Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Wednesday, January 22

Dear Diary,

My sister thinks I'm blind.

Dawn paused, twirling her pen between two fingers.

And deaf too. She thinks I don't know what's going on. That I'm completely oblivious to all the mega-watt-pining completely-in-love-and-sick-about-it looks she's been giving Spike.

Seriously, how has no one figured it out yet!? Like, hello, open your eyes, people! They're not even being subtle, just right there, in broad almost daylight! (No, I did not eat that burger! Not after I saw what they did on top of it! Shocking revelation, Buffy: the kitchen has  windows! Who knew!?).

I really can't take it anymore.

And so, I think it's time to play a little game I like to call:

How Far Will My Sister Go To Prove She's Not In Love With Spike?

Or, for short:

Torture Buffy Until She Cracks. And I mean  torture.

Stay tuned ;)

Oh my God, this is torture.

Buffy stood at the sink, scrubbing a pan until it felt like her elbow was going to come off at the hinge. Slayer strength and stamina couldn't hold a candle to whatever Dawn had baked into permanence over the pan's non-stick coating.

Non-stick my ass…

She wiped a wrist across her forehead and realized she was still wearing her cow-slash-chicken hat. She dragged it off her head and dumped it on the kitchen island before rallying for round two. It was a fight to the death now.

Ten minutes of vicious scrubbing finally removed the caked-on charcoal/grease monstrosity, and Buffy flexed her fingers for the next fight.

It was going to be an all-nighter.

Wrists deep in soapy water, she let her mind drift. Floating down into the gutter where all the dark thoughts she was striving to keep at bay lingered along with every memory of all the other all-nighters she'd been partaking in lately.

Her gaze drifted willfully to the tree outside in the yard, pulling her thoughts there too; to the memory of Spike's tongue in her mouth as his fingers had worked their way under her sweater, slowly excavating bare skin with relentless determination. The tree bark had tangled her hair as he'd savaged her throat with his mouth, teeth sharp enough to raise the hairs on the nape of her neck. A near-silent pop and the button of her jeans had been deftly opened. His chest had pressed her hard into the tree, crushing her breasts against his chest, no safe distance to retreat to as his hand had slid down her stomach and between her thighs—

"Are you in love with Spike?"

Buffy fumbled the cup she was holding, dropping it back into the sudsy water as she turned to gape over her shoulder at Dawn, leaning with aggressive teenage nonchalance in the kitchen doorway.

"What?!"

Dawn shrugged. "It's a simple question."

"It's an insane question," Buffy bit back, trying to tame her heart out of its bolt back into a saner tempo.

"I'm just asking cus I saw you making major eye contact during, you know, the birthday party that wouldn't end," Dawn continued, unperturbed, sliding onto a stool at the kitchen island.

Buffy let a very careful breath through her nose and with it, a silent prayer that the only evidence Dawn had was some harmless staring.

Like there's anything harmless when it comes to Spike, she silently berated herself.

"Yeah, well, when you're trapped inside a house for twenty-seven hours there's a finite amount of things to look at, should be your take away there," she replied tightly, rinsing off the last mug and pulling the plug from the sink.

"So, you're not in love with him?"

"No, Dawn," Buffy snapped, trying to find something to dry her pruned hands-on and settling for the shirt she was wearing. It was dirty anyway.

"Prove it then."

Buffy looked up at that, her brows furrowed.

"Huh?"

Dawn slid a piece of paper across the island, the edges slightly curled where it had been held in her hand. Written in Xander's wide loopy capitals was RICHARD 555-6716

"Prove it," Dawn repeated.

Buffy scoffed.

"I don't need to go out with Richard to prove I'm not in love with Spike. The not being in love with him will accomplish that all by itself," she said, striding to the fridge. There was no food in it (which she'd expected, considering she was the one not buying the groceries) but it was at least somewhere to look that wasn't Dawn's accusing, slightly smug stare.

"There's no food in that fridge," Dawn said, and Buffy rolled her eyes. "But d'you know where there is food? Dinner with Richard."

"Fascinating."

"Probably super interesting conversation too. All the flirting to be had? A whirlwind romance sort of thing."

"Sounds like a super not-to-be-missed thing," Buffy grumbled sarcastically.

"Great!" Dawn squeaked, clearly ignoring the sarcasm. "Because actually, the phone number was a bluff, I already told him you'd meet him Friday."

Buffy spun.

"Dawn!"

"I mean you're not working right?" Dawn continued, talking in a rush as though trying to cram as much persuasion as possible into the handful of seconds before Buffy detonated. "And anyway, if you had a nice, normal boyfriend, you know, of the human variety, maybe Spike would get the message. You do want him to get the message, don't you?"

Buffy glared at her, but it did nothing to stop the way Dawn's mouth kicked up at the side into a facsimile of an innocent smile.

"What message are we talking about?"

Dawn fiddled absentmindedly with the card containing Richard's phone number.

"That it's just sex between you guys?"

Buffy's stomach dropped, mouth partially and damningly open, too shocked for the protests she should have been shrieking.

She knows.

She knows, Oh God, she knows everything. Please tell me she doesn't know  everything !? How does she know?!

Panic turned icy like drying sweat on her skin. Her upper hand had suddenly become a no-hand. She was losing this stand-off and she could feel it.

The only question now was by how much.

"I'm not having sex with Spike," she lied, her voice thin and unconvincing, a blush already creeping up from her neck to her cheeks, ready to testify against her.

Dawn smiled that sickeningly pleasant smile again.

"Oh," she said, nodding. "Okay."

"I'm not!"

"Sure. Okay."

"Stop saying 'okay', I'm n—"

"Hey, guys. What're we yelling about?" Willow asked, slumping into the kitchen, already dressed for bed. Buffy's gaze flicked to the wall clock above Dawn's head and realized it was well past midnight.

"Nothing, uh—" Buffy attempted and shot a glare at Dawn (who should've been asleep instead of heading for a full throttling).

"Buffy's going on a date with Richard," Dawn interrupted with a happy bounce in her seat.

Willow's brows raised slightly as she poured an only-recently-cleaned glass of water. "With Birthday Stab Guy?"

"No—?!" Buffy sputtered.

"He prefers Richard," Dawn said over her.

"That's great." Willow finished her glass of water and stood the empty glass back on the dirty side of the sink. "You've been working way too hard, Buff, you know; vampire slaying, burger flipping—"

"Tree hugging," Dawn added to the list and the blood fully drained from Buffy's face.

Oh my God…

Willow nodded, obliviously. "Yeah, you should make with the fun, you know? When is it?"

"When's what?" Buffy stuttered around the look she was trying to liquify Dawn with.

"Your date?" Willow prompted. "When-age?"

Dawn raised a checkmate eyebrow and Buffy swallowed, her cheeks cherry red as she tried desperately to strategize; it was dinner with Richard, or she could protest further and risk Dawn spilling the beans. So many beans. Beans everywhere…

Her heart skipped several beats in panic.

She couldn't. She just… she couldn't.

So that was it. She was KO'd.

Dinner with Richard, she internally pouted. Ugh, Dinner with Can't-Turn-Myself-Away Richard.

To reiterate: ugh.

She let out a breath and fixed her face with as much casual indifference as possible.

"Friday," she answered, forcing a tight smile.

Thursday, January 23

Dear Diary,

Phase one complete.

Time for phase two…

Spike pushed his way through the sewer grate into the bottom level of the crypt, slicing through the cellophane on a fresh pack of cigarettes with his canine. The sun was still a ways off setting and he hadn't been able to wait. He was burning through smokes and booze at what would've been a terminally carcinogenic rate if he'd been human.

Things were getting unbearable.

He'd once thought—what felt like millennia ago—that if he could just sink his cock into the Slayer he could fuck her out of his system. That had been back when dressing Harmony up in her clothes had still been enough to tide him over.

Back before Buffy had properly wormed her way into his heart.

Back before he'd lost her, and before she'd come back.

And now it was all so… intolerable. It had been intolerable for a while, and it was just getting worse and worse. A little bit of flirting (or maybe more like snide banter for her, but the heat still counted), and a little (no, actually, bollocks to that he wasn't going to sell himself short, it was a lot) of eye contact surrounded by her friends had been just as intoxicating as the times he'd been buried in her. Just as promising. As hopeful.

But suddenly it was back to radio silence, and Christ that hurt. It really bloody well hurt! It was like two steps forward, one step back–losing his footing–and crash-landing at the bottom all over again.

Bloody hell, it's torture…

The first drag of the cigarette brought him out of his internal self-pity enough to notice the sound of his TV playing a Dawson's Creek rerun.

"What the—?" He climbed the ladder and pushed his way through the floor tile.

