Happy Tenth Anniversary to seasonal_spuffy!! And many thanks to the mods for keeping the comm going. Much appreciated.
It’s my posting day today, so here’s my entry. Whi-ich has not much to do with the theme of the round, and is nothing like anything I’ve written before. Hope you enjoy.
Setting: A nebulous time, some years post-NFA and post-the release of Frozen on DVD, in a nebulous place that could be suburban London, or suburban somewhere in the US where they have colder winters than California.
Rating: PG-13/R(ish) for the occasional swear word and sexual(ish) situations.
Pairing: Spike/Buffy, very brief mention of Spike/Drusilla and Buffy/Angel
Disclaimer: Not for profit, don’t sue etc
Author’s note: Just for the record, I do not hate Kennedy. Also, in case you’re not familiar with Frozen, without spoilering you, Elsa is the heroine (or one of them) and Hans is… well, let’s say a not so popular character.
“Honey, I’m ho-ome.”
Buffy shut the front door behind her, threw her car keys into the fruit bowl on the hall table, hung the Scythe on its special hook on the coat stand, paused, sniffed the air, frowned.
“Spike?” she called. Then louder, when there was no answer, “Spike! Where are you, and what’s that weird smell?”
A door clicked closed upstairs and soft footsteps hurried along the landing. A moment later, Spike’s curly head appeared over the banister.
“Shush!” he hissed. “I only just put her down.”
“Oops! Sorry!” Buffy clapped a hand over her mouth. For a heart-stopping moment, they both strained their ears in the direction of the second bedroom. But there was nothing to be heard save blissful silence. After a moment, they both heaved a sigh of relief, before giving each other a warning look and straining their ears again.
They’d been lulled into a false sense of security too many times before not to wait out the full five minutes.
But this time the silence remained unbroken. At last, Spike gave Buffy a cautious thumbs up and headed down the stairs. He had no shoes on, Buffy noted, and was wearing odd socks and the tatty pair of jeans he kept for doing messy chores. There was a smear of flour on one cheek.
At least, it looked like flour.
He stopped two steps from the bottom and leaned over the banister towards her, making his glasses slide precariously down his nose.
“Hello, love,” he said, voice dropped to a purring rumble.
“Hello yourself,” she meant to say, but the moment she opened her mouth his tongue slid into it, and she felt her whole body do this weird melt-y thing it still did whenever he kissed her.
In fact, if anything, it did it even more now that he was human.
When at last he let her go, she felt quite flushed, and he looked insufferably smug.
She pushed his glasses back into place for him, not sure whether to smile or frown. In the end, she decided on frown because he was just way too pleased with himself. Also, he hadn’t answered her question about the weird smell.
“How come you’re wearing those jeans?”
His smugness dissolved at once into very unconvincing puzzlement.
“What jeans?” he said, as he came down the last two steps, helped her out of her coat and hung it up it for her. “You look done in, pet. Fancy a cuppa?”
“No,” Buffy said, as she always did (because who in their right minds wanted black tea so strong you could dissolve a spoon in it?), though that never stopped him asking, “but something herbal would be nice. Lemon and ginger, maybe? I’m in a lemon and ginger-type mood this evening.”
Spike grimaced. “That bad, ‘ey? What was it? Vampires kicking off somewhere, or your old nemesis, the Paperwork Demon?”
“Way worse than either. I had to do a health and safety audit of Slayer HQ. With Kennedy.”
He looked suitably horrified. “Sounds bloody awful.”
Buffy shuddered at the memory. “It really was. She insisted on doing everything by the book in case there’s an official inspection, so it took all day.”
Spike gave her shoulders a sympathetic squeeze. “That bitch.”
“Three hours just for the weapons locker.” Buffy shook her head. “I had no idea we had that many battleaxes.”
“Yeah, well,” he said. “You never know when you’re gonna need ’em.”
She followed him in the direction of the kitchen, the weird smell growing stronger the nearer they got.
“Okay, what is that?” she said, just as he stopped so abruptly she ran into the back of him. “Oof!”
But he ignored her question again and steered her into the living room with a hand on her shoulder.
“Why don’t you just put your feet up, Slayer? I’ll bring the tea in a minute.”
Buffy frowned at his departing back. How someone’s back and shoulders could look guilty, she wasn’t sure, but Spike’s definitely did. Also, he rarely called her ‘Slayer’ outside the bedroom these days, and when he did, it was usually because he’d been up to something he thought she wouldn’t like.
