Part IV - When Morning Comes

Morning came early the next day. Buffy felt as if she had just fallen a sleep when she felt someone knocking at her door. She squinted as the soft morning sun brushed over her milky skin.

“Who is it?” she asked, her voice hoarse and low.

“It’s Willow.” The young Wicca answered.

Seconds latter Buffy saw the small red head peeking from behind the partially open door.

“It’s around 8h30. I gotta get to campus, see if I can catch a few classes.” She explained. “I’m dropping Dawn off at school. Thought I’d wake you, I know you’ve got a shift at the Doublemeat at 9.”

“Thanks Willow, but I called them last night and I got to change to the night shift again. You know, with the whole Spikesitting and all…” she sighed audibly, getting out of bed and putting on her robe.

“Ok! Well, I’m off then.” Willow smiled and hopped down the stairs as Buffy followed her. “Dawn, come on!” the redhead shouted towards the kitchen as she opened the door to the house.

Soon after Buffy saw her young sister coming out of the kitchen with half a tuna sandwich clenched between her teeth, struggling to get her backpack on. Spike soon followed her with a brown paper bag in hand.

“Now, I made you another spike-special for lunch, don’t forget to drink your milk.” He ordered with a strange fatherly concern in his voice.

“Yes, Mommy!” Dawn joked taking the bag from his hands and giving him a quick peck on the cheek. Noticing her sister standing at the top of the stairs she shouted as she walked out of the house: “Hi, Buffy! Bye, Buffy!”

The Slayer made her way downstairs and stood there staring at the now closed door.

“Ouch! Beauty sleep doesn’t have much effect on Slayers, does it?” Spike lied. He was still hurt from last night’s argument; he felt the urge to at least annoy her.

“Shut up, Spike!” she snapped making her way up the stairs again.

“PMS is it?” he shouted after her.

“SHUT UP!” she yelled back. Not bothering to turn to face him she jogged to the bathroom and locked herself there.

After about an hour latter she came back down, finding Spike staring into the refrigerator.

“I’m hungry, you don’t have blood here.” He said matter-of-factly.

“When I go to the Doublemeat we’ll stop by the butchers.” Buffy proposed.

“When’s that?” he asked still gazing at the fridge, its door wide open.

“You know, that ruins the fridge. Close the door.” She protested.

“I’m hungry.”

“Yes, we’ve established that.” She spoke as she pushed the door closed and moved so her body was between the refrigerator and him.

She stared at him with wide innocent eyes. “Beauty sleep doesn’t work on Slayer, does it? Well, let’s see what good old Maybeline, D&B and a touch of Laura Biagiotti can do for me.” She thought as she gave him her best “I’m an innocent little schoolgirl completely oblivious to just how yummy I’m right now” look. 

Spike caught his breath to prevent a gasp from escaping his partially open lips. “God woman, do you wanna kill me?” he pondered as he contemplated her.

Her hair framed her milky face. He could tell she had makeup on, but it was very discreet one. Her lips had a pale shade of brown, which matched the earth colours over her eyes. There was no sight of the glossy and femme fatale look she used to put on. As his gaze drifted south, he saw she was wearing one of those little summer dresses with small, light yellow flowers scattered over a beige background. The soft cotton hovered just above her knees and over her left shoulder one of the straps that held it into place threatened to slide off. Spike felt tempted to slip it back in place but he resisted the urge. But the piece de résistance was her scent. It was a perfect mixture between her own aroma and a new fragrance. What was that? He couldn’t quite figure out what it was. He made a mental note to sneak into her room later and find out which new perfume she was wearing.

“Spike, you’re staring.” Buffy quipped innocently. “Guess I haven’t lost my touch after all. They always go for the shy schoolgirl.”

Spike immediately snapped out of his gawking bubble.

“No. I’m just trying to figure out where that stench is coming from. Is that you?” Spike said casually as he walked towards the living room, leaving behind a very stunned Slayer picking up her jaw from the kitchen floor.

“What do you mean stench?” she asked when she recovered from the ego blow and followed him.

“That weird fruit salad smell.” He continued sprawled on the sofa and reaching for the TV remote control.