He huffed out a cloud of smoke as he caught sight of Dawn comfortably cross-legged in his armchair, a textbook and legal pad balanced on her knees.

"Does Buffy know you're here?" he asked, taking a deep inhale of the cigarette and stubbing out what was left of it under his boot.

"No, she's all wrist-deep in grease," Dawn answered, not looking up, just holding the sheet out to him and expecting him to take it. "Can you mark this practice test? I need to get eighty percent or make up the grade in class work and I am so done with the Industrial Revolution."

Spike rolled his eyes and snatched it out of her hand along with the pen she offered with it, hopping up onto the lid of a sarcophagus to hunch over it.

"Thought the Slayer was taking over the homework privilege," he muttered.

"Well, obviously Doublemeat is more important than my grades," Dawn replied and handed him a second sheet. "And tomorrow she's got a date, so." She finished with a shrug as though the end of the sentence was self-explanatory.

Spike's head jerked up.

"…What?"

"Tomorrow. She'll be making with the heart eyes at Richard," Dawn repeated. "You know the blind date guy Xander brought to her birthday party?"

"I'm familiar," Spike said, carefully unfurling his fist lest he snap the pen in his hand in half.

"Well, she's even more familiar," Dawn muttered, eyes still glued to her homework. "She was all yay about dating a guy who won't know these quiz questions from actually being there at the time."

He could feel his jaw twitching as his back teeth bit down on nothing.

"Whatever gets her motor running," he managed, suppressing the note of bitterness as much as he could, trying desperately to focus on the page in front of him even as that tiny little bit of ground he'd thought he'd won off her was swept out to sea.

"I wouldn't go that far," Dawn scoffed. "She just wants, like, one normal evening, you know? Things are weird enough without her love life being all… well, you know."

Spike's fingers itched for another cigarette. And the bottle of whiskey he'd swiped. And some alone time so he could howl, and scream, and tear something to pieces, and—fuck it fine—maybe cry because he'd thought he'd hit rock bottom but apparently there was no end to how deep into this miserable quagmire he could sink.

At least I don't know where she's going, he thought to himself, briefly closing his eyes. Wouldn't be able to—

... I just can't help myself around her…

"Anyway, they're going to the Olive Basket," Dawn piped up as though reading his thoughts. She met his gaze and smiled a judgemental little curl to her lip he was sure he'd taught her. "Eight pm, home by ten," she added pointedly (though he still had yet to figure out the point). There was an unnerving sparkle in her eyes, a self-satisfied glint that he couldn't help but be intrigued by—despite the inner turmoil he was undoubtedly doing a shit job of hiding. Dawn let out a derisive snort and the hook went deeper. "So you know it's going to be wild," she said.

Chapter Text

Friday, January 24

Dear Diary,

Time for the next phase! (Is that word starting to look weird? Phase phase phase!)

Do you have any idea how hard it is whittling a stake out of a broken chair leg? I would've taken one of Buffy's but she probably counts them. It's not like I'll need it, but it's still night time in Sunnydale, and better safe than eaten.

If Spike doesn't show up, I've got quarters to call Xander to pick me up.

If entries stop here, I'm dead. Or undead. God, Buffy would seriously kill me... Wish me luck! Don't wait up ;P

Friday night had Buffy standing in the living room, over-fussing with the drape of her dress as the minute hand of the hallway clock ticked closer and closer to eight, Dawn's music blaring above her, the soundtrack to her mounting anxiety.

Choosing an outfit had been a nightmare. Three whole hours in what had very much felt like a repeat of the day that wouldn't end, trying to find anything in her closet that would very much not give Richard the wrong impression. After all, this wasn't a real romance-having thing, it was a 'Get-Dawn-Off-My-Back' thing, but if she dressed for that then Dawn would smell a rat, and she was pretty sure rats didn't get sister-secret-keeping privileges ergo; fashion headache.

Should have just worn my Doublemeat uniform. Really scare him off…

Though, apparently even the stab wound to the stomach hadn't been enough of a deterrent. Who knew Richard was so persevere-y?

She very briefly lamented that his puncture wound hadn't been more serious as she untied and re-tied the halter straps on the dress she'd reluctantly chosen, badly hampered as she had been by… well, the laundry hamper. Anything that might have ticked the one-date-only box was in the dirty heap (or rather the dirty summit; Mount Stainsville) leaving her with the items in her closet she'd been deliberately avoiding. Too lacey, or strappy, or showing too much skin that it all would have equaled Spike unable to control himself with the smirky flirty remarks and super unchaste contact. She'd been dressing in anything but, just to mitigate: thick sweaters and multiple layers—well, it was winter, it wasn't like that was weird!—clinging to distance in her clothing choices if she couldn't distance herself from him any other way.

She was cornered tonight though. Nothing suitable left but a sheer, clingy dark purple number that she could all but picture Spike worshipping her in, a vine of red roses curling up the right thigh, mapping a trail his hands had more than once traveled.

"I'm not thinking about you," she whispered to herself, brushing down her skirt as though she was brushing away the lingering touch of his fingers; the way they'd grazed upwards, taking her skirt with them as he'd scored her thigh with blunt nails until his thumb was close enough to hook under the lace of her panties and deftly tug down.

And then suddenly her bare hips had been flush against him…

On instinct, she'd moved onto the balls of her feet, allowing the angle for what she'd assumed would be the first graze of his fingers. She'd held her breath, and then expelled it in a rush at the feeling of his cock notched at her soaked core, gliding unstoppably into her as his fingers had dug into the curve of her hips.

The Bronze had been buzzing, but it still felt like that first gasp out of her throat had cut clear over the music. Her hands had gripped the balcony railing hard enough to leave dents in the metal, her skin shivery and feverish despite the warmth from the crowd below them, and she'd scrunched her eyes tight rather than witness any curious heads turning up to watch.

"No…" he'd purred, his lips ever so tenderly brushing the nape of her neck, "open your eyes—"

The doorbell rang and startled Buffy so forcefully out of the memory it was like a slap to the face; a shocked gasp wrenched from her lungs as her cheeks burned.

She swallowed tightly, and struggled into her coat, grabbing her keys and shoving them into her purse.

"Not thinking of you," she repeated sternly with a last tug to make sure the dress' hem was definitely at her knees, and with the gait of a prisoner walking to their execution, trudged to the door.

Spike sighed, letting out a pale blue plume of smoke into the night air as he slumped behind the wheel of his De Soto.

In terms of lines crossed (as in the whole 'big picture' of panty-stealing, room-lurking, chaining-the-Slayer-to-a-crypt-wall-for-an-ill-timed-love-confession) sitting in a parked car opposite the Olive Basket at a quarter to eight probably didn't rank all that highly.

But it felt worse. Somehow, it felt far more… intrusive. Lurking where he wasn't welcome.

He'd barely taken his eyes off the restaurant's entrance, hidden in his spot on the other side of the street, the car parked in a patch of shadows bracketed by street lamps.

This is pathetic…

He was already on his second pack of smokes, cigarette butts littering the ground outside. It was more to have something to do with his hands at this point. He'd already started picking a hole in the steering wheel's leather.

Maybe she won't show up…

He chewed on a lip until it felt ready to bleed, and took another drag. Maybe she canceled…

How unlikely that hope was only made his gut clench tighter in misery. He was going to choke when she finally showed up with that utter drip in tow. Bloke had all the backbone of a stepped-on daisy.

"…Shut up, he's sweet…"

Spike snorted bitterly at the memory. His throat was all out aching now, and not just from the copious amounts of smoke he'd sucked down.

When had 'sweet' ever been her bag?

"Ah hah! Busted."

He jolted, head whipping around to face Dawn, her arms neatly crossed on the passenger-side window, peering in at him.

"Bloody hell," he hissed and flicked the still-lit cigarette out his window. "What're you doing here, Bit? It's after dark," he asked, shifting up in his seat so he could glare at her properly.

"Snuck out," she replied with a half-shrug like that was blatantly obvious, and then a smirk broke across her face. "What are you doing here?"

"Just… Out for a drive," Spike replied with a hard sniff of indifference.

Dawn raised a deeply incredulous eyebrow.

"You're parked."

"Yeah, look, why don't you toddle off back home, eh? You're gonna miss the end of Sesame Street."

"I could," Dawn said, glancing down in the direction she had come. "Not sure I'd make it though. What with all those, um, beasty things you've mentioned before? I probably wouldn't make it to the end of the street."

She let her words hang in the air between them, a slight smile settled on her mouth as he glared at her, his jaw ready to pop out of its socket.

"You're growling," she said when the silence had stretched too far.

"I'm not growling," he growled, digging in his pocket for his cigarette packet and finding it empty. He flung it out the window.