But, despite the alarm bells going off in her head, she allowed herself to be steered. She was tired, and Spike had never been any good at keeping secrets.
He was bound to give himself away before long.
She flopped down in an armchair and kicked off her shoes (and trust her to go for stylish over comfortable on today of all days, oh her achy, breaky feet!) listening to him clattering around in the kitchen while keeping an instinctive half-an-ear open for any sound from upstairs. The living room was softly lit and warm. By the time Spike arrived with her tea she was feeling pretty mellow – so much so, she didn’t even mention the lump of Play-doh stuck to the carpet.
He sidestepped the teetering pile of Duplo bricks in the centre of the room without even looking at it and handed her the tea. But, to her surprise (and increasing suspicion) he hadn’t made a drink for himself, and he didn’t sit down either.
Instead, he gave her a look for which the word ‘shifty’ had probably been invented, and said, “Back in a tick, love. I just need to finish off something.”
She sipped her tea.
“Yeah? What would that be?”
He blinked – for all the world like he hadn’t understood the question. Then he said, “Don’t you care what Buffy Junior’s been up to today? You haven’t even asked.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. Don’t think you can put me off the scent by trying to guilt-trip me, Mister. Aloud, she said, “Sure I care. Why don’t you sit down and tell me?”
She drank more tea to hide her grin at the hunted expression on his face.
“All right, then,” he said, at last, and he sat down opposite her, perched awkwardly on the edge of his chair, as if he couldn’t wait to get up again and leave.
She frowned. This was getting dumber by the minute.
“Spike, what the hell is going on?”
He sort of half-winced, half-grimaced, then wiped a hand across his sweaty forehead. “S’too bloody hot in here,” he muttered. “So anyway, today the rugrat and me made that.” He pointed at the pile of Duplo.
She regarded it quizzically. “Er…what is it?”
He shrugged. “A magic castle, I think. They usually are. Knew I should never have told her that her mum used to live in one.”
“Maybe not.” She swallowed another mouthful of tea.
“We played Slayers vs Vampires most of the afternoon,” he went on.
“Ah.” That would explain the Frozen figurines scattered at various points around the Duplo castle, the Hans figurine all covered in red marker pen. Hans was always the one the vampires ‘got.’
He gave her a disbelieving look and indicated the Elsa doll, standing triumphant on the teetering battlement. “Do you even have to ask?”
“Okay, okay.” She drank more tea. “Er…Slayers won, right?”
He rolled his eyes. “‘Course, Slayers won. What d’you think I’m teaching her?”
Hmm, she thought. Defensive much?
“So what else did you do?”
“Played some footie in the garden.” He shrugged again. “She was tired after that.”
“Was this before or after you did baking?”
“What?” He blinked at her again, and this time he seemed genuinely perplexed. “What makes you think we did baking? I mean, after what happened last time, with the exploding cupcakes, I’m not sure she’s ready yet to-”
“You have flour on your cheek,” Buffy interrupted, smiling at him sweetly. She drank more tea, while he swore under his breath and rubbed at the wrong side of his face. “Other side.”
“Oh bollocks,” he muttered, batting at his other cheek. A thin spiral of white powder drifted down to settle on the carpet.
“Okay,” she set down her mug. “Fess up, Spike. What’s happened this time?”
He gave her a miserable look. “Please don’t put Buffy Junior in a creche and make me go back to being a Watcher. I don’t want to. And I’m bloody useless at it. Ask Giles.”
She frowned. “What do you mean? Why would I even do that?”
He didn’t seem to be listening. “Also, looking after Buffy Junior’s the best thing I’ve ever done in my life, all right? An’ I’m good at it. All the mums at the playgroup say so.”
I bet they do, she thought, amused despite herself. Bet they think you’re real cute too.
“And she wasn’t ever in any real danger,” Spike babbled on.”Also, I’ve been on at Willow for weeks about extending that protection spell to the garden, but she hasn’t bloody done it yet, has she?”
“She’s been busy,” Buffy said. “It is apocalypse season, you know. Now will you quit trying to wriggle off the hook and tell me what happened?”
He looked mutinous. “Not tryin’ to do any such thing. Just sayin.’ As for what happened, a Serparvo demon jumped over the back fence and attacked us while we were playing football, so I had to drown it in the paddling pool.”
