Summary: Sequel to Hoping's Very Fears. Spike and Buffy are trying to decide what their relationship is going to look like. Buffy and Dawn are missing Joyce terribly. And the warlock comes back to town, looking for another pound of flesh.
Author's Notes: This story is the sequel to "Hoping's Very Fears." If you haven't read that one, I'd strongly recommend you do so. Otherwise, it probably won't make any sense. Set in the summer right after BtVS S5. (My Season 5 that is.)
Rating: PG-13
"What's Spike doing here?" Xander asked his girlfriend. They were having a rather impromptu Scoobie meeting in the Magic Box. After three weeks of Spike not being around, Xander had gotten rather used to the idea that he wouldn't be.
Anya gave him a look that said she thought he was being stupid. "Spike and Buffy made up."
"Made up? There was making up that needed to be done?" Xander was confused. "I thought Spike was just the muscle. He shows up when we need help."
Anya rolled her eyes and didn't dignify that rather idiotic statement with a reply. Anyone with eyes could tell that the unresolved sexual tension between the Slayer and Vampire was about to light them both on fire. She just hoped that when that tension got resolved, Buffy would grace them with the details. Anya would be willing to bet all the money in the till that Spike was a guy who would give many pleasurable orgasms. "You are planning on paying for that eye of newt, aren't you?" she suddenly asked, heading towards Willow, who was picking up supplies for a little magical experimentation.
"Yes, I'm going to pay," Willow said. "I learned my lesson with Olaf."
Anya shrugged, suddenly looking unconcerned. "Well, as long as you do. Taking without paying screws up my entire inventory."
Willow glanced over at Spike and Buffy, who seemed to be holding an intimate conversation over by the bookshelves. Spike had his hand planted by her head and was leaning in to listen. Buffy, rather than trying to pull back, kept looking away and then at him again in that flirty way. She was also doing that thing with her mouth that guys liked. "I was beginning to get concerned that Buffy was never going to talk to anyone again."
"You mean because she was deeply depressed over the death of her mother?" Anya asked in her typical blunt manner. At Willow's surprised look, Anya said, "What? I've been reading about these things, since no one else wanted to talk about it."
Willow shrugged. "I guess." She looked over at Dawn, who had her nose buried in a book. "I mean, all of us are pretty busy this summer. I was just worried about her and Dawn. With Joyce being gone, nobody's really looking after the littlest Summers."
"Except for Spike,"Tara pointed out. She'd been listening into the conversation in her quiet way. She, too, had noticed Buffy's tendency towards isolation, and understood it better than anyone else. Tara hadn't missed the way that Spike looked at the younger girl, as though he were trying to figure out the best way to take care of her. And Dawn seemed a lot happier the last few days.
Willow frowned. "Spike's looking after Dawn? Is Buffy okay with that? I mean, it's not like Spike would hurt her, but he just seems—"
"An unlikely babysitter?" Tara suggested, filling in the blank. The three girls watched as Spike came over to sit next to Dawn, making some comment that had her smacking him on the arm with her book. Xander made another comment from his seat, which soon had he and Spike bickering, and whatever they were saying soon had Dawn in stitches.
"What are we watching?" Buffy asked, coming up to stand next to them at the counter.
Anya glanced at her. "We're watching your boyfriend and Dawn. He's making her laugh."
"He's not my boyfriend," Buffy corrected her automatically, and then her face softened. "Spike does make her laugh, doesn't he? I haven't seen her do that for a while."
"You either," Willow observed. "Buffy, it's okay if you like Spike. I mean, it's pretty obvious that he makes you happy. It's good—to be happy."
Buffy smiled and then looked at the ground. "He does make me happy," she confessed. "It's just—we don't know about the curse, or anything. And there are issues."
"I think you should go for it." Tara surprised all of them by putting in her two cents. "You don't always get a lot of time, a-and sometimes unconventional relationships are okay." She cast a loving look at Willow, who returned it with her own doe-eyes.
Buffy let out a little laugh. "At this point, I'm not sure me dating a vampire would be unconventional. More along the lines of history repeating itself."
They all pondered that thought for a minute, and then Willow suggested, "Maybe you shouldn't look at it like that. Besides, it's not as if Spike has anything in common with Angel." She paused. "Well, at least he can't lose his soul."