"No, you're right, cus it's more of a snarl? I can hear your teeth squeak. It's like eek-urr-eek—"

"I'm not snarling, I'm smiling. I'm imagining what it'd be like to peel you and use your skin like a beach hammock."

"You say stuff like that so much it's really lost the impact."

"Oh, yeah? Stand in the road, Bit, maybe it would be more impactful if I hit you with the car," he parried, and Dawn smiled.

"Only in the literal sense."

Spike rolled his eyes and sighed. He was fully aware his hold on the situation had long since disintegrated and there was no point clinging to its shredded remains.

"Just get in."

"Cool," Dawn squeaked in triumph and opened the car door, dropping heavily into the passenger seat. "Do you have any snacks?" she asked.

"No, but I'm gonna start stocking rat poison-coated gummy bears," Spike mumbled under his breath.

Silence stretched as his gaze returned to the restaurant. It was past eight now, and God but his skin felt too tight for him, cinching to suffocation with every passing second.

"Wanna play I Spy?" Dawn asked, and he let out a huff that he knew from experience would do absolutely nothing to deter her. "I Spy with my little eye," she continued as Spike glanced at the burning ember of his discarded cigarette and contemplated retrieving it. "Someone beginning with… B!" She pointed at a couple coming down the street.

Spike's gaze flicked up.

Buffy.

"Pretty dress," Dawn noted, leaning into his space, and Spike couldn't help but agree. "Oh but ew, Richard wore a tennis shirt on a date? Tragic."

Spike let an affectionate smirk flicker across his face without taking his eyes off the pair. "Expecting a high sense of style from Xander's construction site cronies, were you?"

"Yeah, the highest," Dawn chuckled, shoulder to shoulder with Spike now to get a good view. "He should wear those slacks to Paris fashion week—oh great, they got the window table."

Spike watched, teeth grinding in irritation, as Buffy shrugged out of her coat and took the seat opposite Richard.

"Modern woman or not, you can still take her coat and pull out her chair, you ninny," he muttered.

"Maybe the stab wound prevents gratuitous acts of chivalry," said Dawn, and settled in against him.

"...And anyway. That's all the brothers I have," Richard finished and Buffy blinked back into cognition, her attention span having fully wandered off to more interesting planes. It felt like he'd been talking for hours. It couldn't have been hours though, because they'd only just sat down and they hadn't even ordered drinks yet, and oh God he was staring at her waiting for a reaction—

"Ah haha…" she laughed weakly. "That's… crazy."

"And you?" he asked back, and Buffy forced herself to smile brightly.

"No brothers. Just Dawn."

"Oh, you have a sister?"

"Yuh huh… you met her at the party?"

"Ohh, okay, duh, she was the one with the red-haired girlfriend, right?" he said, with a grimace as though he was inferring a yikes about the whole evening.

Buffy nodded with him. She supposed blood loss, shock, and unintentional house arrest weren't super conductive for remembering names and faces, but she decided it wasn't worth the effort to correct him.

There was a momentary reprieve as the waitress arrived and took their orders, and then Richard's high-beam attention was back on her.

"So, what do you do job-wise?"

Buffy stiffened.

Oh man, not that question.

"Uh," she started and swallowed. "I uh… I work at the Doublemeat," she answered and left all the vampires, apocalypses, and destiny callings out of it.

"Oh," Richard said, visibly struggling to stretch her answer out into any kind of a conversation. "I like their fries."

"The secret is they're double dipped."

God, I wish I didn't know that. I can't believe I said that out loud, that's absolutely the most boring thing to say on a date, and I'm  certain  I signed some non-disclosey thing about the double fries. I could be sued and it would be the absolute dullest lawsuit ever…

Okay, focus. Sparkling conversationalist in three, two, one:

"A-and you? Are you… constructing anything cool?" she asked and relaxed slightly when Richard took over the conversational reins. She let structural terms and project outlines wash over her; offering encouraging smiles and a diligent chuckle whenever he paused.

She could do this.

She could do normal if she just put in the effort. If she just paid attention to Richard talking about on-site safety hazards and sustainable building practices in a high-risk metropolis. If she could just keep her mind from drifting to the way Spike had groaned into her ear as her nails had scored down his arms, the rough concrete of the crypt's floor abrading her back as he ground into her, the frigid air turning hot and humid from every gasp out, every strangled scream he dragged out of her. He'd sunk blunt teeth against her jugular and she'd come there and then, clenching so tightly around him she thought she might faint, mortified but too overwhelmed to do more than feel his skin sliding across her skin, her nails leaving welts on his back. There was something about him between her legs that made her see stars. It wasn't just sex—it was way beyond sex now—it was like he was trying to fuse them together, trying to leave an imprint on her very DNA the way he clung to her, and God but sometimes it seemed like he was damn well succeeding—

"And obviously the sporadic earthquakes are an added complication," Richard said, elaborating on a point she hadn't been present for as she thudded back into herself, her glazed eyes painfully refocusing. "But our company is doing some really interesting things with seismic isolation bearings."

Buffy tried not to frown.

Seismic… huh?

"…Wow," she croaked and managed to turn it into a chuckle that sounded impressed, before taking a heavy gulp from her glass of water. "That's so interesting."

"He's totally getting a second date," Dawn said, her feet up on the dashboard in a comfortable slump.

"What table are you watching, Bit?!" Spike snarled. "She's bored to tears!"

"Nuh-uh, she's giggling!"

"She's wincing."

"Maybe it's the food." Dawn shifted up higher in her seat to get a better look. "Looks like carbonara? That could totally be making Buffy wince."

"Think it's more likely to be the boring tosser sitting opposite her," Spike argued, voice tight with irritation, nostrils flaring.

"Yeah, well, she keeps going on and on about how she needs 'low key' and 'no drama'. That only looks like 'boring' when you're… well, you."

Spike dragged his gaze away from the smile that was more of a grimace stretched across Buffy's face to glower at Dawn.

"Did you just call me high maintenance?"

Dawn laughed. And then stopped abruptly when she caught the look on his face.

"Um… no?"

"Didn't think so," Spike snarled through bared teeth.

"It's just… everything else in her life is high maintenance." Dawn shrugged, and couldn't stop some leftover grief from working its way into her throat. "Me included," she added, sounding sad, and Spike bit down on his cheek. "She should have something that's easy, you know? Date nights at the Olive Basket, or… or being all with 'how was your day?' while doing dishes and someone else dries, or lame walks on the beach or whatever. She should have something that's just… boring." Her gaze lifted to the window table. Buffy said something and Richard cracked a sheepish grin. "I think she needs that," Dawn ended softly and flicked a pointed look to Spike that hit hard and went deep.

Spike swallowed, picking more leather off the steering wheel as his eyes drifted back to Buffy. He sighed, eyes stinging.

They watched the rest of the dinner and the subsequent dessert in silence until the check came.

"Oh, crap, drive me home," Dawn hissed, batting his arm. "If I'm not in bed when she gets back she'll murder me!"

"Maybe I'll let her," Spike grumbled, and started the engine.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

—You have 37 new matches—

Dawn bit her lip as she scrolled through the list of new and eligible guys. She'd only made the profile on Willow's laptop a half hour ago, absentmindedly chewing her toast as she filled in Buffy's height, weight, age, likes, dislikes, star sign, and so on and so forth.

It was a gamble—seriously, Buffy might actually kill her this time—but the site seemed pretty sleaze-free.

Besides, if they turned out to be creeps? Then they'd seriously met their match with her sister (not to mention the vampire that followed her around like a puppy on a leash, who could do some major scowling if needed).

She clicked through them, rejecting and accepting profiles on impulse. Yes, no, yes, yes, no! She curated a 'nice but dull' list; got rid of the guys that had pictures of themselves surfing as their profile pic, and saved the ones with boring four-by-fours of themselves wearing a button-down and a half smile.

Despite it still being early morning, Buffy's dating inbox was steadily filling up with messages from guys in the "yes" list, and Dawn let a pleased grin creep across her face. After an intense perusal of the remaining options, she typed out a quick reply and hit send to comfortably average, super outdoorsy Mark, whose hobbies included fishing and hiking on the weekends, and who had asked if she (ergo Buffy) was free to meet up tonight. Dawn decided she was.

Might as well turn up the heat.

She hurriedly closed the laptop at the sound of Buffy's footsteps on the stairs.

"Hey," Buffy said once she made it through the dining room, raising a slightly surprised eyebrow from the doorway. "You're up… and all… breakfast-having."

"Yup!" Dawn answered, buttering another piece of toast with messy scrapes.

She caught the bewildered look Buffy gave the kitchen; everything neatly back in its place, after whatever she and Spike had done that had caused everything to topple to the floor.

Dawn smiled to herself. She guessed Buffy had intended to sneak down early and clear up, and a smug sparkle of satisfaction prickled Dawn's shoulders that she'd beaten her to it.

