Chapter Six
Dawn sat on her brother's bed, flipping through one of his comic books. She ignored the glares Andrew shot at her for disturbing his precious 'literature' collection.
As she looked at one drawing of a super heroine, Dawn wondered how anyone thought it'd be possible to fight crime wearing an outfit that looked as if it had to be literally glued onto their body. Not to mention the six-inch high-heeled boots, and the fact that if the woman's breasts got any bigger, she would fall face forward onto the pavement.
Well, at least she knew the reason why her brother read them.
Or she hoped that was the reason why he read them.
Tara sat on the floor, quietly playing with Ms. Kitty Fantastico, a stuffed animal that her mother had given her after Tara had gotten her tonsils out. The black and white toy cat was furry and its body was limp from the soft cotton inside. There was a large stitching up the side of the cat's body, a constant reminder of Dawn's brief stint with archery lessons the previous summer.
"So, what do you two think of our new nanny?" Andrew asked, turning in his desk chair.
Dawn glanced up from the comic to her little brother, then turned to her little sister.
The blonde six-year-old flipped the cat up into the air, then caught it on the way back down before repeating the process. She was ignored both of them.
"I think Spike must be getting desperate if he hired her," the twelve-year-old said. "I mean, Buffy? What kind of name is that? And she's blonde! We'll have her running out of here before you can say 'Like, for sure.'"
"Okay, hey, on the blond joke," Andrew said. "And tell me again why we want her gone? She seemed nice."
"Oh, yeah, they're nice -- right up until they start bossing you around like they're your mother. And she's not mom, just like Spike isn't dad, and they shouldn't be able to tell us what to do!"
"But aren't grownups supposed to tell us what to do?"
Rolling her eyes, the eldest of the children went back to the comic. "You're insufferable," she informed her little brother.
"I'm what?"
Dawn actually didn't know what it meant, but had heard Spike use it several times when he talked about them.
"Nothing," she grumbled.
The brown-haired child flipped another page when a car horn blared below her brother's window. Andrew leaned over his desk and peered out into the driveway.
"She's got more stuff?" Dawn asked. When he nodded, she added, "God, that's like the fourth trip. We didn't even bring that much stuff and we moved from across the country."
Andrew shrugged one shoulder, then smiled. "Oh, hey, Willow brought Oz and the others with her this time."
"Oh!" Dawn said, knocking her brother away to see out the window. "Is Xander with them?"
Andrew glared at his big sister. "Yeah. So are Angel and Anya. They must have come over to meet Buffy."
"Well, they better enjoy it, 'cause it'll be the last time they'll ever see her," Dawn informed him, letting the window's curtain's fall back in place.
She walked back towards the center of the room where Tara had stopped playing with Miss Kitty and was now watching her siblings. The eldest of the three had her hand against her chin, deep in thought.
"You got a plan?" Andrew asked, flopping into his desk's chair.
Dawn thought a few minutes longer, than a wicked smile spread across her face. "Does that Jonathon kid still need someone to watch Roxie for him for the weekend?"
Buffy sighed as she stood in front of her new closet, contemplating exactly how many of her clothes she could fit in the small bedroom.
Between the closet, the chestier drawers, and the boxes Willow had brought over a couple of hours ago, she still wouldn't have enough room to store all her things. She should have realized that it would be damn near impossible to cram an apartment full of junk into a room the size of her bedroom back in Sunnydale.
"Figures. I move into a mansion and I get to sleep in the freaking linen closet," she muttered to herself, grabbing another one of her dresses.
As she slipped it onto a hanger, the blonde heard the loose floorboard near the door squeak, telling her someone else had entered the room. Probably Willow with more stuff for her that she didn't have any place to put.
"Just put it anywhere you can," she said over her shoulder. "I think there might be some room on the bed."
"From what I can tell, that's pretty much full, love."
Buffy bristled. Just who she wanted to deal with right now.
Turning, she eyed her new employer.