~~~~~
They had been patrolling for a couple hours when trouble struck. "What is that smell?" Buffy had her head up, scenting like a hound, and Spike turned to look. He caught a whiff of what the Slayer was smelling and just about gagged.
Spike stopped breathing. He had no desire to find out whether or not vampires could puke. Buffy turned to look back at Spike and found that he was just a little green. She wasn't feeling so good herself. "What is that?"
The vampire shook his head. He had to breathe to talk, and he wasn't about to take another breath of that stench. The large, nasty looking demons coming up behind the Slayer had him revising the plan. "Slayer! Behind you!"
Buffy turned to see a slavering dog-thing demon leaping at her. She didn't even have a chance to pull out a stake before it was on top of her. "Spike!"
"Little busy here, luv," he called. Buffy managed to roll, getting the demon underneath her, rather than on top. She spared a glance to see Spike struggling with his own demon, which had managed to sink its teeth into his duster. She decided he had it under control though; her demon was going for the throat, and she couldn't afford to be distracted.
The demon rolled again, putting her on the bottom, but Buffy had managed to get a stake out of her jacket. She rammed it into its chest, just as she heard Spike call out, "Don't stake it!" The reason behind his warning soon became obvious as the demon disintegrated, soaking through her jacket and shirt right down to the skin in a stinking mess.
Buffy rolled to her knees, emptying her stomach onto the grass of the cemetery. Spike, meanwhile, had dispatched his demon by breaking its neck, leaving it to dissolve a safer distance away. He'd managed not to get any on himself, but the stench emanating from the Slayer was overpowering. "You alright?"
"Does it look like I'm alright?" Buffy asked, trying hard not to breathe and not having much success. "I need to get home—shower."
Spike shook his head, wanting to go to her, but not wanting to join the sick-fest. "Not gonna help, luv," he warned her. "That stuff won't come off with a little soap an' water."
"You couldn't have warned me about that before I staked it?" she moaned, trying not to throw up again.
He took a hesitant step towards her. "I know something that might help. If you head home, I'll meet you there with supplies."
"Well, it had better work," she warned him. "Because I do not want to be this smelly forever."
~~~~~
Spike went to the all-night grocery store and stocked up on the necessary items, then headed over to Revello Drive. He knocked on the front door, only to have Dawn open it. "Where's your sis?"
"Did you think I was really going to let her into the house?" she asked incredulously. "And have the whole place smelling like that? Please."
Spike sighed. "So where is she?"
"Out back," Dawn replied. "And I really hope you can help, because otherwise she's going to be sleeping outside for a while."
Spike brushed past her, giving her a doubtful look. "Well, 've heard this will work, but I've never had to use it before, personally."
"What is it?" Dawn asked, following him through the kitchen as he went out the back door.
"Lemon juice."
"Lemon juice?" Dawn demanded. "You're trying to cure the smell by opening a lemonade stand?"
He gave her a dirty look. "Lemon juice, not lemonade," he corrected. Spike stepped outside, but didn't see the Slayer. "Buffy? Luv? You out here?"
"Don't come too close," Buffy warned him. "Dawn already told me the stench was infiltrating the house."
"'s bad," he agreed. "Look, 've got somethin' that'll help, but I'm not goin' to be able to talk. Not unless you want to see what I had for my last meal."
"Please no," Buffy said reverently. "What is it?"
"Lemon juice. 've heard it works for a lot of smells. Acid'll pull it right out of your skin and hair." Spike held up the grocery sack, full of bottles of lemon juice.
Buffy almost smiled. "You buy the store out?"
"Almost." He hesitated. "I can go get Dawn or somethin'. You'll have to strip out of those clothes, burn them. She can—"
"Dawn won't come near me," Buffy replied. "And I can't exactly blame her." She hesitated. "No, it's—it's okay. Business, right?"
Spike nodded stiffly. "Yeah, sure. Business." He went over to the backdoor and yelled inside for Dawn to bring out an old towel and washcloth she wouldn't mind burning later. She returned a few minutes later with a faded pink towel and avocado green washcloth.
"Good luck," she muttered, shoving the items through the door quickly and shutting it again. Spike shook his head and turned towards Buffy.
She was pale enough that he could tell, even in the moonlight, and her face still had a faint green tinge. "Okay. So how are we doing this?" she asked.
