The house was strangely silent, the only noise coming from the perking
coffee pot in the kitchen. Boxes littered the entire first floor, stacked
in the narrow hallways and piled against doorframes. Buffy stretched her
arms over her head, wet strands of hair clinging to her bare shoulders as
she padded down the hallway. This house was so different from the one in
California; the ceilings were impossibly high, but the rooms were smaller
and more confining. It had been a vacation house for a business associate
of Giles' who was moving to Nevada and was thrilled to get it off his
hands. The restored farmhouse was already furnished, which made the initial
transition to the East Coast easier. Even though some of the rooms were too
country-rustic looking for Buffy's taste, she was already thinking of all
the exciting redecorating possibilities. Overall she was in love with the
house; it had a comfortable homey atmosphere that was accented by its
suburban location. Ever since the DeSoto had pulled into the driveway,
Buffy had been in a state of awe. They had moved in almost nine hours ago,
but she still felt like she was living in a dream.
Buffy and Spike had moved boxes from the DeSoto into the house for at least three hours, just dropping one pile in the foyer and going back outside to pick up another. Dawn had helped them get everything into the house, before collapsing in the smaller of the two bedrooms. The excitement and the late hours had taken their toll on her, and Spike had insisted that they didn't really need any extra help. He had been distant the entire time they had been moving things inside and Buffy was hoping that some alone time would give them the chance to talk. Spike seemed to have other plans; after the last box was inside the foyer, he had kissed her cheek and mumbled something about going to bed. She had covered the few picture windows in the living room and the kitchen, the skylight in the bedroom and the circular window in the bathroom, before joining him in the master bedroom. Spike was already sprawled out on top of the comforter when she walked in, his head buried in the decorative pillows. She paused in the doorway, drinking in the sight of his black-clad body contrasting sharply against the red toile comforter. Draping a chenille blanket over his shoulders, she gently placed a kiss on his forehead before going back into the hallway to start unpacking the moving boxes.
Three hours later, the smell of coffee permeated the small kitchen as the coffee pot sputtered out the last few drops. Unwrapping her favorite mug from the box marked "Fragile: Kitchen Stuff," Buffy crumpled up the bubble paper and tossed it on the counter. She poured the dark brown liquid into the blue mug, before reaching into the cabinet to pull out the box of sugar packets. Ripping open the white and blue paper, she dumped the sugar unceremoniously into the coffee and added a generous amount of half-and- half. "Now where the hell did I put the spoons," she asked the empty room, yanking open the drawers until she found the silverware. Buffy inhaled deeply, holding her steaming coffee mug under her nose; the enticing aroma of hazelnut filling her senses. Wisps of steam wafted out of the ceramic mug and she took a long swallow, savoring the rich flavor that enveloped her mouth. Closing her eyes, she wrapped her hands around the mug, lacing her fingers together as the caffeine flooded her system. The heat from the mug warmed her fingertips; the air conditioner had kicked on a few minutes before, and cool air was rapidly filling the kitchen. She leaned her back against the white countertop, taking slow sips of coffee.
Almost all of the boxes except the ones labeled "master bedroom" and "Dawn" were in some stage of being unpacked. Scattered boxes covered the tiled floor, some empty and others still filled with newspaper and bubble wrap. The excitement of finally being in Rhode Island had made it impossible for Buffy to get any sleep. She had been emptying boxes for hours, as Dawn and Spike slept in their respective bedrooms. After her long shower, she was starting to feel the familiar twinges of fatigue. Placing her cup on the counter, she hoisted herself onto the white countertop, her legs dangling against the chestnut cabinets. The bottom of her yellow cotton pants covered her feet, giving Buffy the appearance of a little girl, as she perched atop the counter. She lifted her hair into a sloppy bun, securing the damp strands with her omnipresent elastic. Smoothing down invisible fly- away wisps with her left hand, she glanced around the kitchen, taking in every detail. Pale cornflower blue paper covered the walls, broken up by a creamy chair rail. Wicker baskets filled with flowers were printed on the top border, giving the kitchen a rustic and homey feeling.