"How was your date?" she asked as she took a bite of toast.

Buffy smiled back, but the line of her lips was tight and her eyes were tired.

"It was fine. He's… nice, but I don't know," she replied, shrugging lightly. "We didn't really have a lot in common," she finished.

"Shame," Dawn mumbled around a mouthful. Buffy nodded, the tension easing out of her slumped shoulders, obviously relieved at the succinct lack of argument over the fact.

"Just a… no chemistry. Type thing," she added, having clearly laid out a lot of reasonable points in her head and needing to expel them. "Not really compatible, you know?"

Dawn nodded like she did know.

"Well, at least you got a free dinner?" she said and Buffy chuckled obligingly.

"Yeah, proper food; definitely a win. And I guess it was good to get out of the house for a couple of hours," she replied, offering Dawn a look that said this one time you were right, but don't push it, and moved to make a start on her own breakfast.

Dawn smirked back and took another bite of toast. After all, it might be her last meal before execution.

She nearly choked on it as the phone rang.

Uh oh. Here we go.

Apprehension suddenly flooded through her like ice water, her body tensed for flight-but-far-more-likely-fight as Buffy crossed the kitchen and picked up the handset.

She's going to kill me, she thought, chewing faster. Maybe this was a bad idea…

"Hello?"

I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead—

"Mark from… eMatchMe…wha-?" Confusion creased Buffy's brow. "Wait, tonight, I don't—?" Her eyes lit on the laptop by Dawn's elbow and understanding blossomed across her face. "Dawn!" she whispered-shouted, covering the receiver with her hand.

Dawn was out of her seat and grabbing the phone out of Buffy's hand while she was momentarily paralyzed with rage. "Tonight sounds great! See you then! Bye, Mark!" she rushed out and slammed the phone down. "Um…" she began as she turned back to Buffy. "So—"

"You… are so incredibly dead—!" Buffy screamed. "What were you thinking?! Oh my God, I could—!"

"You said you had a good time last night!" Dawn cringed, cowering as Buffy's face turned apocalyptic.

"That's not what I said! You cannot just—!"

"Look, what's the big deal!? You didn't like Richard, and dinner with Mark could be fun! It's not like you're seeing anyone, right?!" Dawn wheedled. Not that she had any hopes of wheedling being any kind of an effective tactic, what with how pale Buffy's face had gone.

Buffy scoffed in disbelief, shaking her head with the sour smirk Dawn had always hated, the one that made her feel like a little kid getting in the way.

"Newsflash, Dawn, that doesn't mean you sign me up for God knows what! Or who!" Buffy growled, and a heavy lump swelled inside Dawn's throat. "Despite what everyone seems to think, I am capable of running my own love life, and actually no love life is currently suiting me mega-completely fine! You have crossed so many lines! You are so beyond grounded, and if you think—!"

"Was Spike here last night?" Dawn asked, pulling out the only weapon of defense she had, silently offering thanks that her sister had so thoughtlessly handed it to her. She'd intended to keep it in her back pocket for a little longer, but desperate times called for potentially suicidal measures.

Buffy visibly faltered mid-tirade. "What?" She tried to make the word dismissive but it came out like a choke, and an ounce of color returned to her cheeks; the hint of a blush working its way up from her neck.

"Only I woke up sometime around eleven and thought I heard you shouting his name?" Dawn continued, stubbornly crossing her arms and cocking her hip; her warrior stance. The blush raised higher. "But maybe that was a dream, right? If you're so happy being alone?"

"Dawn—"

"And stuff was all over the floor when I came down this morning." Dawn raised an eyebrow, fully on the attack now. "Don't worry, I cleaned up."

Buffy swallowed. She glanced at the kitchen island, visibly losing the upper hand of their early morning war.

"That's not what…" she started, but shook her head. "That's not what that looked like."

"I'm fifteen, not stupid," Dawn bit out. "That line hasn't worked on me since the fourth grade."

She waited to see if the screaming would start again.

When it didn't, she started to fidget.

"Do you want me to delete the eMatchMe thing?" Dawn asked pointedly, and Buffy's eyes snapped back to hers. "Since you and Spike—"

"There's no me and—"

"Buffy, I've seen the way you look at him. Just stop lying—!"

"Dawn! Enough!" Buffy snapped.

Dawn shut her mouth. Glare matched for watery, stubborn glare.

After what felt like an eternity in a standstill, Dawn let out a bitter sigh and reached for the laptop, clicking through a few pages until she turned it back to Buffy.

' ~Delete Your eMatchMe Account? Y / N~ ' hovered in a box on the screen.

"Whatever you wanna do," Dawn said and left the kitchen.

She walked fast, nearly running (but not actually running because if she ran then the illusion might break and Buffy might run after her. It was basic predator-prey instincts).

When she got to her bedroom door she slammed it to make sure the full stop was clearly hammered into the end of the argument, and leaned against it, her eyes scrunched tight against the wave of guilt twitching down her arms and legs, and lying heavily across her shoulders.

She took a breath to get a grip.

It was all for the greater good.

It was.

…But whether she'd actually live to see that "good" was debatable.

Silence settled in the kitchen, and Buffy barely flinched from the door slam above her, still staring at the laptop as though hypnotized, caught like a deer in headlights by a stupid question on a stupid screen. Her fists clenched and unclenched but there was nothing to fight.

She could delete the account.

Obviously, she could.

And should, her fingers were itching to do it, her gut was pulling her towards the still flashing admin screen. But if she did hit delete, she'd really have to admit that… She'd have to admit to herself that…

I'm admitting nothing, she told herself sternly, there's… there's nothing to admit.

The little box blinked accusingly at her, and Buffy swallowed. She was trapped in another corner. Seriously, how many corners did this life have? A whole existence of corners, like a hamster in a maze.

' ~Delete Your eMatchMe Account? Y / N~ ' asked the box insistently.

Buffy swallowed. There was only one option, right? Because if she hit Y…

If she hit Y, it meant she cared. Y meant what she was doing with Spike meant something to her (which it very, very much didn't!). Y was super dangerous, and she wasn't allowed to want Y, because Y was evil and soulless, and she was so not falling for another Y all over again!

Okay, you're officially losing it…

Buffy sighed, rubbing her fingers across her eyes to clear her vision.

She could swear the words on the screen were rearranging themselves. Could swear they were asking a far more dangerous question, with an even more impossible answer at the end of it.

' ~Do You Love Spike? Y / N~ '

Buffy bit down a whimper. Why was it all so hard? Just hit the N button. Go on a stupid date with stupid Mark if she had to. Prove the point, win the battle, get Dawn off her case, and demonstrate beyond a doubt that she was not in love with another blood-sucking psycho, it wasn't that hard was it? Spend the evening with another 'Richard' type, but surely she could make herself want that?

She could make herself want that over Spike if she just tried. Right?

Except, God, he was everywhere. He was everywhere, becoming absolutely impossible to ignore. The divots his teeth had left on her neck had faded by the morning but his touch hadn't. The words he'd whispered into her skin and against her lips lingered. Full of longing and desperation, and she wasn't going to say love she wasn't going to say that, she wasn't even going to think it, but holy crap if he couldn't love he was one hell of an actor.

Every touch burned and layered on top of a previous burn until they breached her skin, heat sinking into muscle and going all the way down to the bone. Every word he moaned–groaned–growled–snarled made a nest in her heart and in her brain, and when she saw him stepping out of the shadows, waiting with hungry eyes for her, it was like that first breath of life all over again. Terrifying and full of dirt, but electric and full of need too, and begging for another—

' ~Do You Love Spike? Y / N~ '

Buffy's lip found its way between her teeth. Her hand reached out, gliding over the mouse pad to move the cursor.

' ~Do You Love Spike?~ '

The arrow hovered.

Before she closed the laptop with a slam.

The kitchen door banged shut behind her, bright sunshine beating down on her shoulders as she headed for Restfield.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

It wasn't going well.

Buffy pensively chewed the lasagne that she wasn't managing to make last. There was only so much conversation she could avoid by having a full mouth of pasta and sauce.

Mark was nice.

Mark was super nice, despite the hiking boots, the khakis, and the extremely outdoorsy personality. He was chatty and polite, and she hadn't once caught him staring at her ass (which, actually, not to brag, but in this dress!?). Apparently, he worked for the Sunnydale Parks and Forests Department. He hiked for work and he camped for fun. And he'd spent a good twenty minutes talking about his coworker Simon.

Her mind was wandering, and no matter how hard she tried to refocus on Mark's lecture about Simon's vintage vinyl record collection, her thoughts persistently wanted to drift.