“Oh my God!” Buffy’s hands flew to her mouth. “Are you all right, Spike? Is Buffy Junior…?”
“She’s fine,” Spike said, quickly. “We both are.” Now the truth was out, he looked hangdog. “Sorry I had to slay in front of her when I promised not to, but it couldn’t be helped, yeah?”
Buffy realised she was shaking. I should have been here, she thought. I should have been here to protect them.
When she turned back to Spike, he had the mutinous look again.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he growled, “but you’re…you’re wrong, all right? I may be human now, but I can look after myself.”
“And Buffy Junior,” he added, hurriedly. “Can look after her, an’ all.”
After a moment, during which she said nothing, just took deep, calming breaths, he muttered, “Anyway, Serparvo demons are stupid. Anyone could kill one, ‘long as they knew how.”
“That’s not the point,” she wanted to say, but she stopped herself. Yes, the thought of him fighting demons now he was human (not to mention very nearsighted) gave her the heebie-jeebies, and yes, the thought of her little girl within a hundred miles of being in harm’s way made her feel sick to her stomach, but the fact remained that what had happened had happened, and he’d dealt with it.
So instead, she said, “You did good, Spike.”
Off his surprised look, “No, really. I mean it.” But before the surprise could morph into smugness, “But I’m totally booking you into Watcher defensive combat classes at Slayer HQ again. You need a refresher course.”
He grimaced, and for a moment, she thought he might protest. But then he said, “‘Spose you’re right, love. Still have the odd moment now and then when I forget I’m human an’ try some stupid vampire fighting move, even after all this time. Gotta learn to fight better within my limitations.”
She shook away visions of him attempting to run up walls, or do a fancy flying kick and ending up flat on his back, winded, and at the mercy of something fangy and claw-y.
“Yeah, you should,” she said. “Also, I could ask Willow to beef up the protection spell, or, better still, you could go to Magic For Beginners classes, like I’ve been telling you, and learn to do it yourself.”
The mutinous look was back at once. In fact, he was sort of pouting at her. “Don’t like magic. Seen a lot of it in my time, and it never ends well.”
“Well,” he qualified, “except when it brought you back to life. But even then it wasn’t exactly plain sailing, was it?”
“Well, no,” she admitted. “You’d be good at it, though. Willow says she can tell from your aura. Also, your Latin is way too good to waste. Even Giles says so.”
The pout un-pouted slightly. He sat up straighter. “Old Rupert says that? Really?”
“Totally,” she insisted. And now his ruffled feathers were somewhat soothed, time to get tough with him. “So, tell me why you didn’t want me to go in the kitchen? Is it something to do with that weird smell?”
Which had better not be dinner. I am sooo hungry.
He blinked at the sudden change of subject. Then he hunched his shoulders, all hangdog again.
“S’just I hadn’t finished getting rid of it,” he said.
She frowned. “Getting rid of what?”
“The Serparvo demon, of course. They do tend to be a bit on the pong-y side. Was dismemberin’ it, see, but then Buffy Junior was tired so I had to put her to bed. Otherwise it would’ve been over and done with before you got home.”
And I’d have been none the wiser, her inner cynic finished for him. He might have been human for a while now, and have had a soul for even longer, but he still had more than a few moral blind spots – not least where honesty being the best policy was concerned.
“So, you’re telling me,” she said, “there are bits of stinky dead demon in my kitchen?”
“Essentially,” he agreed. “Yeah.”
Oh great. Just great.
“It’s only the head and torso,” he said, in a wheedling tone, as if that made it any better. “The limbs’re already in the recycling bin.”
“Say what?” She gaped at him. “Spike, you do realise body parts don’t count as recycling, right? Right?”
“‘Course I do.” He looked quite indignant. “Was gonna cover ’em in Ignis powder – that’s what the white stuff on my face is – and burn ’em, wasn’t I?”
She stared at him, aghast. “Ignis powder? You do know that’s highly flammable, don’t you? Also, I thought you said you didn’t want anything to do with magic? That stuff’s about as magic as it gets.”
He scowled. “Course I know it’s flammable. Clue’s in the sodding name, yeah? Believe it or not, love, this isn’t the first time in the last hundred plus years I’ve had to dispose of a dead demon. I know what I’m doing. Also, I made bloody sure none of it got inside the house.”
“Except that you got some on your face.”
He wilted a little.