The soft padding of feet in the hallway interrupted Buffy's musings. Dawn wandered into the kitchen, her eyes bleary from sleep. "What time is it," she asked, surprised to see that her older sister was already awake. Dawn hadn't expected to see Buffy and Spike for at least a day or two, they hadn't had any alone time since before leaving Sunnydale. Buffy shrugged, "I dunno, probably a little after one." Raising her eyebrow curiously, Dawn asked, "did you sleep." When Buffy shook her head, Dawn hopped onto the counter beside her sister. "What's wrong," she asked, with a look that rivaled Willow's resolve face; there was no way Buffy was getting out of this conversation, no matter how awkward it was. Buffy sighed deeply, "I wish I knew Dawnie." She paused, staring off into space, not really seeing the table in front of them. Dawn stole a sip of Buffy's coffee, "is it Spike," she asked, knowing that he probably had something to do with whatever was bothering Buffy.
Buffy's green eyes were empty and hollow when she looked at Dawn, trying to think of the right way to answer her sister's question without turning into a complete emotional wreck. Instead she ignored it, taking the blue mug from Dawn's hands, "don't drink coffee, it'll stunt your growth." Dawn leapt off the counter, opening two cabinets until she found the box of strawberry Pop Tarts. Her sister raised a skeptical eyebrow as she pulled out a pre-wrapped package, "this coming from the girl who's like a foot smaller then me?" Peeling back the silver cellophane, she bit into the white frosted treat and looked expectantly at Buffy who had uttered a mumbled protest. "It's five inches and the caffeine had nothing to do with it," Buffy insisted half-heartedly. The teenager nodded, "right. But you're avoiding the question. What's going on? You haven't looked this bad in at least three weeks." She slid into a kitchen chair and stared at her sister intently. It was true, Buffy looked so tired and defeated; it had been months since she had looked so lost. The last time Buffy had been so morose was right after Riley came back to Sunnydale with his new wife. Even though neither Buffy nor Spike would admit that something had happened between them that night, Dawn could sense that something was different after the Finns had shipped out. "Thanks Dawnie," Buffy said sarcastically as she stuck out her tongue, "you're absolutely amazing at the motivation speech crap."
Seeing that she was not going to get off the hook that easily, Buffy also hopped off the counter. Picking up her coffee cup, she perched nervously in the chair across from Dawn. Her hands were clenched in tight fists, the knuckles pure white against the normally tan flesh. She looked down at her coffee, refusing to meet her sister's eye. "I think something's wrong," she began, her voice cracking with emotion as the tears began to build behind her eyes. Buffy kept her head trained on a spot inside her mug, continuing to talk more to herself then to Dawn. "With me and Spike, it's like I did something and suddenly everything's changed." She continued silently, not wanting to frighten her sister with the depth of her insecurity; I can feel how I'm pushing him away just like everyone else, it's just a little bit every day but the tension just keeps growing between us.
Dawn sighed deeply; her sister was the most romantically challenged person she had ever met, followed only by one annoyingly perceptive peroxide blonde vamp. "Well obviously," she snapped, pausing to tear a corner off her breakfast treat. Crumbs spilled over the table as she popped the piece into her mouth. Buffy's eyebrows shot upwards and she looked at Dawn in astonishment, not believing what she had just said. "What," she sputtered. Buffy had expected sympathy not bitter honesty. Shit, Dawn thought, I need to fix this before she tries to kill me. "I mean, you guys just moved across the country, so obviously things are going to be different," she stammered anxiously, trying to do some quick damage control. Buffy looked back at her coffee, understanding what Dawn was saying but not really believing a word. In the back of her mind was a terrible fear that Spike was slipping away, her love wasn't enough, she wasn't enough. "Whatever Dawnie," she murmured, her eyes glazing over into a look that everyone had become familiar after her abrupt departure from Heaven.