He was casually going threw her things that had been left out on the bed, acting as if it were the most natural thing in the world and not an invasion of her privacy. After touching nearly everything, he settled on a white sundress that had lain on top of the clothes, and held it up to get a better look. Great, now she was going to have to wash all of her clothes – twice – and burn that dress because there was no telling where those hands had been.
"No touch-y," she said, grabbing the dress. "Anything."
"Now, now, pet. No need to get all testy. Especially with the boss," he smirked, continuing to investigate her things.
"What? Wanted to make sure I didn't bring any weapons with me?"
"No, but now that you mention it, it might be in my best interest if I did check," the singer said, opening the flap to a large box.
Buffy smirked. "I'm not big into weapons. If I were going to kill you, I'd use my hands."
"You talk to all your employers like that?" Before she had a chance to answer, the bleached-blond muttered, "No wonder you can't keep a bloody job."
Narrowing her eyes, the new nanny threw her hair over her shoulder and crossed her arms, still holding the dress in one hand. "What do you want, Spike?"
"That," he answered, pointing at her.
She drew back as if she had been struck. Buffy glanced over her shoulder, thinking perhaps he was pointing at something behind, then looked down at herself.
Assuming what he meant, she held up the dress and said, "I don't know, Spike. White really isn't your color, what with the whole albino, vampire rocker thing you're going for. But you might have the legs to pull it off."
"Not the dress, you daft chit. My name."
"What about it?" she asked. "Cause, I'm not the one that named you after a dog, if that's what you're getting at."
Rolling his eyes in a way that would make Dawn proud, Spike answered, "What I am 'getting at' is that while you are under my employment, you should show the proper respect when addressing me."
A tight frown formed on Buffy's face. "Okay, you want to say that again, but this time without the pompous-ass tone."
His eyes narrowed. "That was not a 'pompous-ass tone.' That was an employer to employee tone. And it's not like I'm askin' you to give me your first born child. All I'm askin' for is to be addressed properly."
"And that would be, what? Master Spike?" With an unladylike snort, Buffy said, "Trust me, there are a lot of things I'd like to call you, but Master isn't one of them."
"How about just Mr. Barrett?" he asked in a clipped tone.
"What about Giles? He's the butler and I haven't heard him call you Mister or Master or any other 'm' words," the blonde said.
"Giles isn't the butler," Spike responded automatically.
Now rolling her eyes, Buffy said, "He answers the door, he shows people to their rooms, and, as far as I can tell, he pretty much runs things around here. Face it. He's one 'Master Barrett' away from being Mr. Belvedere. That, or one 'Yes, Dear' away from being Mrs. Barrett."
Spike opened his mouth to make his comeback, when Willow walked into the bedroom, carrying yet another box. "You two aren't fighting again, are you?" the redhead asked with a suspicious tone.
"No," they answered together.
They glared at one another, but Willow chose to ignore them. Placing the box down on an open piece of carpet, the young waitress grabbed Buffy's wrist and started to pull her out the door. "Come on. The guys want to meet you."
Before Buffy could protest, she found herself being dragged down the stairs to the waiting rock group.
Angel sat back on the living room couch, idly flipping through a copy of Rolling Stones he had found on the coffee table that his feet were now propped on.
It had been awhile since he had been in Spike's home, at least since before the three brats had moved in. In fact, this was his first look at the new furniture Giles had bought to replace the ones he helped destroy at the last big bash the singer had thrown.
Well, judging by the sturdiness of the new coffee table, he'd have to put more than just five girls up on it to make it fall this time. Indeed, he'd bet that he could even beat the old record and have at least ten girls up on it before the damn thing broke. Now if they could only get the chance…
"It's awful quiet in here," Xander said. "You don't think that those kids murdered her and are now out burying the body, do you? Oh, or worse yet, that, since Willow wasn't here to stop her, Buffy killed Spike. What would we do then?"
"Hold auditions for a new singer?" Oz answered.
"Way to be concerned, man."
