Disclaimer: I do not own any the characters of BtVS, I'm just a devoted worshiper of the temple that is James Martsters.

Rating: PG-13 for language.

Feedback: Of course! Don't forget to check out my other current WIP fic "Haven"!

*********************************************

Chapter 4: Better

It had been a torturous five days, and still he was there, a part of her home, a part of her life. She was beginning to think that if that mobster didn't track Spike down soon and snap his cocky little head from his neck, she would.

"Spike!" she yelped the sixth morning, emerging from the shower in a soaked bathrobe with sodden hair. "What the hell have you done with the all the conditioner?!"

Spike was grumbling around the kitchen with his head stuck in the fridge. "Bloody hell, woman, isn't there ever anything to eat around here?" he irately snapped back. He grimaced at the lone jar of peanut butter that occupied the empty space. "If I have to eat one more breakfast made of nothing but spoonfuls of that peanutty goo, it'll be death for someone."

Buffy stood fuming as her hair continued to rain down upon her, dripping down her shoulders and onto the carpet. "Spike," she tried saying repressed and testily. "What have you done with the conditioner?"

He sniffed and shrugged indifferent. "Used it up I guess." He patted his blinding blond hair smugly. "Gotta keep the tresses nice and soft, you know."

She threw her hands up in rage. "Spike! I just bought a new bottle the other day! What did you do, slather the entire contents onto your head?! You barely have any hair anyway!"

"Hey!" he exclaimed back, offended. "I'll have you know my locks are lustrous and thick indeed. And quit your bitching, there are more important tasks at hand."

She stared at him with teeth clenched. "More important tasks?"

"Well yeah. There's still the predicament of me havin' nothing to eat."

"What am I supposed to do about it?!"

"Well you are the lady of the household. This is supposed to be your field of expertise. Why don't you shimmy on the apron and have a go at the stove?"

She rolled her eyes, fully enraged now. Throwing the empty conditioner bottle with a fiery vengeance at his chest, she crossed her arms across her chest. "I can't, you chauvinist pig. I'm already late for work."

He furrowed his eyebrows, puzzled. "Thought you worked the graveyard shift at the diner."

"I do. But one of the waitresses called in sick, so I have to fill in." She wasn't going to tell him that she hurriedly accepted the offer to fill in, just to get out of the house and away from him. Going back to the bathroom to change, Spike was left confused, blindsided and most of all, hungry. So he pounded on the bathroom door helplessly.

"Hey! What am I to do about breakfast?"

"I don't know!" she griped back through the closed door. "Why don't you go out and get something to eat yourself?"

He leaned against the door grumpily. "You know I can't. I'm all out of monetary funds from doing the grocery shoppin' last time."

"Spike, buying cigarettes and booze does not constitute as grocery shopping."

"Hey, I don't question your dietary habits, do I?"

She barged through the bathroom door, rushing to grab her apron and hat. "Sorry Spike, but I guess you'll just have to starve." She paused and began to smile brightly. "Wait scratch that. I'm not sorry. In fact, I think I'm overcome with a feeling of delight."

He growled darkly at her. "That's right, Blondie, laugh it up. Have no pity for your starving roommate who's holed up in a closet-sized apartment in order to protect his life against a murderous hit man." He gave her his most sympathetic pout.

She made a face at him. "Fine," she sighed. She fumbled through her purse and withdrew a twenty-dollar bill, throwing it at him. He licked his lips and grabbed it greedily with a smile. "But don't ask me again. That's the third time I've given you money this week."

"You treat me splendidly, girl," he mused, sliding the bill into his duster with satisfaction. He waggled his eyebrows and held out his arms teasingly. "Now come here and kiss Daddy before you go."

Scoffing disgustedly, she stalked through the front door, saying, "Make sure you spend it on food, brain-trust. For the both of us. I am not digesting Joe Camel and Heinies for the next five days."

"Yeah, well you just make sure to get your cute little ass home before dinner." He smirked and raised a single eyebrow. "And call if you're going to be late."