"You and Spike are absolutely impossible," Dawn swore, pushing her chair away from the table angrily. "I mean it's like a freaking soap opera with you guys. First it's all boy falls in love with the girl and she's oblivious. And does anyone say anything about their feelings? No! He just sulks around and you just pretend that nothing's changed, even though everyone can tell that they're both full of shit and lying to each other. Then once Spike finally gets sick of you, there's this little light bulb that goes off and you realize that you need him. So he leaves town and all you wants is for him to come back. But does anybody say anything about it? No! You just mope around and keep wishing that you could have a second chance to not screw up what had the potential to be an awesome relationship. Oh but wait, when Spike does come back from God-knows-where, do you say that you missed him, that you need him? No! Of course not! Because that would be too damn easy! So you ignore him and he pretends that he isn't still in love with you. Which is complete and total shit, because everyone can see that you're not over him and he isn't over you! So he broods in our basement and you mope around with these big dramatic sighs that are supposed to mean something. And do you ever talk to Spike about what's going on? Of course not! You two just stare at each other and hope that mind reading works, because not talking is just the key to all relationships. And then, after everyone around them is convinced that you're both too damn screwed up to ever get together, you go and finally tell him that you love him. So now you're finally together and everything's great for like three seconds until you decide to go all insecure girl and he gets all moody because you're withdrawing from him. And then you sit here and mope because you don't know what's going on! The two of you are absolutely fucking impossible," she screamed at Buffy.
Tears were streaming down her face as Dawn ran back into her bedroom, slamming the door furiously. She fell onto the bed, sobbing into her pillows. Watching Buffy and Spike ignore each other reminded Dawn of the days before her parent's divorce. Hank and Joyce had stayed in opposite sides of the house for days, refusing to have any contact with the other. The day that they had told Buffy and Dawn about the divorce, Joyce had been sitting in the kitchen, her thoughts lost in a mug of tea. She couldn't look at her husband nor could see watch the tears streaming down the faces of her daughters. For one terrible moment, Dawn felt like she was reliving her parent's divorce all over again. The old feelings of betrayal and frustration had bubbled to the surface; she hadn't meant to lash out at Buffy, but the emotions had been too painful to contain any longer. She loved both Buffy and Spike, even after everything they had done to each other, she still thought that they were meant to be together.
Her bedroom door creaked, a knock accompanying the opening door. "Nibblet, you alright," Spike's sleep-roughened voice asked from the hallway. She sniffed, "go away Spike," she muttered, her head still buried beneath a pillow. He chuckled softly, "'fraid I can't do that Bit. Mind if I come in?" When she didn't answer, he stepped through the doorframe, closing the door behind him. Dawn's room was bathed in shadows, the forest green drapes drawn tightly over the two windows. His bare feet sunk into the tan carpet as Spike crossed the room. He perched on the edge of her desk chair, facing the teenager who was flopped across her bed. The stillness of the room was broken by the occasional sniffle from Dawn; she refused to look up and met Spike's piercing blue eyes. A Kleenex was pressed into her hand and she closed her fist around it. Without lifting her head, she swiped at her nose and moist eyes. "Thanks," she mumbled. Spike smirked, "welcome. You want to explain to me what all that shouting was about?" Sitting up, Dawn drew her legs under her body and toyed with the fringed edge of her pillow. "Not really," she whispered softly, her anger spent. "That's what I figured," Spike said, getting out of the chair. "Bloody uncomfortable thing," he muttered, before beginning to pace the length of Dawn's room.
As expected, after he had completed a few lengths of the room, Dawn sighed in exasperation. "All right I'll tell you, just stop with the pacing. It's freaking me out." Spike bit back a smile, standing at the head of her bed, his arms crossed over his chest. Raising his scarred eyebrow, he waved his left hand, "right then. Get on with it now." Slowly the entire story poured out; from Buffy's kitchen confession to the memories of her parent's divorce it had evoked. Tucking a strand of long chestnut hair behind her ear, Dawn licked her dry lips and stared off into space as she finished. Tipping his head to the side, Spike studied the girl in front of him, as he tried to decide what words would be a healing balm for her. As if she could read his thoughts, Dawn cut off any comforting nothings that Spike would have said. "Talk to her," she begged, "figure out what's going on. Because she needs you, we both need you. You're part of the family now." If vampires could blush, Spike would have been a flaming red. He had never felt such an overwhelming rush of acceptance; it was such a strange emotion for him to feel after so many years of being alone.