“Shows what you know. This is the new perfume by Lara Biagiotti.” She spat as her arms folded over her chest and she tapped her foot on the floor.

“Well, it reeks, luv!” he seemed more interested in watching a stupid hair shampoo commercial than have this conversation with her.

Buffy sighed audibly as she walked out of the living room and went back upstairs. Immediately, when she was out of sight, Spike let out a long awaited gasp as he reached for his jeans and undid the first three buttons. A moan of relief escaped his lips as the pressure in his groin was considerably reduced.

“I know little guy, but we can’t let her know she’s got us by the short hairs.” He lightly padded his painfully engorged member and turned his attention back to the TV. Flipping through the channels he stopped when he heard Buffy’s approaching voice:

“You know, you’re an idiot? I don’t why I even bother…” she halted when she entered the room. All she saw was Spike quickly reaching for a pillow and nervously covering his lap with it. She looked back at the TV set and immediately recognized Sharon Stone’s long legs crossing and uncrossing in front of a bunch of hormone driven police officers.

Spike’s eyes followed her gaze and then came back to look at her. As the situation dawned on both of them the vampire stuttered as he tried to explain the controversial position he had been caught in.

“No, no, this… this is not what you’re thinking.” He stammered, his eyes nervously drifting from Buffy to the TV and back to her again.

“Like Hell it isn’t!” she yelled as she took the wooden stake from her back pocket.

“What are you doing, Slayer?” Spike shouted out of despair as he stumbled off the couch, the pillow still on his lap, his jeans threatening to slide down to his knees.

Buffy didn’t say anything. Anger blinded her as she chased him around the sofa. She stumbled on the coffee table and that gave Spike just enough time to button up his jeans.

“Buffy think about this for a second.” Spike pleaded. She was extremely pissed.

“No thinking. Staking, now!” she hissed between clenched teeth and lunged at him but missed by an inch.

“Buffy, think about the First Slayer, you can’t kill me.”

“I am thinking about the First Slayer. I dust you and there’s no more “inhuman heart” for any ritual, no more problem.”

The chase spread to the other compartments of the household, as Spike leaped his way up the stairs. After two shattered vases, one broken door and a broken chair they ended up in Buffy’s room.

“Luv, you don’t want to do this.”

“Oh yes I do. And don’t call me that.” She hissed as she cornered him between a scorching sunray and the wall. Spike had no choice, if he couldn’t reason with her, he’d have to make her see that the motive she had to stake him was incredibly stupid.

“Look, even if I was whacking off downstairs that’s no reason to stake me.” He started. Then a grin spread over his lips as he realised the right thing to say to distract her from her goal. “You jealous?”

Buffy stopped dead in her tracks, her stake resting on his chest.

“Me, jealous?” she laughed forcibly, backing away from him and stashing her stake back in her pocket. “Of a forty year old woman on TV, I don’t think so.”

“So you’re just not jealous cause you don’t think she’s hot, but if she was you would be?”

“Get this through you’re thick skull: I. Will. Never. Be jealous of any woman when it comes to you.” She explained with a growing pleasure as she saw the hurt in his eyes.

“Right. Got it.” He tried to sound cool and calm but failed miserably at it.

He made his way downstairs and she followed him a bit worried about having hurt his feelings.

“Where are you going?” she asked haughtily.

“None of your business, Slayer.” He hissed as he reached for his blanket on the kitchen chair.

“You can’t go out.” She commanded as she put her body between him and the door.

“And why is that? Afraid I turn to dust?” he asked angrily, but deep inside he hoped she’d say yes.

“No! They might catch…” the nightmare she had had the night before flashed in front of her. She squeezed her eyes shut and gathered all her strength to sound as nonchalant about what she was going to say “and I’d have a very pissed First Slayer in my hands.”

He hissed as he tried to push her out of his way.

“Don’t make me tie you up.” She warned him. He made a move to leave once more and she had no choice but to punch him.

He looked at her in disbelief. She could see the hurt in his eyes and that made her throat tighten so hard she found it hard to breathe.

“Fine, have it your way.” He snapped, walking back to the living room and taking his place on the couch.