“Er…yeah. Except for that.”
“So,” she said, “let me get this straight. You slayed a demon in our back yard, in front of our three year old daughter. Then you somehow got ahold of a very dangerous magical substance that could have burnt the house down. Then you cut a body up in our kitchen?”
“Well, where else was I gonna do it?” he said, as if it was her that was being unreasonable. “Also, I didn’t let Buffy Junior watch, if that’s what you’re thinking. I gave her her tea, stuck her in front of Frozen and left her to it. And before you ask, she’s only watched it twice today, all right?”
Now that he mentioned it, Buffy could see there was half a fish stick, covered in ketchup, stuffed under the couch cushion.
Spike noticed it the same time as she did. “I’ll clear it up,” he said. “I’ll clear it all up. You won’t be able to tell it ever even happened. Don’t you worry, Slayer. Just put your feet up and relax.”
It was tempting. Very tempting. Especially when Spike was giving her the patented head-tilt (which was somehow even more devastatingly sexy now he wore glasses), accompanied by his best attempt at Puss-in-Boots eyes.
But no, Buffy thought. She had to resist his blatant derailing, and reinforce the ground rules of responsible parenting. Not to mention health and safety.
As if she hadn’t had enough of those today from Kennedy.
“Look, Spike, I know you love being a stay-at-home dad, and I know it makes sense that you be the one at home with Buffy Junior until she starts school, given that I have this high-powered though weird – very weird – job, and you…well, you haven’t found your niche yet. But you have to remember what we agreed. What’re you supposed to do in cases of demon invasion?”
When she started her speech he’d almost been pouting again. By the end of it, he was pale-faced and solemn. Which was good. It showed that he understood she wasn’t kidding around.
“I’m supposed to lock myself and the rugrat in the house and call Slayer Central for help,” he said, in a small voice. “I’m not supposed to get in any fights unless there’s a real risk of her being injured or traumatised if I don’t, and even then defensive moves only.”
“Okay, so in your honest opinion, what was the case today? Did you really need to fight, or could you have got yourself and Buffy Junior back inside before the Serparvo demon came near you?”
He considered the matter – seriously, she was glad to see. In the end, he grimaced again and waggled his hand up and down, like scales weighing the odds.
“Was marginal,” he admitted. “Maybe we could’ve made it, maybe not. But with the paddling pool just lying there, and drowning being the only way to kill Serparvo demons anyway, it seemed like too good an opportunity to waste.”
“I see. And how did Buffy Junior react to seeing daddy drowning someone in her kiddy pool?”
“Not a whole lot,” he said, after considering again. “I told her the demon was a funny sort of dog that wore clothes and that I’d made it go to sleep. But she’s a bright kid. Think she’s twigged long ago that mum and dad aren’t exactly normal.”
Buffy said nothing. He stared at her, as if trying to read her thoughts, but she knew her face gave nothing away. After a moment, his shoulders slumped.
“Bloody hell! She’s gonna be scarred for life, isn’t she?”
He put his head in his hands, long fingers running through his mess of dirty blond curls.
“God, I’m an idiot.”
Buffy sighed. Reaching out, she patted him on the shoulder.
“Don’t be such a drama queen, Spike, okay? She won’t be scarred for life – not if we explain what really happened.”
He looked up. “You mean…?”
She nodded. “Yeah. Time to let her know that Slayers vs Vampires isn’t just a kids’ game.”
He looked dubious for a moment, but in the end, all he said was, “This is a bit of a volte face for you, love. Thought you wanted her to have as normal a life as possible.”
“I do,” Buffy said. “But I also want her to not die from sheer ignorance.” She shrugged. “We’ve protected her from our crazy messed up world for as long as we could – you have, this last year and a half since I went back to work. But now it’s time she learned.”
“Dawn was older,” he protested. “Ten or eleven at least.”
“True,” she agreed. “But Dawn wasn’t in any danger until I became the Slayer.” Or even real. “Buffy Junior’s been in danger from the get go.”
Spike sighed. “‘Spose you’re right, love. As always.” He gave her a worried look. “Can guess what that means in the long term, but what about now? She starts nursery – pre-school, I mean – next month. Is she still gonna be able to go?”
“That depends,” she said. “I need to know what the word is on the demon side of the street. Was this Separvo demon thing a hit, or did it just come across you by chance? I’ll get Faith on it. She’s my go-to gal for roughing up demons for information.”