"Do the hair first," he replied. "But you'll need to get rid of those clothes. An' I'm not talkin' while we do this. If I don't talk, I don't have to breathe."
"Right. Maybe a little closer to the shadows? I don't really want the neighbors calling the cops on me for indecent exposure." Buffy managed to smile a little, and their eyes met for a long moment.
Spike's mouth tipped upward in a lopsided smile. "Don't think they can get you in your own backyard, pet. But 's not a bad idea."
They moved closer to the house, where the shadows were deeper. Buffy looked into Spike's face, looking for anything inappropriate, but found nothing but a sort of infinite patience in his expression. He would do anything for her, wait as long as he had to for her. It gave her the courage she needed to be bare before him, in so many different ways.
She nodded once in response to what she saw. Her movements deliberate, Buffy shook her hair down out of the clip that held it and then pulled her shirt over her head. She'd already taken the jacket off, and she pitched the shirt after it, into the darkness.
She could see Spike visibly swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. He pulled a couple bottles of lemon juice out of his sack and motioned for Buffy to put her head down. He used two of the bottles of lemon juice on her hair, making sure that he got all of it saturated. Using a washcloth soaked in lemon juice, he tenderly wiped her face, then her neck.
They both froze as they tried to decide what to do next. It was Buffy who finally moved first, turning her back to him and unclasping her bra, allowing him to pour the lemon juice on her back. His movements were sure and gentle, firm and tender. It left her incredibly aroused, even if this was not the best time for it.
The cold shower would come later.
Spike handed her another bottle and the washcloth and then turned his back so she could do the rest. He tried not to look, resisting the temptation to turn around by thinking of the most unerotic things he could. It wasn't working.
He'd need a cold shower later. Or something.
There was a soft, "I'm done," from behind him, and he turned to find Buffy wrapped in a towel. "Spike, thanks. I think the smell's actually fading."
Spike took a cautious sniff, and although the stink was still present, it was centered on the clothes that lay in a pile off to the side. From the Slayer all he got was the overwhelming scent of lemons. "Glad to help. Hate to have to stay away from you for long enough to have that stink wear off."
"Yeah, that would be bad. I think I'd probably end up living in the back yard." There was an awkward silence, where both of them struggled with what to say. "Spike?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you—do you want to stay? Tonight, I mean?"
Did he want to stay? Did birds have wings? (Did the Slayer really want him?) "I'm not sure that's a good idea."
Buffy looked disappointed. "Oh. You're probably right. I should—"
Spike let out a growl of frustration and then kissed her—deep, bruising, needy, letting her know exactly what it was that he wanted. "I don't do halfway, Slayer," he warned, when he finally broke it off.
"Neither do I," she replied. The tension held, pulled between them like a trip-wire, ready to cause both of their lives to explode. They both felt it: the relationship they were thinking of embarking on was a dangerous one. They were mortal enemies; they were supposed to hate each other.
And they could both honestly say that hatred was the furthest thing from their minds.
Spike was the first to break eye contact, and he chuckled, looking away into the night. "You need to shower the rest of the lemon and demon goo off of you, luv. And I have a feeling you're goin' to be ready for sleep after that. Not what I had in mind."
Buffy laughed ruefully. "You're probably right about that," she admitted. "My stomach's still a little queasy anyway."
Spike pulled her in, gave her a sweet kiss on the lips. "I'll see you tomorrow sometime, yeah?"
"Sure." Buffy watched him swagger off, and sighed. Definitely there was going to be a very cold shower.
~~~~~
Lyndon cursed, surprised at how handily the Slayer had taken care of his Miroks. For a girl who seemed curiously unable to kill vampires, she handled demons with finesse. Of course, the Miroks had been hampered by his instructions to kill the Slayer first, and not to kill the vampire.
The warlock frowned, considering his options. Maybe this was for the best. He could harry the Slayer and vampire, soften them up, until he was ready to make the move himself. She had friends and family that he could go after. Knowing Spike as he did, the threat against the Slayer's loved ones would be just as effective as a threat to the girl herself.
He would send his demons after them. He would wait until the right moment, and then he would kill them all. With the Slayer gone, Sunnydale would be his, and the power of the Hellmouth would be at his fingertips. No longer would he have to be concerned about missing his opportunity to become like a god; Lyndon would use the power inherent in Sunnydale to rule this town, and eventually the world.
But first—first he would play.
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