Right Next Door to Hell

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Dawn might have been happier with the arrangement than Buffy was. It was all very romantic sounding, moving in together, sharing both days and nights and bathrooms and bedrooms and refrigerator space and the TV remote control.

It was more than a little different in practice.

The witches had moved out a few months back, after Christmas, and so the transition to making the master bedroom theirs had been easy, if strange. Buffy had never before lived with a man; Spike had never before lived as a man. Well, not in well over a hundred years. There were adjustments on both sides.

He: left wet towels on the bed, mugs of blood sitting around (which attracted flies, and how gross was that?), boots in the middle of the hallway.

She: (and Dawn) blared pop music during their Saturday afternoon cleaning sprees, when all respectable vampires were sleeping off the excesses of the night before.

He: had to be convinced to wear something when he was wandering about the house, even if Dawn was at school, and to please not answer the door in the (mostly) nude, especially on the day when social services was set to drop by for their six-month check up.

She: refused to budge their routine at all, not just for cleaning, but anything, repeating the same tired explanation that this was how they did things in the Summers household, this was what worked. So ix-nay on watching a movie with the little Bit before homework was complete, thank you very much.

Somehow taking out the trash became his responsibility, though she'd handled it just fine without him for months on end (Ew! It's full of yucky blood bags!). On the other hand, handling the money was completely her domain (Sweetie, you can't pay the electric bill with quarters, you have to use a check. Just let me do it, okay?), with her doling out spending money to him and Dawn both, never mind that he earned half of it. (Just because he'd misplaced that wad of cash the one time. S'not like he'd ever had to worry about money before. You needed it, you went out and got some. What was the big deal?)

So yes. Adjustments all around.

But so very worth it.

(Most of the time.)

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"S'for you," Spike said, handing her the phone one morning.

Cordelia was on the other end. "Buffy? Was that Spike who answered your phone? Why is Spike in your house?"

She screwed up. Didn't answer right away. She could see it in the stiffness of his back, the tightness of his jaw, that he was going to take it wrong. In all fairness, her lack of response was more out of surprise than anything else. She wasn't used to being questioned about her relationship with the vampire anymore, and besides, it was Cordelia. Her high school rival. Of sorts. Some feelings of inadequacy never die.

That, and… "Cordelia? Why are you calling me?"

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"So. The brooding one not know about us? Figure he's going to come swooping in one of these days, ready to pick up where you left off, then it'll be kick ol' Spike to the curb, eh?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Well if the cheerleader doesn't know, and you're not so keen on telling her, must be a reason. Want your honey still, do you?"

"You're a bonehead. And an asshole."

"What is it, Buffy? Why the big secret?"

"No secret. I called Angel months ago. Right before we went to England for Christmas. Didn't want him to hear it from anybody else. I guess he didn't tell Cordy."

"Put your own spin on it, eh? Oh Angel, you'll always be the one, Spike's just to pass the time with."

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Somehow they recovered from that, after blood was drawn and doors were slammed and Spike disappeared for over a day. She explained and he apologized, but the security Buffy had felt? The surety that Spike loved her, wouldn't leave?

Little bit shaken.

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Things felt different now. Maybe they shouldn't have moved in together. Strange enough an epic romance between a soulless vampire and a Vampire Slayer, but to share close quarters in harmony? Apparently too much to ask when both their tempers ran so high.

The final straw was finding out Spike was teaching her little sister how to be a better thief. Except the lesson hadn't stuck. Based on the phone call from the police station.

"You! Dawn! And the social services! Bad influence –taken away!" she spluttered incoherently.

"Was okay when you wanted a five-finger discount then? The Slayer is above the law, but everyone else has to play by the rules?"

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He wouldn't be walking normally for days yet. Maybe he deserved it. Should have apologized, not egged her on. Hell, he was lucky he wasn't a pile of dust, truth be told. He understood now, listening in from the spare bedroom he'd been banished to while Buffy promised the social worker over and over that it wouldn't happen again if she could just have one more chance, and yes she would remove any bad influences from her little sister's life, whatever it took, just please, didn't they deserve another chance when she'd been doing everything right for months now?

Bad influences would be him, then. He wondered if the crypt was still open. Maybe once he moved out they could find their way back to what they'd had before. When she'd loved him.

Not bloody likely.