She shook her head at the twisted domestic circumstance and slammed the door loudly.

*********************************************

"You've been certainly putting in a lot of hours lately, Anne," Gina noted.

Buffy smiled sheepishly as she filled the salt-and-pepper shakers. "Well the money's a little tight lately. Figured it's always good to pick up more cash when I can."

"Still, one wonders how you manage to squeeze in any sleep with all the shifts you've been working."

She shrugged. "It's no big. I'm used to the joys of sleep deprivation. Like whenever I had to research another apocalypse----" Buffy paused when Gina's eyebrows shot up alarmingly. Recovering quickly, she added in haste, "I m-mean . . . biology. Research biology. 'Apocalypse' is just my code name for the horror of cell processes."

Gina chuckled confusedly and shook her head. She eyed the petit blonde carefully. "You know, when one of the girls asks to word extra hours, it's usually because there's something at home they're trying to avoid."

Buffy straightened self-consciously, spilling as cascade of salt down her front. "Huh," she murmured. "I certainly can't relate to that."

Gina didn't relent. Staring at her knowingly, she asked gently, "So how are you and that boy of yours?"

"Oh. Umm w-well. Good, I guess."

"Still irritating the hell out of you, huh?"

Buffy dropped what she was holding and turned to Gina in relief. "Yes." She shook her head. "Sometimes I don't know why I just don't kick him out onto the street."

Amused, Gina poured herself a cup of coffee. "So why don't you?"

Buffy paused. She obviously couldn't tell Gina about Spike's misadventures into the mob world, and that was the only reason she tolerated Spike . . . wasn't it? "Well . . . there are . . . circumstances."

"Circumstances, huh? Sounds to me like you're using another one of your code names again."

Buffy grimaced. If Gina wasn't so good-natured, Buffy would cast her down as being annoyingly intuitive. Opening her mouth to say something, she was suddenly struck silent when she caught sight of a scene near the front of the diner. A middle-aged man was seated with a girl who looked not much older than Buffy herself in one of the booths amongst an abundance of expensive-looking shopping bags. The man had his arm around the girl and was whispering in her ear seductively. The scantily clad girl was giggling hysterically, plastered to the older man's chest. Even worse, the man's hand slipped down the young girl's creamy thigh and up her dress, making the girl laugh even more lasciviously. The sight made Buffy sick to her stomach. But all she could do was gaze blankly at the two with a horrified expression on her face. Gina frowned when she saw Buffy and gazed out at the couple in the booth. "You know them, hun?"

"Huh?" She broke out of her daze. "Oh. N-no. I d-don't."

"You sure? For a second there, you looked like you knew that cradle-robber well."

Her cheeks were ablaze with color as she turned back to the salt shakers. "I don't," she affirmed shakily. "Never seen that guy before in my life." Still, she stole furtive glances at the man and his girl, growing more agitated by their behavior. Finally, not being able to stand it, she turned to Gina. "You know, that sleep deprivation thing is getting to me after all. Can you tell Mitch I'm taking off?"

Concerned, Gina whipped her head up and down in agreement. "Sure Anne. But what's-----"

But she had already scrambled out the back door.

**********************************************

Buffy entered the door in a flurry, slumping against the door. Her face was still pinched white and bright red in perturbation. Gasping deeply for a semblance of control, her legs gave way and she sank to the floor in a seated position. She stayed that way for a few seconds, shaking and silent, until Spike lumbered in from the kitchen.

"'Ere now, where's the fire?" He was comically dressed in one of her spare aprons, shifting a brown grocery bag in his arms. He face twisted into a disappointed frown when he saw her crumpled into a ball next to the door. "Oh. It's just you. What an unpleasant surprise." He left her, entering the kitchen once more. "What happened to your shift? Someone needs to earn the bread to put the food on this table---" His invective was interrupted as Buffy had suddenly burst into the kitchen, by his side. Her hands rummaged furiously through the paper bag he held. "Hey! What the bloody hell are you doing?!"