He crossed the room and ruffled Dawn's hair affectionately. "You're pretty smart sometimes Nibblet," he said, brotherly pride swelling beneath his rough accent, "right perceptive too." She offered him a weak grin, her eyes red-rimmed from crying. He tossed his signature smirk at her, opening the door slowly. "Spike," Dawn called hesitantly. He turned to look at her, a quizzical expression on his face. "Tell Buffy I'm sorry," she asked before he walked into the hallway. "Tell her yourself," Spike said, closing the door behind him. The house was too quiet, he thought as he walked towards the kitchen. His ears strained for some sound of Buffy's, something to tell him which of the rooms she was in.
The kitchen was empty but she had left the coffee pot on, so Spike knew that she had not gone too far. Pushing open the sliding door that separated the den from the rest of the house, he poked his head inside. "Buffy, you in here luv," he asked, careful to keep his voice steady. She was curled up on the sofa, her knees resting on the arm. Her body was in a tight ball on the edge of the couch and Spike could feel the tension that was radiating off her in waves. He closed the door behind him, crossing the room to kneel in front of Buffy. She tucked her head further into her knees, not wanting to look into his cerulean eyes. "Buffy," he asked again, tentatively touching her bare shoulder that peeked out beneath the white tank top. She swallowed over the lump in her throat; a Slayer should be able to deal with her relationship issues, she rationalized as she hesitantly looked at Spike beneath her thick eyelashes. The moment their eyes met, she began to tremble, the depth of his emotions plainly visible to her. Instead of anger, his eyes reflected sympathy and love. Spike sighed, climbing onto the couch beside Buffy and wrapping his arms around her trembling body. She leaned against his chest as fresh tears began to course down her cheeks. He kissed the top of her head, "it's alright sweetness, don't cry. It'll be alright. Whatever it is, we can fix it."
Buffy let out a low sob, raising her face from the blanket of Spike's black shirt to look at him. "How Spike," she asked, "how can we fix me?" Her voice broke and she turned away from him, ashamed of her own insecurities, "tell me how we can make me good enough so you won't leave." Spike cursed under his breath, "Buffy, pet, look at me," he pleaded, "please sweetness, look at me." Her eyes were overflowing with tears when she finally lifted her chin. The sadness in her green orbs was heart-wrenching and Spike was filled with the overwhelming desire to take away her pain. He tightened his arms around her shoulders, drawing Buffy onto his lap. "Listen to me Buffy, I don't know what's going on in that head of yours, but it's completely off the mark. I'm not going anywhere, when I said I love you, I meant it. I'm not like all those other blokes, sweetness, I'm not going to leave until you throw me out. And even then it'd have to be on the receiving end of a pointy stake."
Despite her tears, Buffy giggled softly. "What about all my insane insecurities," she pressed, "won't that get old after a few years." Spike quirked his scarred eyebrow and she ducked her head as an embarrassed flush colored her cheeks. He tipped her chin up gently, his lips gently grazing over hers, the tips of his fingers brushing stray tears off her cheeks. Buffy responded eagerly, her tongue reaching out to duel with his. When they finally broke for air, Spike looked deep into her eyes. He could lose himself in those green depths, just watching every emotion flicker through them. "I love you so much," he murmured. Buffy smiled, "I know and I still can't figure out what I did to deserve you." Spike looked down at the woman tangled in his arms, tucking a stray lock of blonde hair behind her ear. "Question is, what did I do to deserve you," he began. Before Spike could delve into the complexities of their relationship, Buffy pressed her lips to his. Her kiss was demanding, filled with passion and desire. Buffy wrapped her legs around Spike's waist, twisting their coupled limbs until they fell to the floor in a heap.
Spike let out a low groan of protest as his back smashed against the hard floor, before Buffy's insistent lips ravaged his mouth again. "Comfortable," she quipped, straddling his torso, a coy smile dancing over her swollen lips. Her earlier emotional insecurity was nowhere to be found as Buffy flattened her body against Spike's, teasing the vampire through layers of cotton and denim. Letting out a low growl, Spike rolled their bodies, reversing their positions. He captured her mouth again before moving his attention down to her slender neck and exposed shoulder.