He looked glum. “Time was, that was my job.”
“I know.” She leaned forward and kissed him on his warm human lips. “I prefer you among the living, though.”
Once they’d started kissing, it was hard to stop. He was a good kisser. She’d always thought so. And despite the fact he’d been human for a while now, the warmth of his mouth, the heat of his body, still took her by surprise. Still sent a jolt of…she wasn’t sure what except that she liked it, straight to her crotch and made her all warm inside too.
What’s more, even though he couldn’t smell her arousal these days, the smug jerk always knew.
In the end, though, she pushed him away and said, “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
His eyes were closed and his face was flushed. “Wassat?” he panted.
“That you were half way through disposing of a dead demon. Also, it’s dinner time and I’m hungry. Also, also, despite what I said about Buffy Junior not being scarred for life, if she has nightmares tonight it’s totally your turn to sit up with her until she falls asleep again.”
“Bloody hell,” he muttered, as he got to his feet. “A bloke’s work is never sodding done, is it?”
She watched the bulge in the front of his jeans, and his nice, tight ass leave the room with some regret, but not enough to stop them going.
Later for that. It wasn’t like he didn’t deserve to suffer a bit, and right now, she had some serious relaxing to do.
Buffy was stacking plates in the dishwasher, while thinking to herself that Spike had been as good as his word. If you ignored the somewhat overpowering smell of bleach, there really was no sign of any dismembering, or anything else untoward, having taken place in the kitchen. He’d even got rid of the errant fish stick under the couch cushion while she’d been dozing in front of the TV before dinner.
“What’s that, love?” Spike was still sitting at the table, doing a thousand yard stare, while his coffee went cold in front of him. When she spoke, his eyes focused on her, and he picked up his cup, drank, then made a face. “Bugger.”
“Let me freshen that for you.” She tipped the cold coffee down the sink and poured him a fresh cup.
He smiled at her. “Thanks, pet.”
She gestured with her own cup. “Wanna take it through to the living room?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Why not?”
When they were safely installed on the couch, his arm around her, her head on his shoulder, she said, “What were you thinking about before?”
He’d been fondling the back of her neck (he still had a thing for necks, which was okay, because so did she), but his hand stilled when she spoke.
“This and that,” he said. “Dunno really. Mostly about what a bloody idiot I’ve been today. And a bit about how weird things have been lately.”
She lifted her head to stare at him. “Weirder than usual?”
“‘Spose not,” he conceded.”Just normal weird for us. Sometimes it still hits me, though. Where I’ve come from. What I was. What I am now. When I came barrelling into Sunnydale with Dru all those years ago, I never expected to end up like this.”
“Human, with a kid, and a wife who just so happens to be a Slayer. And not just any Slayer, but the Slayer.” He shrugged. “I mean, when you’re a notorious, Slayer-slaying vampire with a badass rep to keep up, s’not really what you expect in life, is it?”
She laughed. “Guess not.”
“Works the other way too, I ‘spose.” He gave her a shy look. “Bet back when you were a teenage wannabe prom queen turned reluctant vampire slayer, you never thought you’d end up shacked up in suburban domestic bliss with an ex-vampire who wasn’t even Angel.”
She laughed again. “I so did not. Speaking of Angel, back then, I had my wedding to him all planned, down to the very last detail – dress, flowers, I’d even picked a church. Which was kind of dumb, given he’d’ve had the wiggins even going near one.”
“Spose this was around the same time I was planning down to the last detail how I was gonna kill you?”
“I guess.” She frowned. “You’re not going all reminisce-y on me because you regret anything, are you? All this stabbing and hacking – well, not stabbing, but you know what I mean – hasn’t made you wish you were still a vampire?”
His eyes widened. “Bloody hell, love. No way! Okay, I know I was a bit iffy about being human at first, but I wouldn’t change anything. Really.”
“Iffy?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “The way I remember it, you were more like totally freaked.”
He mock-scowled at her. “Trust a Yank to exaggerate.”
She stuck her tongue out at him. “Trust a Brit to be all sarcastic and understated. What about the toilet incident, huh? Definite freaking out going on there.”
He looked mulish for a moment, but then conceded the point. “Yeah, all right, Slayer. You got me there.”
She giggled. Dropping her voice as low as it would go in a mockery of his, she growled, “S’no sodding use, Giles. I just can’t get the hang of it.”