"Where is it, Spike. I know you bought it, I just know you did." Her voice was wavering uncontrollably and her lips were bared back in determination as her hand disappeared into the bottom of the bag, finally drawing out a bottle of Jacks Daniel. Spike's eyes bugged out of his skull as he watched her uncap the bottle with force and take a long slug from it.

"Buffy, what are you---" he murmured in amazement as she made a face and threw her head back for another swallow. Dropping the rest of the bag, he lunged at her, trying to steal the bottle away. "Stop it!"

She shrugged out of his grasp and tried to take another sip, but Spike overtook her and grabbed the bottle away. Her eyes fired with passionate anger, she reached over to wrestle the Jacks Daniel back, but he held it away from her. Finally, squaring her teeth, she jabbed her elbow forcefully into his chest, making him curl over in pain. As he brought his arm back down, she regained hold of the bottle, but he just retaliated but grabbing a fistful of her hair so that she snapped back and loosened her grip on the bottle. Wriggling it out of her fingers, he held the bottle back and smashed it against the wall. "Alright Joan Collins," he snarled, backing away as Buffy sank into a chair by the table. "Tell me what the fuck just happened!"

Sighing flippantly, Buffy rubbed the back of her head. "Didn't think you would mind sharing," she spat gloomily.

He gaped at her, astounded. "Sharing?! You think this is about sharing?! What the hell is wrong with you?! Since when are you a raging lush?!"

"If that's not the pot calling the kettle black. Why is it okay for you to indulge in that stuff, not to mention purchase it illegally, but not okay for me?"

"It's different! I'm accustomed to the evils of shit like this, but you . . ." He paused. How was he supposed to tell her that behind all their animosity and altercations, he thought her purer and cleaner than himself? He didn't want the kind of ugliness that hung over him to touch her. In a sense, he wanted to protect her. "This isn't right for you."

She got up from the table sullenly and slowly, as if the few sips had made her sufficiently tipsy. "Like you get to decide what's right for me."

"I do when you act like this! What's come over you, Buffy?"

His tone was unusually soft and inquiring, so gentle that it prompted Buffy to look at him, broken and vulnerable. She tried to walk past him. "Nothing. It's nothing."

His arm whipped out and caught her by the shoulder. She twitched at the contact, but he had turned her around so that she faced him again. "It's not nothing. The Buffy I know wouldn't have come storming in here, trying to loose herself in a bottle."

She looked down as her lower lip began to quiver. "You don't know me."

"Sure I do. The Buffy I know would lecture me to death about the harmful effects of liver cirrhosis and those federal warnings on every pack of Marlboros that I ignore anyway. The Buffy I know would smack me upside the head if I tried the stunt you just pulled."

She sighed and lurched into the main room, finally collapsing into her bed. She curled into a ball so she didn't have to look at him and his intruding eyes and questions, but he simply followed her and crouched by the side of the bed so that they were eye-level. Nudging her hair away from her tear-streaked face, he squinted at her carefully. "Tell me."

She pulled her arm up so that her head could rest against her elbow. "It's stupid," she murmured sulkily. She covered her face with her hands. "I was just overreacting to something stupid."

"I'm sure it wasn't. You're the plucky gal who's faced the apocalypse with nothing but a snarky leer on her face. It must have been something big to rile you this way."

She licked her dry lips and tried to get over the awkwardly new situation of Spike being nice to her. But it provided enough comfort to allow her to finally admit, "I saw him."

"Who?"

"My . . . my father."

He leaned back on the balls of his heels in surprise. "Your father? Where?"

"At the diner. He was there with this . . . god, with this . . . slut, probably younger than me. He had his hand up her skirt and . . ." She stopped when the words became too odious to utter.

Spike frowned in commiseration. "Rat bastard."

"And he had bought her all these things. These, these clothes, probably the kind of stuff I wear . . . if I was a real Slutty Mc-Ho-Ho."

He chuckled. "Yeah. As I remember, Harmony Kendall was prime model for such fashions."