In her bedroom, Dawn sighed in mock annoyance as she searched for the box that had her CD player in it. "I don't know what's worse, the silence or the moaning," she lamented, shaking her head. A triumphant smile crossed her face, "gotcha." Pulling the CD player out of the box, she plugged it into the nearest outlet and threw in the first CD she reached. Turning up the music, Dawn began to dance around the room humming along with the song. "Sometimes we get second chances," she sang softly, unpacking her new bedroom as the music muffled the sounds of Buffy and Spike's passion.
Buffy and Spike had moved boxes from the DeSoto into the house for at least three hours, just dropping one pile in the foyer and going back outside to pick up another. Dawn had helped them get everything into the house, before collapsing in the smaller of the two bedrooms. The excitement and the late hours had taken their toll on her, and Spike had insisted that they didn't really need any extra help. He had been distant the entire time they had been moving things inside and Buffy was hoping that some alone time would give them the chance to talk. Spike seemed to have other plans; after the last box was inside the foyer, he had kissed her cheek and mumbled something about going to bed. She had covered the few picture windows in the living room and the kitchen, the skylight in the bedroom and the circular window in the bathroom, before joining him in the master bedroom. Spike was already sprawled out on top of the comforter when she walked in, his head buried in the decorative pillows. She paused in the doorway, drinking in the sight of his black-clad body contrasting sharply against the red toile comforter. Draping a chenille blanket over his shoulders, she gently placed a kiss on his forehead before going back into the hallway to start unpacking the moving boxes.
Three hours later, the smell of coffee permeated the small kitchen as the coffee pot sputtered out the last few drops. Unwrapping her favorite mug from the box marked "Fragile: Kitchen Stuff," Buffy crumpled up the bubble paper and tossed it on the counter. She poured the dark brown liquid into the blue mug, before reaching into the cabinet to pull out the box of sugar packets. Ripping open the white and blue paper, she dumped the sugar unceremoniously into the coffee and added a generous amount of half-and- half. "Now where the hell did I put the spoons," she asked the empty room, yanking open the drawers until she found the silverware. Buffy inhaled deeply, holding her steaming coffee mug under her nose; the enticing aroma of hazelnut filling her senses. Wisps of steam wafted out of the ceramic mug and she took a long swallow, savoring the rich flavor that enveloped her mouth. Closing her eyes, she wrapped her hands around the mug, lacing her fingers together as the caffeine flooded her system. The heat from the mug warmed her fingertips; the air conditioner had kicked on a few minutes before, and cool air was rapidly filling the kitchen. She leaned her back against the white countertop, taking slow sips of coffee.
Almost all of the boxes except the ones labeled "master bedroom" and "Dawn" were in some stage of being unpacked. Scattered boxes covered the tiled floor, some empty and others still filled with newspaper and bubble wrap. The excitement of finally being in Rhode Island had made it impossible for Buffy to get any sleep. She had been emptying boxes for hours, as Dawn and Spike slept in their respective bedrooms. After her long shower, she was starting to feel the familiar twinges of fatigue. Placing her cup on the counter, she hoisted herself onto the white countertop, her legs dangling against the chestnut cabinets. The bottom of her yellow cotton pants covered her feet, giving Buffy the appearance of a little girl, as she perched atop the counter. She lifted her hair into a sloppy bun, securing the damp strands with her omnipresent elastic. Smoothing down invisible fly- away wisps with her left hand, she glanced around the kitchen, taking in every detail. Pale cornflower blue paper covered the walls, broken up by a creamy chair rail. Wicker baskets filled with flowers were printed on the top border, giving the kitchen a rustic and homey feeling.
The soft padding of feet in the hallway interrupted Buffy's musings. Dawn wandered into the kitchen, her eyes bleary from sleep. "What time is it," she asked, surprised to see that her older sister was already awake. Dawn hadn't expected to see Buffy and Spike for at least a day or two, they hadn't had any alone time since before leaving Sunnydale. Buffy shrugged, "I dunno, probably a little after one." Raising her eyebrow curiously, Dawn asked, "did you sleep." When Buffy shook her head, Dawn hopped onto the counter beside her sister. "What's wrong," she asked, with a look that rivaled Willow's resolve face; there was no way Buffy was getting out of this conversation, no matter how awkward it was. Buffy sighed deeply, "I wish I knew Dawnie." She paused, staring off into space, not really seeing the table in front of them. Dawn stole a sip of Buffy's coffee, "is it Spike," she asked, knowing that he probably had something to do with whatever was bothering Buffy.