Drift to Spike's kisses working their way down her neck. Spike's hands wrapping around her wrists, fingers sliding up to link with hers. To the way, he murmured the most revolting things in just the right way. The way he looked when she came, and the way he looked when he did. The way he made her feel, and the way he made her burn, and thank God she didn't feel anything for him, thank God there weren't feelings attached because if she did the inevitable crashing and burning might actually kill her.

Buffy clenched her teeth until they hurt. And dragged her mind out of Spike's crypt with force. Made it focus on Mark and his story about the time he and Simon had managed to catch a salmon migration on a trip to Sacramento.

She tried to picture a second date with Mark.

Would he kiss her the way Spike did?

Would he touch her the way Spike did?

Bite her the way Spike did?

Her stomach dropped, tugging her heart down with it like a lead weight.

You already know the answer to those questions…

The lasagne in her mouth became a solid lump of hopelessness, thick and bland, and her mouth was filling with saliva as she choked it down.

Does normal have to be… this? the voice in her head persisted, and she glanced up at Mark sitting across from her.

Only it wasn't Mark in her mind's eye.

She could see him so clearly she'd almost swear she was hallucinating; knowing perfectly how the candle on the table between them would catch the blue in his eyes, highlight the scar in his eyebrow as he hunched with his arms on the table, folded towards her so whatever conversation might be shared between them would be that atom more private.

Is this really what you want? Spike asked, pushing Mark's plate of penne arrabbiata to the side as though he might slide it right off the table.

His gaze lifted to hers and Buffy felt her stomach drop, even if it was just her imagination. Those eyes always pared her down to the bone.

Couldn't we have this, luv? He pleaded, and Buffy's throat felt like it would swell shut. Just us? …A bit of candlelight an' a bit of conversation?

Buffy squeezed her eyes tight for a moment, trying not to let a memory take over, but thoughts of him were always an unstoppable tide that she was helpless to prevent…

They'd had something like that once. Not the candlelight part, but something that might've been categorized as approaching a friendship. An easy companionship had almost formed between them within a handful of stolen moments when she'd needed them most… soft words and half-smiles that had just about been enough to pull her back from the brink when she was standing on the edge of it.

But she'd fought it back, and twisted it around, and now the thing they had was a dark, sordid secret that she was so afraid of coming to light she was sitting across from a man who was still talking about his coworker, shredding herself inside-out, rather than confess to it…

I can't love you, she thought hard. Hard and loud and maybe if she repeated it enough times she'd finally get the message and this whirlpool of feelings would spit her out again. I can't.

Alright, pet. You can't love me. Spike's voice in her head was soothing, and somehow that stung badly.

Since when had the Spike in her head become a soothing presence?

Why was he even there at all!?

She blinked hard but she could still see his fingers curling under hers on top of the white tablecloth between them. She could feel the cool touch of his hand, the press of his skin that always made her heartbeat pulse in her ears.

Now, say you don't.

She scrunched her eyes tight, and then realized that would be a supremely weird expression to be making on a date, and forced herself to relax.

…I don't love you, Spike.

Even in the privacy of her head, it didn't even sound close to believable.

Buffy bit down a sigh.

Stop thinking of him.

Stop it.

It was an effort to waft away the image of him in her mind, but she made herself take another bite of food, chew, and swallow, concentrating with everything she had on shaking off the cloying feeling of Spike's gaze drifting over her.

I've just got to try harder.

"God, sorry, I've been rambling for ages," Mark said and took a bite of his pasta. "So, what do you do?"

Oh great, Buffy thought. My turn. Yay. So much yay.

Her throat threatened to close around the rising panic, but she coughed through it.

"I work at the Doublemeat," she answered, tucking her hair behind her ears.

"Oh yeah?" Mark asked, smiling winningly over her grimace. "I like their fries."

"I think it's going well," Dawn lied mid-chew of her burger, tilting the Doublemeat bag away from Spike so she could take a handful of fries.

Spike snorted petulantly.

"Oh yeah? You reckon Ranger Smith is gonna go the distance?" he sneered, finishing the fries he'd been picking at from his hand.

"Totally," Dawn replied. "He's cute, and seems nice—" she heard the errant squeak of Spike's teeth at the word, "—Plus think of all the picnic baskets we'd have. Major perk."

"Ranger Smith doesn't own the picnic baskets, you twit."

"No, but he saves them!" Dawn argued back and took another bite of her burger. "Anyway, his name is Mark," she mumbled around her mouthful.

"Mark?" Spike raised a terminally unimpressed eyebrow. "Mark the Park Ranger?"

Dawn chuckled.

"'Mark' Ranger." She glanced again at the restaurant's window perfectly framing Buffy and her date. "She looks like she's having a good time though."

Spike scoffed, just like she knew he would. "You're off your block, Bit, that pillock hasn't taken a breath since they sat down."

"Yeah, well, Buffy likes guys that can hold a conversation."

She didn't miss the way Spike's nostrils flared angrily. The way his eyes glossed ever so slightly.

He muttered, "Not from my experience," and a second wave of guilt swept through her.

Greater good. It's for the greater good, she intoned in her head, fighting putting an arm around him. He might actually bite it off.

Seriously, if you both weren't so freaking stubborn…

He caught her staring and shifted up out of his slump with a hard sniff.

"Women like men that can listen," he stated and snatched the bag of fries back from her.

Dawn rolled her eyes and sighed. "How is it you're a thousand years old—"

"Oi!"

"—and still so stupid? Buffy needs someone who can fill the space, okay? Haven't you seen how every time there's an awkward silence, she freaks? She doesn't want to be forced to talk, she's allergic to being the center of attention."

Spike met her gaze then. And stared at her thoughtfully.

She stared back, and when it went on too long raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

Spike rolled his tongue across his teeth but didn't voice his thoughts.

"Give me a bite of your burger."

Dawn shook her head in exasperation, but handed it out to him, swapping it for the bag of fries.

"I'm home!" Buffy called out as she came through the door, the date having promptly ended at ten.

"In the kitchen!" Willow called out, and Buffy dumped her purse and a paper bag of breadsticks on the dining room table.

"Another date with Richard?" Willow asked with an encouraging smile as Buffy slid onto a kitchen stool.

"No, it was this for real lumberjack guy Dawn set me up with this time," Buffy grumbled.

"Dawn set you up?" Willow's brow furrowed. "Where did Dawn meet a lumberjack?"

"Online dating," Buffy answered with a 'don't ask' shake of her head.

"Right," Willow said, nodding sympathetically, stirring her tea. "How'd it go?"

"Alright, I guess. I think he was nervous. All he did was talk about this guy he works with. Like his record collection, and the time they saw a bunch of salmon or something, and that they're giving a speech together at a Save The Trees conference next month. I know so much about Simon from the Blah-de-Blah Forest Department, Will," Buffy huffed, massaging her temples. "It's definitely pushed something important out."

Willow chuckled inwardly. "Sounds like he's in love with Simon."

"What?" Buffy asked, startled. "No. No, cus then why did he go out with me?" Her eyes widened. "I don't look like a 'Simon', do I!?"

"No, obviously not," Willow laughed, "he probably doesn't know it himself."

"Oh," Buffy said, relaxing again. "How can you not know? Either you're in love or you're not, right?"

"Sure," Willow said, extracting the teabag and dumping it in the trash to take a sip. "But, you know it's not that easy with the whole gay thing? Maybe his friends or family wouldn't take it well. And even if they did take it well, it's not the same as just saying 'Hey, here's my girlfriend that I'm mega straight for, ta-da!' There's always a discussion there, you know?"

Buffy nodded. "Discussions suck."

"They do," Willow agreed. "So, like, you do what you think you're supposed to do, and go on dates with the people you think won't get you all 'discussioned' at, and you don't fall in love with Simon... until you just can't pretend anymore," she ended with a light shrug that only amplified how deep inside herself she was speaking from. She looked up and offered Buffy a smile, but it was a mournful sort of smile. "Things are always better when you're honest about who you are, huh?"

It was only a second.

One single second, but it all flashed by at the speed of light.

How Spike had looked at her across a bottle of whiskey as she'd tried not to choke.

How his eyes darkened, pupils bleeding all the way to the edges as they'd crashed into a kiss that first time—that second time—third, fourth, fifth, billionth time.

The weight of his hands on her hips, the press of his body against hers, the caress of his breath at her neck, the gravel of his voice in her ear, and God, how much she needed it, how badly this was eating at her, gnawing at her, how she was internally bleeding for the lack of him—

I CAN'T LIVE LIKE THIS! I CAN'T KEEP LIVING LIKE THIS—!

But I can't love you—! I can't, I can't, I can't, I can't, I can't, I can't!

—Say you don't—!

Those last words stung so badly it was like a slap to the face, leaving her breathless, leaving her in shock.