There was a faint flush of pink on his cheekbones, but he played along. Taking off his little gold-framed glasses, he pretended to polish them, saying in a fair imitation of Giles at his most exasperated, “For God’s sake, you berk, it’s a toilet. What’s there to get the hang of? Pretty bloody self-explanatory.”
“Poor old Giles,” he said, in his own voice. “Was such an arsehole back then. Not surprising he’s never really taken to me, even now I’m human.”
Buffy patted him on the shoulder. “Ah, don’t take it personally. Giles is old and cranky these days – mostly on purpose. He doesn’t take to anyone. He adores Buffy Junior, though, and he really did say that about your Latin being too good to waste.”
Spike looked pleased. “That was right nice of him. Was gonna email him tomorrow, as a matter of fact – tell him he can send me any extra translation work he needs doing. Latin, Greek. I’ll even have a bash at Sumerian, if Dawn’s not around to do it.”
“Really?” Buffy gaped at him. “What’s brought this on?”
“Been thinkin’ about it for a while, actually,” he said. “Buffy Junior’s growin’ up. Before we know it, she’ll be at school an’ she won’t need me as much. Time I started pullin’ my weight around here.”
“Are you sure? I mean, it’d be great to be a two paycheck family again, but we manage, don’t we?”
He shrugged. “I don’t mind doin’ it, ‘long as I get paid. Was the part of trying to be a Watcher I disliked least.”
“Also,” he went on, “I’ll do Watcher defensive combat, and the magic for dummies course, like you said. Should’ve done that ages ago. Anything that’ll help me protect the rugrat better. Anything at all.”
“That’s good,” she said. “That’s great, in fact. I always said you should consider free-lancing, didn’t I?”
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you did, an’ you were right of course. Mrs bloody Know-it-all.”
There was silence for a moment. Then she said,
“I am glad you wanna do this, Spike, but just so you know, despite deciding we have to start teaching Buffy Junior the facts of life – weird life, that is – asap, what happened today hasn’t made me feel any differently about you.”
She leaned up and kissed his hard coffee-tasting mouth. “You may be a dumbass sometimes, but your groupies at the playgroup are right. You are good at looking after our daughter.”
“Groupies?” His lip quirked in amusement. “Think they just feel sorry for me. Poor little put-upon house husband.”
“Is that right?” With one easy, fluid movement, she swung her knee across his legs, straddled him, and squeezed her thighs together around his.
At least she’d made one good fashion choice today, she thought; pleated, instead of pencil.
“Yeah, you look very put-upon.”
His warm hands slid under her skirt to cup her ass through her panties, while she grabbed his head by the hair and thrust her tongue hard down his throat. He groaned into her mouth and she felt her nipples harden.
God, she loved how warm he was.
When she let him go, his head flopped onto the couch back. He gazed up at her in adoration.
“Can stand to be put upon some more,” he said, a little out of breath.
She sidled her fingers over the bulge in his crotch, then began to knead it with the heel of her hand. “No-ot a problem.”
He moaned softly, grinned up at her. “I don’t deserve you,” he said. “I don’t deserve this.” He indicated the room, with its very ordinary furniture and neatly stacked toys. “I am so bloody lucky.”
She kissed him again, gentler this time. “You mean we’re bloody lucky, don’t you?”
He tilted his head at her. “What did I tell you about Americans saying ‘bloody’?”
She shrugged airily. “That they can’t, cuz it sounds weird? Wanna do something about it?”
“How about this?” What he did brought a rush of heat to her body, turning her all molten.
“Oh yeah.” She drooped onto him, panting. “That’ll do it. Keep it up, and I’ll never say ‘bloody’ again, ever. I swear.”
He laughed. “I’ll hold you to that, love. You were right, though. We’re lucky. Very, very lucky.”
But, as he began to undo the buttons on her shirt, there was the unmistakable sound of a door opening, then of little feet thud-thud-thudding down the stairs. They froze, then fell apart with a groan, just as the living room door opened a crack and a small, grouchy voice said, “Mommy?”
“Sod it,” Spike muttered.
Buffy gave him a wry grin. “Okay, maybe not that lucky.”
NB: For Serparvo demons and how you kill them, see Something Blue in BtVS season 4. Also, when Spike talks about giving Buffy Junior ‘her tea’, he means her evening meal, not a cup of tea.
Originally posted at http://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/530217.html