Buffy's green eyes were empty and hollow when she looked at Dawn, trying to think of the right way to answer her sister's question without turning into a complete emotional wreck. Instead she ignored it, taking the blue mug from Dawn's hands, "don't drink coffee, it'll stunt your growth." Dawn leapt off the counter, opening two cabinets until she found the box of strawberry Pop Tarts. Her sister raised a skeptical eyebrow as she pulled out a pre-wrapped package, "this coming from the girl who's like a foot smaller then me?" Peeling back the silver cellophane, she bit into the white frosted treat and looked expectantly at Buffy who had uttered a mumbled protest. "It's five inches and the caffeine had nothing to do with it," Buffy insisted half-heartedly. The teenager nodded, "right. But you're avoiding the question. What's going on? You haven't looked this bad in at least three weeks." She slid into a kitchen chair and stared at her sister intently. It was true, Buffy looked so tired and defeated; it had been months since she had looked so lost. The last time Buffy had been so morose was right after Riley came back to Sunnydale with his new wife. Even though neither Buffy nor Spike would admit that something had happened between them that night, Dawn could sense that something was different after the Finns had shipped out. "Thanks Dawnie," Buffy said sarcastically as she stuck out her tongue, "you're absolutely amazing at the motivation speech crap."
Seeing that she was not going to get off the hook that easily, Buffy also hopped off the counter. Picking up her coffee cup, she perched nervously in the chair across from Dawn. Her hands were clenched in tight fists, the knuckles pure white against the normally tan flesh. She looked down at her coffee, refusing to meet her sister's eye. "I think something's wrong," she began, her voice cracking with emotion as the tears began to build behind her eyes. Buffy kept her head trained on a spot inside her mug, continuing to talk more to herself then to Dawn. "With me and Spike, it's like I did something and suddenly everything's changed." She continued silently, not wanting to frighten her sister with the depth of her insecurity; I can feel how I'm pushing him away just like everyone else, it's just a little bit every day but the tension just keeps growing between us.
Dawn sighed deeply; her sister was the most romantically challenged person she had ever met, followed only by one annoyingly perceptive peroxide blonde vamp. "Well obviously," she snapped, pausing to tear a corner off her breakfast treat. Crumbs spilled over the table as she popped the piece into her mouth. Buffy's eyebrows shot upwards and she looked at Dawn in astonishment, not believing what she had just said. "What," she sputtered. Buffy had expected sympathy not bitter honesty. Shit, Dawn thought, I need to fix this before she tries to kill me. "I mean, you guys just moved across the country, so obviously things are going to be different," she stammered anxiously, trying to do some quick damage control. Buffy looked back at her coffee, understanding what Dawn was saying but not really believing a word. In the back of her mind was a terrible fear that Spike was slipping away, her love wasn't enough, she wasn't enough. "Whatever Dawnie," she murmured, her eyes glazing over into a look that everyone had become familiar after her abrupt departure from Heaven.
"You and Spike are absolutely impossible," Dawn swore, pushing her chair away from the table angrily. "I mean it's like a freaking soap opera with you guys. First it's all boy falls in love with the girl and she's oblivious. And does anyone say anything about their feelings? No! He just sulks around and you just pretend that nothing's changed, even though everyone can tell that they're both full of shit and lying to each other. Then once Spike finally gets sick of you, there's this little light bulb that goes off and you realize that you need him. So he leaves town and all you wants is for him to come back. But does anybody say anything about it? No! You just mope around and keep wishing that you could have a second chance to not screw up what had the potential to be an awesome relationship. Oh but wait, when Spike does come back from God-knows-where, do you say that you missed him, that you need him? No! Of course not! Because that would be too damn easy! So you ignore him and he pretends that he isn't still in love with you. Which is complete and total shit, because everyone can see that you're not over him and he isn't over you! So he broods in our basement and you mope around with these big dramatic sighs that are supposed to mean something. And do you ever talk to Spike about what's going on? Of course not! You two just stare at each other and hope that mind reading works, because not talking is just the key to all relationships. And then, after everyone around them is convinced that you're both too damn screwed up to ever get together, you go and finally tell him that you love him. So now you're finally together and everything's great for like three seconds until you decide to go all insecure girl and he gets all moody because you're withdrawing from him. And then you sit here and mope because you don't know what's going on! The two of you are absolutely fucking impossible," she screamed at Buffy.