Can you say that, Buffy?

She swallowed tightly, and let the question cut her throat on the way down. Let the wounds lacerating her heart cauterize themselves on a numbness she was so practiced at it was like a second skin to her now.

"Yeah," she croaked and carefully uncurled her hands from the fists they'd flinched into. "Totally."

Chapter Text

Thursday, January 30

Dear Diary, Dawn began, wincing to herself as the front door slammed, signifying Buffy's departure. I think Buffy might actually put me up for adoption this time.

I might have pushed too hard.

Definitely an understatement, she admitted as she twirled her pen, her leg bouncing nervously under her desk. After all, her sister had been taking extra shifts at the Doublemeat, filling every second of her time like taking a breath might be her undoing, and Dawn had guessed it probably would be, had honed in hard like a nuclear missile on her sister's first free evening in days, pushing and needling until Buffy caved under the assault.

Dawn sighed.

…But if dinner dates with dire conversation don't break her, she continued, her lip pinched between her teeth, scribbling hard as she heard Spike's De Soto grumbling to a stop outside.

…maybe awkward silences will.

Buffy fidgeted restlessly in her seat. She'd declined popcorn, not wanting that lingering butter smell to clog up her skin, but she was regretting that decision now because what were you supposed to do with your hands during a movie without it?

She tried propping her arm on the armrest between her and tonight's inevitable strain on her denial, but that only brought her date into closer proximity, but the other side of the seat was too far away for date etiquette, and now she was rigidly in the middle with her hands in her lap like some weird life-size doll.

This is so ridiculous.

It was one thing sitting across from some guy at a restaurant with a comfortable foot and a half of space between them. She hadn't realized how crucial that distance was. Sitting shoulder to shoulder was uncomfortable. Like a bad sunburn trapped under tight clothing, it felt abrasive. Boring and yet tense.

It never used to be this way, did it?

She'd been on dates before, she wasn't a recluse, and she could swear there never used to be this prickly discomfort radiating down from her heart, sitting next to another Richard/Mark/Whoever. Tom, she was sure his name was. Or maybe Tim? She'd already forgotten. It didn't matter. She wasn't going to be trying to remember his name on a second date when she was struggling to get through the first one.

God, how long is this movie? Does it ever end?

Do I live here now?

She wasn't even paying attention to whatever they'd bought tickets for. There were whipping camera angles, dark atmospheric rain shots, and a lot of martial-artsy style backflipping that might have been impressive if she wasn't her but her mind just wasn't there.

She was somewhere else dark and atmospheric.

Somewhere cold but candlelit and somehow the heat from all those candles made the air just the tiniest bit less frigid. Not that it mattered when things really got going. When he sunk his nails into her back, when he had his mouth at her throat, she couldn't feel the cold at all. It was like the air was burning, incinerating her from the inside out with every frantic breath.

"I want you… God, I want you…"

Buffy rolled her eyes, the memory of Spike's words unstoppably shivering down her spine and pooling with liquid heat in her gut. Shut up!

She tried to focus back on the film. The damsel was very much distressed now, cornered by bad guys in an alleyway. The hero turned up just in time. Oddly, he was dangling upside down. Buffy supposed there was a reason for it, something she missed, but she wasn't about to ask Maybe Tim what it was. Her mind was already drifting off again.

There was a prickling heat at the back of her neck, hairs standing on end the way they always were in Spike's presence.

She sighed and shifted in her seat.

Even just a glance from him set her nerves buzzing under her skin, not least the grazing touch of his fingers, a brush of his lips... Electric.

"You belong with me…"

Don't, she begged herself, a quick glance at her date to make sure he wasn't watching her before scrunching her eyes shut to try and forcibly eject Spike out of her head. Don't.

Except now she was imagining sitting here with him instead. His eyes would be on her. She knew they would be. They always were. Arm slung around the back of the chair probably, toying with the ends of her hair as he leaned close, the quiet between them comfortable, not strained, and she wanted that so badly it was like a painful, aching hole in her chest.

I need him…

Buffy flinched. Those words hit deep and sharp; no longer hindered by the usual barriers of denial and inner turmoil, they were clear cut and bruising , stealing her breath with their clarity.

I need Spike.

Oh, God…

She opened her eyes, staring hard at the screen to try and pull herself back together without Probably Tim noticing.

It was an unfortunately cinematic moment to return her gaze to; a rain drenched kiss in a dark alley filling her vision, and suddenly she needed out.

"I'll be right back," she whispered to Almost Definitely Tom Actually and managed to get all the way down the steps without bolting.

She made it to the bathrooms, leaning against one of the sinks, head in her hands until panic ebbed and left a bone deep feeling of emptiness behind.

I'm so screwed…

Buffy sighed deeply, choking down a sob. He was really in her head for good.

"Bollocks," she muttered.

Dawn munched from the large bucket of popcorn in her lap, deciding that as a snack choice, it had maybe been a misstep, what with the butter coating her fingers to a greasy sheen.

It was plenty dark inside the movie theater, and extra shadowy where she and Spike were slumped down right at the back, but she could still easily make out the stiff shape of her sister, seated next to eMatchMe's most amiable bachelor Eric in mid-center.

It would be a while yet before the thing she was banking on happening happened. The movie had only just started after all.

"Spike?" she asked after the first twenty minutes had played.

"Yeah?" Spike grunted back, using his straw to stir his Blue Raspberry Slurpee.

"What's the opposite of sexual tension?"

Spike stopped stirring. And tilted his head in consideration. She caught his gaze sliding between Buffy and her date before he sucked his teeth as though coming to the answer.

"Sexual slack," he answered.

"That's seriously the case, right?" she mumbled through another popcorn handful. "Dunst and Franco have negative amounts of chemistry."

Spike blinked, eyes flicking up to Spiderman playing on the big screen and then to her. "Are you actually watching this shite?" he asked, and Dawn felt the tips of her ears redden.

"What? I wanted to see it anyway!"

Spike grinned.

"Got it bad for Tobey Maguire, huh?"

"Shh!"

"Or is it any bloke in full-body spandex?" He ducked as she threw a shower of popcorn at him.

"Buffy's gonna hear you," Dawn hissed as he chuckled maliciously, and she straightened up to get a better look and determine whether their cover was blown. Eric was leaning a little closer now, turning to whisper something to Buffy who offered a slight smile back.

"You think he's gonna make a move?" whispered Dawn. Spike glared down at Buffy's date, the straw in his Slurpee stabbing down into the slushy ice with petulant shunk-shunk-shunks.

"Doubt it," he grunted with a controlled sigh through flared nostrils, but he didn't sound confident.

"Not on a first date, right?" Dawn said as Spike took a pull on his straw. "Still… It's nice, huh? Just having someone to watch movies with. You know, the companionable silence thing."

Spike turned, raising an eyebrow. "I'm sure you're the expert on companionable silences."

Dawn glared, pointedly popping more popcorn into her mouth, her gaze returning to the back of Buffy's head and the rigid straightness of her back, refusing to relax.

Definitely not companionable, she decided with a smirk as Buffy rolled her shoulders trying not to fidget and failing.

She lasted longer than Dawn expected her to; a little over halfway through Buffy turned and muttered something to Eric, excusing herself before getting up and heading down the steps.

"Okay, let's go," Spike hissed, prodding Dawn to her feet.

"But the movie's not over!" Dawn whined on instinct.

"Right, but if the lights go on and Big Sis spots you, not even friendly neighborhood Spandex-boy will be able to save you."

"Yeah, good point," Dawn huffed and followed Spike down the steps. They checked the lobby with furtive glances before beelining for his car parked on the opposite side of the street.

She was in the passenger seat and buckled before she realized Spike hadn't gotten in with her.

He was staring back at Buffy, watching as she left the snack counter and stopped to lean against a poster for the live-action remake of Scooby-Doo, picking from a box of Milk Duds and clearly trying to find the willpower to go back in.

"Spike?" Dawn prodded. "Um, hello? I thought we were doing the escape plan?"

"One minute, Bit," he said and shut the car door. "If someone tries to abduct you, beep the horn twice."

"And then you'll come save me?" she asked.

"If I feel like it," he replied over his shoulder, Slurpee dangling from his hand, "but you won't catch me dead in Spandex."

He half-ran back across the road, slowing to a full walk when in Buffy's orbit.

He cleared his throat. "Hello, you."

Buffy stopped chewing, glancing up with wide eyes, tensed, and then untensed as she shook her head and swallowed.

"What are you doing here?"

Spike leaned his shoulder against the wall next to her, a casually poster-width amount of distance between them.

"Snack run," he replied, grinning when she eyed him skeptically. "Plus it's the only place you can get the real glow-in-the-dark Slurpee flavors."