She shook her head vacuously. "Mom probably called him after I left. I mean . . . of course she did, how could she not? And he looked like he didn't even care. He doesn't care that I'm missing. He's too busy playing footsy with Jailbait to even worry about me. He . . . . he doesn't care about me. "

Spike covered one of her hands with his owns, and for once, Buffy didn't draw back. But then again, she probably didn't notice. "He's a dick, luv," he said blatantly. "Plain and simple."

She nodded tearfully, but continued. "He hasn't paid child support, o-or called for months. And yet . . . he was just sitting there, after having obviously bought her all this expensive clothes and . . . God, this shouldn't bother me. I'm more worried about Dawn than anything else . . ." But her weakening voice and streaming tears was contradiction to everything she was saying. As she began cracking, she whispered, "This shouldn't bother me . . ."

"Of course it should. How could it not?" Considerately, he went to the bathroom to get a tissue for her and was back at her side in a flash. He began to tenderly brush the tears from her cheeks as she squinted at him distrustfully.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" she whimpered softly.

He shrugged. "I guess I just know the woe of having a shitty father."

Buffy leveled herself up before frowning in censure. "Don't say that. Giles isn't a bad-----"

Spike immediately grew stormy and withdrew his hand from hers quickly. "I said it," he muttered morosely.

"No Spike. My father . . . he's truly . . . well it's not even right to call him 'my father' since he's done nothing to prove that, but . . . Giles always tried to be a good father."

Spike scooted away from her and put his arms atop his legs crossly. "We shouldn't talk about this Buffy. I don't want to start something when you're upset-----"

"You don't understand, Spike," Buffy insisted. For some reason, she felt it important to defend Giles to his son, especially since her own father had failed so miserably in her own eyes. She had to believe that some fathers were still getting it right. "Giles loves you. He always wanted what was best for you. We could all see it. He wanted nothing more than for you to accept him----"

"Then why did he leave?!" he shouted sharply, jarring Buffy for a second. He sighed when he saw the small, shocked fear register on her face, so he softened. "Buffy, please," he implored her quietly. "Leave it."

But Buffy wouldn't leave it. Instead, her eyes narrowed as she said quietly, "He loves you Spike. I bet right this minute, he's frantically trying to find you. Not like my dad. Giles must be worried sick------"

"You're the one who doesn't understand, luv. He's the one who wanted me to leave. He's the one who wanted me gone. So right now? He's probably having himself a rum toddy and rejoicing over being rid of his son." Spike clenched his teeth and tried to repress the acerbic bitterness in his tone.

Buffy sat upright on the bed, speechless. "Spike----"

"Buffy, please. Please." The supplication was evident in his weary voice. "Please leave it." He had risen up on his legs and was staring out the window wistfully with his forehead against the pane. She stared at his back, which heaved up and down with emotion and suddenly felt compelled to touch him. He wasn't as hard and sharp as he looked, she should have known this. But most of the time, she merely forgot. She forgot that he was same as she, just more jaded and edged and used to covering it all up. So gingerly, she got up from the bed and moved towards him silently, never stopping until his back was inches from her. With a feather's touch, she let her chin drift down to his rock-like back and her arms gently curl around his waist. She felt his stiffen as she spooned into his back, then eventually relax. For several moments, the two just stood in silence. Spike held his arms out against the window to keep him steady while Buffy held onto him loosely. They were both unaware of the apparent intimacy of the position. All they knew was the small seed of peace and comfort they felt in the half-embrace. Eventually Spike felt Buffy's cheek rub up against the black cloth of his back, soaking it with tears. He turned his head slightly.

"What's the matter?"

She didn't move. "Remember when you asked if it was better?" she murmured against his back.

"Yeah?"

"I just finally figured it. It's not."

He nodded and stared back out the window. "Yeah."

"Yeah."

And so they stayed liked that for what seemed like forever, both acknowledging the pain they had tried so hard to disguise. It didn't seem like much, but for a fleeting moment, it was all they had to make it better. If only for a little while.

TBC………………………….