for the sake of humanity."  She turns to Travis.  "That's me getting a verbal warning, Travis.  Gotta go."

            "OK,"  he says.  "Oh, Buffy…?"

            "Yeah?"

            "Your boyfriend…he's not really what…what…he's not…a monster or anything?"

            Buffy considers this for a moment.  Suddenly a memory materializes in her head.  She thinks back to last night.  She sees him again at her breast, his mouth hungrily tugging at her nipple as she nursed him with her blood.  She hears the snarls as he drew the nourishment into his mouth.  The bite was just a prick, but it startled her, reminded

her that the man she shares her bed with does have needs that go beyond what she can give her without putting her life at risk.  She allowed him to suckle and there was such a sense of communion in the taking of her blood.  There was nothing erotic in the touch of his mouth on her breast.  There was nothing sensual.  She was giving him life and she thrilled to the sensation of his lips becoming warmer as her blood filled his veins.    "Now I ask you, Travis,"  she says at length.  "Would I leave my baby sister at home with a monster?"

            Travis shrugs.  "I guess not."

            She turns on her heels.  "Then there's your answer."

It's almost 2:30 a.m. when Buffy cracks open the door to the apartment.  All the lights are off, but the TV is on with the sound turned down to an almost inaudible level.  Buffy tosses her keys noisily onto the table beside the door and Spike automatically turns and puts a finger to his mouth.  He indicates that Dawn is asleep at the foot of the sofa.  He springs up and meets her in the middle of the room, drawing her tired form into his arms for a welcoming hug. 

            "How long has she been asleep?"  she asks over his shoulder.

            "About an hour.  After swearing that she wouldn't because of what happened earlier.  Brace yourself, love.  The Travesty phoned tonight."

            She draws away from him slightly.  "I know.  He said he would."

He arches an eyebrow.  "How did you know?"

            "I saw him earlier.  We talked, got some things out in the open.  I encouraged him to do the same with her."

            "She locked herself in the bedroom while they were talking, but they were on the phone for a good two hours.  And when she came out she had a big smile on her face.  Seems he's invited her over to his house tomorrow."

            "Really?"

            "Yeah, and she's a bit worried that you think she hasn't paid enough penance for being creative with swear words and that you won't let her go."

            "Oh, I think she's learned her lesson,"  Buffy says.  "She can go if she wants."

            "She can?  Dammit!  And she asked for my help in convincing you and all."  He

snaps a pair of blunt teeth over her earlobe.  "I was looking forward to that part."

            "I guess I'm getting soft in my old age,"  she says.  "Besides, I'm too tired for anything but eight good hours of shut eye right now.  I'm turning in."

            "What about the Nibblet?  Should I carry her to bed?"

            "Nah, she'll be all right where she is.  Just let her sleep."

            "Then can I carry you to bed?"

            She extends her arms gratefully.  "That you can do."