Buffy stared at him for a few more seconds before letting out a huff of air that could've been optimistically categorized as a snort.

"I don't think the labcoats making that stuff have ever actually eaten a raspberry," she said, shaking a few more Milk Duds into her hand. "You know it turns your tongue blue?"

"Oh yeah?" He stuck his tongue out and got another almost-smirk from her.

"Pretty color."

"Mm. Shame I can't see it for myself." He took another pull from the straw. "You here alone?" he asked, hoping she'd lie. It would be so perfect if she lied to him…

"No, I'm… I'm sort of here with a friend," she answered, not meeting his eyes. Her voice was joyless like the words needed to be forced out, and Spike caught himself smiling, heart fizzing. He got control of that skyrocketing feeling before it did something stupid. Sure, the teenager watching them from the passenger seat of his car had fully grated his last nerve this week, but something had sunk in. Something had clicked.

As much as he loved the chaotic riptides of the last couple of weeks, this treading water feeling of simply talking together felt so good he couldn't help but savor it. This moment felt like something he could keep if he didn't let that clawing animalistic jealousy get the better of him for once.

"Hate seeing a movie alone, myself," he said, stirring his drink with slow fingers. "Always better going with someone… Though not if you get a real chatterbox."

Buffy chuckled. "I'm definitely not chatty right now."

Spike sucked his lip, tasting the residual blue on his tongue. "Prefer companionable silences, huh?"

She raised her gaze to his, and after a beat, offered a small smile in agreement.

The moment stretched. Honed in on just the two of them, feeling weighted and airless, until she kicked herself off the wall, breaking eye contact.

"I better go back in."

Spike straightened up too, nodding genially. Easier to let her go this time.

"Later, luv," he said and she glanced back at him one more time before she turned away, the theater door closing after her.

Chapter Text

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"Could've gone worse, huh?" Spike asked, winding his arm around her waist as Buffy hid her face in the collar of his jacket, blushing ear to ear as he held her tighter, the pair of them conscious of the gap in the living room curtains, eager eyes watching her leave.

"Way worse," Buffy agreed shakily, her heart beating a slightly hysterical staccato. "I was totally imagining bloodshed." She felt lightheaded, cut loose from an anchor of guilt and shame that had been all but lacerating her skin for how hard it had been pulling her down. Its absence was overwhelming. She caught her breath, running a hand through her hair, trying to alleviate the unpleasant cocktail of nausea, relief, and giddiness that was roiling in her stomach.

She stopped in the middle of the street, blinking dazedly. "Did you get a new car?"

Spike snorted. "No, I just hosed down the old one."

Buffy snorted, suppressing a grin with only the tips of her fingers, letting it mostly breakthrough.

"Oh so it's a real proper grown-uppy kind of date," she quipped as he opened the passenger door for her. "Ran out of time before getting around to the insides though, huh?" she prompted, pointedly surveying the messy back seat as Spike slid into the driver's seat. She pursed her lips as her eyes landed on a crumpled Doublemeat bag and an empty popcorn carton. "Exactly how long have you and Dawn been having super secret spy time?" she asked.

Spike's gaze flicked to the damning evidence behind them. His eyes met hers and she read the ache plainly in them.

"Since your first book club," he replied ironically, though it was evident he was far from feeling glib.

Buffy nodded carefully, her heart tugging at the way he was clearly waiting for something. For a fight. For beratement.

Can you blame him?

"It was a really boring book," she said and Spike let the glint back in his eyes.

Buffy smiled along with him—sharing a moment of regret that it had taken so much, hurt so much, only for it to be so mockingly simple in the end.

"So… what's the plan?" she asked.

"I was thinking; dinner and a movie," Spike replied with a shrug. "We don't wanna rush anything, do we?"

Buffy offered a tight-lipped smirk. "I'm so up for a rewrite."

She breathed out a sigh of relief when he started the engine, leaving behind the watchful living room window and the gossip that was doubtless being swapped back and forth on the other side of it.

Much to her amusement (and gentle pun-based mockery), they ended up at a steakhouse, wherein Spike ordered the bloodiest steak they had—blue, barely seared, and he flashed a persuasive smile at the waiter when he looked about to advise against it.

Buffy ordered the mac and cheese and hummed happily when it arrived.

"Didn't have to order off the kid's menu, luv," Spike teased as she took her first bite. "Got more than a twenty on me this time."

"No, this is perfect," Buffy mumbled and swallowed another forkful. "What's made you Mr More-Than-A-Twenty though? Did you win big in kitten poker?"

"This time," Spike admitted. "Next pot I win I'll let Dawn keep one of the tabbies though," he added, and sounded genuinely sincere.

Buffy snorted.

"Yeah, that's just what we need. Think another mouth to feed would probably tip us into bankruptcy."

"Buffy." The tone in his voice stopped her mid-chew, severe where she'd been lightly joking but not really. "I can get money. Just let me."

Buffy carefully finished chewing and swallowed.

"I don't want your Aces-Up-The-Sleeve money, Spike. It's stupid and dangerous and is gonna get you in major trouble. Plus I really don't need the IRS on my case on top of everyone else."

"I'll get a job," he persisted. "Graveyard shift somewhere—Don't laugh!" he interjected, smiling as she chuckled. "Wouldn't take more than a hard glare to make Willy let me tend bar or something."

Buffy opened and closed her thankfully empty mouth, feeling simultaneously overwhelmed and crushed by the gesture.

"I can't ask you to do that."

"Don't ask then," was his response, and it might have sounded flippant save for how sincerely he was looking at her. "I'll need to anyway, right? If we're gonna make a real go of this."

Buffy's skin prickled, pulse thumping hotly at every pressure point.

"What's a real go look like?"

"You quitting that grease trap for a start," he stated, smirking at her hard look in reply before his gaze twitched away from hers, focusing on his food.

He shuffled his chair closer to hers so the words he'd clearly been holding in didn't need to be spoken in more than a soft hush between them.

"Somewhere together," he continued. "Our own place, or keep the bank from taking your mum's. Maybe take in a couple of the poker mogs so things don't get too quiet when Little Bit goes off to college, you know?" His tongue darted across his bottom lip, eyes still averted away from hers for whatever words were lining themselves up on his tongue, weighted and almost whisper-quiet. "Couple of rugrats of our own maybe if you'd want to…. Adopt. Or see if there's some mystic gypsy curse thing that might do the trick. If you want... Tie the knot if you'll say yes… I want whatever you'll say yes to, Buffy."

Buffy held her breath as her heart ground to a painful pause, her bottom lip pinched between her teeth as she tried to keep hold of the monstrous swell of feeling in her chest.

It felt like she was on the edge of a future she hadn't expected. A future she had entirely given up on. It was like she'd spent her life standing on a beach as the tide of possibilities drew out and out and out, and now they were all rushing back in on a tidal wave. Ever so carefully, she let her mind dip into those swirling waters. Careful not to let it all drown her.

She let out a breath that felt raw in her crushed glass throat, and swiped a hurried finger across her cheek, banishing moisture that was pooling in her waterline.

"I'll say yes to a second date," she said in a carefully sincere tone.

I think I'll say yes to all of it, eventually, she thought and let the idea terrify her a little. Let it fizz in her bloodstream, making her head dizzy from the enormity of all those possibilities.

But then he smiled at her, and it was so warm and soft and full of light that she nearly lost hold of those tears again but she sniffed them down.

He prodded her plate closer to her.

"Eat your baby food."

Buffy laughed.

At the Sunnydale Multiplex, she sprung for the popcorn, and Spike chose a Slurpee that looked positively radioactive and claimed to be some sort of distant cousin to grape.

"Think it'll turn my tongue green?" he asked, taking an experimental sip.

"I think it'll make it glow in the dark," Buffy replied as they entombed themselves in the dark movie theater, walking up the slope of steps to their seats.

"That could be interesting," he hummed, dipping his head to brush his lips against the slope of her neck. She pushed him off with a chuckle.

"Keep your hands to yourself."

"Shan't," he said, wrapping a hand around her hips as they found their seats, dipping to her lower back. The theater was empty enough that she didn't swat him back when they wandered lower still.

It was far easier to know what to do with her hands this time; her left entwined in the fingers of his left as his arm cradled her shoulders, her right arm propped between them on the armrest, steadying the popcorn in her lap.

She watched some of the movie.

Leonardo Dicaprio was pretending to be a pilot of something.

But for the second time that week she found herself not really concentrating. The thumb of the hand entwined with hers was slowly rubbing back and forth, back and forth across her knuckles. His attention was on her. Even though his eyes were on the screen she could sense it, and it was making her heart speed up. It turned out that even comfortable silences could be strained, though in a completely different way.