"Oh, she won't kill him," Anya stated confidently. "Spike is paying her to live in his house and eat his food in return for watching three small people for him. Surely she wouldn't jeopardize that for some silly grudge."
Xander raised an eyebrow at his manager. "This coming from the woman who once used every resource she had to destroy the lead singer of Troll's career?"
She shrugged. "He had to be taught a lesson for giving other women, who aren't me, orgasms," she answered. "And that's different, Harris. Olaf and me were bed-buddies. Buffy and Spike aren't. Yet, anyway."
"Try never," Angel said, while frowning at the photo of Lindsey McDonald he had come across in the magazine. 'Country singer trying to be rock. Pfft. That's just pathetic.' Quickly turning the page, he went on, "Those two hate each other more than most divorce couples do. Only they skipped over the whole marriage thing and went straight for the embittered ex ending."
"Well, depending on what those kids have planned to get rid of her, she might end up with half his stuff in a settlement," Xander said, flopping down on the couch next to Anya.
"Well, I still think they should get over that because I think Buffy would be surprised at how good of a naked-wrestling partner Spike can be. He's quite a stallion, you know," the manager said, picking at her chipped nails.
"Anya!" Xander balked, ignoring the snickering Angel.
"What?" She glanced over at the guitar player, and sighed as if he were doing something stupid to entertain Tara and was waiting for someone to tell him how great he was. Reaching over, she patted his knee and placed a large, sweet smile on her face. "Don't worry. You're good too. So you have no reason to be threatened by Spike's abilities."
Xander looked as if he were about to be sick, while Angel started to laugh like a four-year-old at Bozo the Clown. Even though Oz's face never changed, if one were to look closely, they could see he was biting down on the inside of his cheeks to keep it that way.
"Spike's ability to do what?" Willow asked, coming down the stairs.
Behind her, trailed along the two blonds: Buffy prancing down the stairs, and Spike glaring at the back of her head.
Snaking her arm around Oz's waist, the redhead looked to the three on the couch to answer her question.
"Oh, for him to satisfy-," Anya began, only to have Xander slap his hand over her mouth.
"The critics!" he finished for her. "Um, I mean, ah…Spike's ability to satisfy the critics, you know, with his lyrics and…stuff."
Angel, still chuckling to himself, shook his head. If nothing else, Anya always made sure Xander had to be on his toes.
"O-kay," Willow said, raising an eyebrow at the explanation, but not pressing for anything further. Instead, she looked over to the petit blonde woman next to her and said, "Guys, I want you to meet Buffy. Buffy, the guys."
Smiling, the blonde raised her hand and said, "Hey."
Xander removed his hand from over Anya's mouth, wiped it on his jeans, then held it out for Buffy. "Hey, Buffster. I'm Xander Harris. You can call me Xander or Xan or Harris or whatever."
"Like brain-damaged?" Spike quipped.
The guitar player glared at him for a moment, then went back to the introductions. "I guess you know Oz and Anya."
"We've met," Buffy said, giving each a small hello.
While she did this, Angel stood up and patted at his hair, to make sure that it was lying the way he had fixed it earlier that day. He moved in behind his fellow band member just as Xander said, "And that's-."
"Angel," the drummer said smoothly, pushing the guitar player out of the way and moving close to the nanny. Pasting on his 'oh, so charming' smile, he took her hand into his and began to rub small circles on her skin with his thumb. "You can call me," he grinned.
And she could. He liked her. After all, Buffy had the three main things that Angel looked for in a woman: hot, blonde, and hated Spike.
He watched as Buffy began to blush under his gaze, then heard his annoying, bleached friend groan. "Please, Peaches. That line's older than her," Spike said. "And no fraternizing with the help."
"The 'help' has a name," Buffy said, sending a death stare at her employer before turning back to Angel with a teenage-girl crush smile. "And besides, he can fraternize all he wants. In fact, she doesn't mind being fraternized with."
Spike snorted and Angel grinned.
Oh, yes. He definitely liked this girl.