Tears were streaming down her face as Dawn ran back into her bedroom, slamming the door furiously. She fell onto the bed, sobbing into her pillows. Watching Buffy and Spike ignore each other reminded Dawn of the days before her parent's divorce. Hank and Joyce had stayed in opposite sides of the house for days, refusing to have any contact with the other. The day that they had told Buffy and Dawn about the divorce, Joyce had been sitting in the kitchen, her thoughts lost in a mug of tea. She couldn't look at her husband nor could see watch the tears streaming down the faces of her daughters. For one terrible moment, Dawn felt like she was reliving her parent's divorce all over again. The old feelings of betrayal and frustration had bubbled to the surface; she hadn't meant to lash out at Buffy, but the emotions had been too painful to contain any longer. She loved both Buffy and Spike, even after everything they had done to each other, she still thought that they were meant to be together.
Her bedroom door creaked, a knock accompanying the opening door. "Nibblet, you alright," Spike's sleep-roughened voice asked from the hallway. She sniffed, "go away Spike," she muttered, her head still buried beneath a pillow. He chuckled softly, "'fraid I can't do that Bit. Mind if I come in?" When she didn't answer, he stepped through the doorframe, closing the door behind him. Dawn's room was bathed in shadows, the forest green drapes drawn tightly over the two windows. His bare feet sunk into the tan carpet as Spike crossed the room. He perched on the edge of her desk chair, facing the teenager who was flopped across her bed. The stillness of the room was broken by the occasional sniffle from Dawn; she refused to look up and met Spike's piercing blue eyes. A Kleenex was pressed into her hand and she closed her fist around it. Without lifting her head, she swiped at her nose and moist eyes. "Thanks," she mumbled. Spike smirked, "welcome. You want to explain to me what all that shouting was about?" Sitting up, Dawn drew her legs under her body and toyed with the fringed edge of her pillow. "Not really," she whispered softly, her anger spent. "That's what I figured," Spike said, getting out of the chair. "Bloody uncomfortable thing," he muttered, before beginning to pace the length of Dawn's room.
As expected, after he had completed a few lengths of the room, Dawn sighed in exasperation. "All right I'll tell you, just stop with the pacing. It's freaking me out." Spike bit back a smile, standing at the head of her bed, his arms crossed over his chest. Raising his scarred eyebrow, he waved his left hand, "right then. Get on with it now." Slowly the entire story poured out; from Buffy's kitchen confession to the memories of her parent's divorce it had evoked. Tucking a strand of long chestnut hair behind her ear, Dawn licked her dry lips and stared off into space as she finished. Tipping his head to the side, Spike studied the girl in front of him, as he tried to decide what words would be a healing balm for her. As if she could read his thoughts, Dawn cut off any comforting nothings that Spike would have said. "Talk to her," she begged, "figure out what's going on. Because she needs you, we both need you. You're part of the family now." If vampires could blush, Spike would have been a flaming red. He had never felt such an overwhelming rush of acceptance; it was such a strange emotion for him to feel after so many years of being alone.
He crossed the room and ruffled Dawn's hair affectionately. "You're pretty smart sometimes Nibblet," he said, brotherly pride swelling beneath his rough accent, "right perceptive too." She offered him a weak grin, her eyes red-rimmed from crying. He tossed his signature smirk at her, opening the door slowly. "Spike," Dawn called hesitantly. He turned to look at her, a quizzical expression on his face. "Tell Buffy I'm sorry," she asked before he walked into the hallway. "Tell her yourself," Spike said, closing the door behind him. The house was too quiet, he thought as he walked towards the kitchen. His ears strained for some sound of Buffy's, something to tell him which of the rooms she was in.