He shifted closer in the dark, and cool fingers touched the arm propped between them, stroking a wandering pattern up the middle of her forearm to her bicep to get her attention. She turned her head to meet his gaze, and he caught her in a kiss before she'd even finished the movement. She hummed against his lips, her shoulders straining to turn fully into it, but she was effectively pinned by his fingers between and around hers and the popcorn on her lap. She squirmed and he nipped playfully at her bottom lip. He grinned, holding her hand tighter, obviously having already twigged her entrapment, and laying it on thick to bring a moan to her lips, his kisses tracing her neck.

"Are you even watching the movie?" Buffy asked, flexing her fingers in his grip to prompt him to let go so she could touch him back. He ignored her.

"No, pet," Spike purred against her jugular, his hand dropping to her knee, squeezing suggestively. "I'm only ever watching you."

"Stalker," she chided but swallowed a moan as he bit down gently on the taut tendon between her shoulder and her neck.

"What of it?" He took the popcorn out of her hand and put it on the chair next to them. She didn't protest when he dragged her out of her seat with an arm around her waist, and onto his lap. "You search me out too, don't you? Want me like I want you?" he asked quietly, his voice only just audible over the movie playing. "We aren't pretending anymore, right?"

Buffy didn't bother glancing around to see if anyone was watching them. There were only a handful of patrons anyway, and she didn't particularly care if they stared. She'd spent so much of her time burying her feelings so far beneath the surface that when they'd inevitably emerged it was into acts of pure exhibitionism. But sitting on Spike's lap in the soft dark of a movie theater didn't feel dangerous in the way so many of their trysts had felt. It just felt close. Just felt tender, even as she brushed her lips across his, and wound her arms around his shoulders.

"Not pretending anymore," she agreed and let him kiss her harder in the dark. Let him distract her from that bright buzzing feeling that was morphing itself into words she still didn't know how to purge.

Later, later, later, she pleaded with herself. Just this for now…

It didn't take long for half-chaste touches to tip over into heated, delicate strokes of fingers turning to scratches.

"Spike…" she moaned, a touch too breathy for the hushed movie theater and during a theatrically tense moment with regrettably no music to mask it.

"Let's get out of here, luv," Spike murmured as she caught her breath. "Got a right nice cozy bed I can lay you down in."

Buffy shivered, her skin prickling in anticipation.

"People usually wait for the third date," she managed to smirk.

"Oh yeah?" Spike said, grinning back. "Any rules that say the dates all gotta be with the same person?"

"Huh… I guess it is my fourth one this week…"

"Overdue then," he chuckled. "Poor Slayer."

The drive back to the Restfield-adjacent alley where Spike parked the De Soto was full of cotton ball-thick silence. Tense and expectant, as though they were driving directly towards the edge of a cliff, neither fully breathing until they were across the cemetery, his hands on her waist, bruising her mouth with his as he walked her backward into the dark.

Slower in tempo though as she was still fully clothed by the time they made it down to the lower level. The tattered bedside lamp brought the cave walls out in a syrupy glow that had the tension unwinding from Buffy's shoulders as Spike's hands lips and teeth rewound it in her gut.

With a swift dip of his arms, he had her up by the backs of her thighs, her ankles linking around his waist behind him as he tumbled her down onto the bed.

"You know this is what I wanted?" Spike murmured between kisses, as he shifted her backward into the honey-yellow lamplight, shrugging out of his jacket without sacrificing a millimeter of space from her. He let out a mesmerized sigh as she kissed down his jaw, gentle hands undoing the buttons of his shirt. "Every time, this is what I wanted. Don't get me wrong, luv, I love when you give it hard and rough but…"

"You like Soft-Buffy?" she said, filling the hanging silence, cherishing the hardly suppressed groan vibrating in his throat as she pressed her lips over the tendons in his neck. "I can be soft," she hummed. She meant it to, committed to it further when she caught sight of the scratches she'd left across his chest that morning.

He let her roll him onto his back, rolling his shoulders to pull fully out of his shirt as she trailed open kisses across his collarbone, featherlight fingers winding into her hair. He moaned as she pressed a kiss into the deepest welt across his sternum.

"Stay there," she whispered, and slipped off the bed, feet touching the concrete floor with a clack of her heels.

She pulled them off and dropped them by the foot of the bed. He propped himself on his elbows to watch as she crooked her arms behind her to unzip her dress, shimmying out of it and letting it pool at her feet.

A light blush dappled her cheeks at the extremely uninteresting lingerie choices she'd donned before her date. Practical and mismatched, very much not intended for any kind of enticing reveal.

"Think that's my favorite set," Spike hummed as she unhooked the nude bra.

Buffy stalled.

"Really?"

His tongue licked his lower lip in slow consideration. "Hard tie with the Don't Fuck Me knickers you wore on your night out with Richard."

She rolled her eyes. "There was no… Don't Fuck Me-ness. They were never going to be on display."

The hungry look in his eyes made her stomach flip.

"Because you're mine?" he asked quietly, and Buffy bit her lip, her heart lurching into an achingly fast tempo.

Yes.

She let out a breath and slipped the blue floral cotton panties down her thighs and off her legs.

His hands rested on her hips as she straddled his lap, settling into his embrace, her hair a peaceful curtain around their kiss before he tucked a sheaf of it behind her ear.

"Buffy…"

He arched into her touch as her fingers trailed down his stomach ever so softly, tenderly, light touches where before she'd been cutting nails across his chest. She unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his jeans, moving to the side of him to give him the space to push the denim down his thighs, kicking them off along with his boots.

There were more welts littering his hips, and a collection of divots from her nails in his thigh. She rushed to fill them with kisses, lapping his skin with her tongue, caressing the muscles of his stomach with her fingertips.

"I love you," he moaned as she brushed her mouth across his ribs, but she didn't miss the tight bob of his Adam's apple. She'd punished him for saying it before. Hit him. Bit him. It made her eyes sting now thinking about it, crawling hurriedly back up his body to kiss him deeply, winding her tongue with his to try and thank him for still giving those words without reservation.

I love him back. I do…

"Stay the night this time," Spike hummed against her skin, cool fingers brushing her sides making her shiver anew. "I want to wake up with you."

Buffy took a long gulp of air in, letting it go in a comfortable sigh. There would be no reason to run anymore. No reason to hurriedly pull her clothes on and flee. No accusing stares would be drilling into her as she slunk back into the house.

And there was nowhere else she'd rather be either as Spike's arm hugged her ribcage like she still might bolt.

She rolled her hips into him, flattening her hands against his chest, propping herself up on her arms as she effortlessly slid down onto him, wet heat stretched full, a yes already on her tongue as she seamlessly reached the hilt of him.

He groaned, his fingers caressing her waist as he pressed up into her, still greedy for as much of her as he could get.

I want to stay, she started to say, tasting the words on her tongue, a breaking wave of wet heat beginning to fill her up until there was no more room to keep them hostage in her mouth.

Her thighs shook, heartbeat all but stuttering.

I want to know what you look like in the morning, she thought as she started to tremble, her hands finding his arms and squeezing tight to have something to hold on to when she broke, climbing higher.

Want to know if I'd still dream of you even if you're next to me…

He moved with her, his pelvis grinding into hers, hard fingers holding her tight and digging in perfectly over the vertebrae of her spine, making her bend, making her writhe.

I want to tell you—

She screamed as every muscle cinched tight, Spike curling into a half-sit beneath her to hold her through it, the way she never usually let him, but this time she clung back, gasping into his hairline.

"I love you."

She froze as Spike's eyes flew open, the disbelief so palpable on his face she could practically hear the crashing silence of shock in his head. A mirror of her own.

I said that out loud.

"What?" he breathed out.

Buffy swallowed.

Way ta blurt it out…

"Too soon for a first date?" she quipped, throat dry as Spike stared up at her, panting with her, until he caught his breath.

"Oh, say it again."

"Shouldn't we take it slower?" she giggled as he cupped her face in his hands.

"Say it again."

"I don't want to scare you off—"

She broke off with a squeal and a laugh as he pulled her down to him, a hungry kiss burning her lungs to breathlessness as he rolled her underneath him.

Buffy grinned to herself. Are you in love with Spike?

It really had been a simple question...

~ Epilogue ~

Sunday, February 2

Dear Diary,

I might have made a mistake.

Dawn sighed, ratcheting up the volume of her Walkman to tinnitus-inducing levels to combat the saccharin harmonics trying to overpower her Jimmy Eat World CD.

Happy Buffy is unbearable.

I swear, if I have to listen to Savage Garden's Truly Madly Deeply one more time I'm moving out!

She paused and uncovered one ear to check in on her sister's wobbly soprano bleeding in through the walls.

She smiled before placing the headphones back over her ears.

…But it's nice to be right.