The kitchen was empty but she had left the coffee pot on, so Spike knew that she had not gone too far. Pushing open the sliding door that separated the den from the rest of the house, he poked his head inside. "Buffy, you in here luv," he asked, careful to keep his voice steady. She was curled up on the sofa, her knees resting on the arm. Her body was in a tight ball on the edge of the couch and Spike could feel the tension that was radiating off her in waves. He closed the door behind him, crossing the room to kneel in front of Buffy. She tucked her head further into her knees, not wanting to look into his cerulean eyes. "Buffy," he asked again, tentatively touching her bare shoulder that peeked out beneath the white tank top. She swallowed over the lump in her throat; a Slayer should be able to deal with her relationship issues, she rationalized as she hesitantly looked at Spike beneath her thick eyelashes. The moment their eyes met, she began to tremble, the depth of his emotions plainly visible to her. Instead of anger, his eyes reflected sympathy and love. Spike sighed, climbing onto the couch beside Buffy and wrapping his arms around her trembling body. She leaned against his chest as fresh tears began to course down her cheeks. He kissed the top of her head, "it's alright sweetness, don't cry. It'll be alright. Whatever it is, we can fix it."
Buffy let out a low sob, raising her face from the blanket of Spike's black shirt to look at him. "How Spike," she asked, "how can we fix me?" Her voice broke and she turned away from him, ashamed of her own insecurities, "tell me how we can make me good enough so you won't leave." Spike cursed under his breath, "Buffy, pet, look at me," he pleaded, "please sweetness, look at me." Her eyes were overflowing with tears when she finally lifted her chin. The sadness in her green orbs was heart-wrenching and Spike was filled with the overwhelming desire to take away her pain. He tightened his arms around her shoulders, drawing Buffy onto his lap. "Listen to me Buffy, I don't know what's going on in that head of yours, but it's completely off the mark. I'm not going anywhere, when I said I love you, I meant it. I'm not like all those other blokes, sweetness, I'm not going to leave until you throw me out. And even then it'd have to be on the receiving end of a pointy stake."
Despite her tears, Buffy giggled softly. "What about all my insane insecurities," she pressed, "won't that get old after a few years." Spike quirked his scarred eyebrow and she ducked her head as an embarrassed flush colored her cheeks. He tipped her chin up gently, his lips gently grazing over hers, the tips of his fingers brushing stray tears off her cheeks. Buffy responded eagerly, her tongue reaching out to duel with his. When they finally broke for air, Spike looked deep into her eyes. He could lose himself in those green depths, just watching every emotion flicker through them. "I love you so much," he murmured. Buffy smiled, "I know and I still can't figure out what I did to deserve you." Spike looked down at the woman tangled in his arms, tucking a stray lock of blonde hair behind her ear. "Question is, what did I do to deserve you," he began. Before Spike could delve into the complexities of their relationship, Buffy pressed her lips to his. Her kiss was demanding, filled with passion and desire. Buffy wrapped her legs around Spike's waist, twisting their coupled limbs until they fell to the floor in a heap.
Spike let out a low groan of protest as his back smashed against the hard floor, before Buffy's insistent lips ravaged his mouth again. "Comfortable," she quipped, straddling his torso, a coy smile dancing over her swollen lips. Her earlier emotional insecurity was nowhere to be found as Buffy flattened her body against Spike's, teasing the vampire through layers of cotton and denim. Letting out a low growl, Spike rolled their bodies, reversing their positions. He captured her mouth again before moving his attention down to her slender neck and exposed shoulder.
In her bedroom, Dawn sighed in mock annoyance as she searched for the box that had her CD player in it. "I don't know what's worse, the silence or the moaning," she lamented, shaking her head. A triumphant smile crossed her face, "gotcha." Pulling the CD player out of the box, she plugged it into the nearest outlet and threw in the first CD she reached. Turning up the music, Dawn began to dance around the room humming along with the song. "Sometimes we get second chances," she sang softly, unpacking her new bedroom as the music muffled the sounds of Buffy and Spike's passion.