Chapter Seventeen
Riley Finn jogged lightly up the walk to the house on Revello Drive. He was late, and he didn’t want to anger Buffy any more than she probably would be. He ran up the steps, his sneakers making no sound on the wood as he climbed. When he got to the door, he took out his key and let himself in, calling out for her as he closed the door.
“Buffy, I’m here. I’m sorry I’m late. Practice ran over,” he said as he moved through the dining room to the kitchen. He paused when he saw her through the doorway, smiling at how cute she looked in her cut off shorts, happy face t-shirt, and apron. She was leaning on the table, her finger gliding over the page of a cookbook she had in front of her, a bare foot tapping on the floor. “Buffy,” he called again, grinning when she looked up at him. Her face bloomed into a bright smile, and she walked over to him and sighed when his arms came around her.
“Hi. I didn’t hear you come in,” she said, resting her cheek against his chest. This was what she needed, she told herself. To be reminded why she and Spike was not a good idea. Riley was a good, solid man. No dreams of grandeur to be found here. Of course, if he hadn’t had his injury, he might be playing football somewhere, instead of coaching it at Sunnydale High, but that was neither here nor there.
“Guess you were too busy planning dinner,” he said with a chuckle. He kissed the top of her head, drawing back to look at her. He noticed the touch of sadness in her eyes, and his brows drew together in worry. “What’s the matter?” he asked, running his hands down her arms.
“What do you mean?” she asked, smiling brightly again. She pulled fully away from him and walked back into the kitchen, looking for the escape of her cookbook.
“You look, I dunno, sad. What’s bothering you?” he explained, sliding onto one of the stools. She shook her head, refusing to look at him as she moved around the kitchen to start dinner for the three of them. Riley watched her, a suspicion settling over him. And it didn’t settle well. “Is it him?” he queried, staring down at his hands. Buffy stopped, and turned to look at him, guilt running rampant through her soul.
“No, of course not,” she denied. He looked up at her then, his eyes willing her to tell the truth. She just shook her head again, her own eyes willing him to believe her.
“Buffy. Tell me,” Riley implored, silently telling her he would understand. She sighed, and looked down at the floor, trying to find the words.
“He’s just so. . .I don’t know, hurt. Not just physically, but inside. He’s nothing like who he was before. It’s kinda scary.” She toyed with the hem of her apron, a frown on her face, her eyes watching her hand. Riley forced a reassuring smile, ignoring the doubt that always lingered just in the back of his mind.
“Well, Buffy. He had to give up his career. I know from experience it’s not an easy thing to do,” he started, getting up and walking towards her. He felt a wave of relief when she moved into his arms, her sigh of contentment filling his ears. “I found my way to the bottom of a couple of bottles myself.” Buffy wondered at the way men dealt with things. Women usually screamed, cried and threw things, while men would just go sit quietly and drain bottle after bottle of booze. Made you wonder if all men were closet alcoholics just waiting for the right cause to come out.
“You’re right. I’m just. . .” she said, pulling back, her eyes never leaving his chest. She looked up at him when his finger tucked under her chin, smiling at the understanding she saw in his eyes.
“Worried?” Riley offered, brushing his thumb against her chin. She nodded, admitting in actions if not in words, that she was. “Do you want to help him?” he asked, slightly fearful of the answer. He saw the confusion, the guilt and the hope all flare though her eyes, and sighed. That doubt that was starting to flare burned brighter, but he tramped it down. “Then you should,” he finished.
“No, I don’t think so. We don’t really have a place in each other’s lives anymore. . .” He silenced her with a soft, gentle kiss, pulling back to smile again. Her eyes stayed closed for a brief instant after the contact ended, her lips curving slightly. “What were we talking about?” she asked, opening her eyes. He chuckled a little and pulled her in for another embrace.
“Buffy, if you feel you can help him, you should,” he said, after a minute. She sighed, not sure what she wanted. She leaned back to look at him, eyes searching his face.
“Have I told you you’re wonderful today?” she asked, smiling bright. Riley put on a look of concentration, his lips pursing as he thought.
“Hm, I don’t think so,” he teased, kissing her again. She giggled a little.
“Well, you’re wonderful,” she said, leaning up for his kiss once more. Her fingers slid up his muscular arms, to rest on his shoulders as the kiss deepened, the play of their tongues lazy and familiar.
“Ew, gross. Get a room,” Dawn spat, coming into the kitchen. The couple tore apart, rolling their eyes at the girl. Buffy took one look at what Dawn was wearing and felt her blood start to boil.
“What the hell are you wearing?” Dawn ignored her as she walked to the cabinet and pulled out a glass, then went to the fridge. The hem of her skirt barely brushed the tops of her thighs, exposing the length of her long, tanned legs. A multi-colored halter clung to her still forming curves, allowing everybody to see that her small breasts were unbound. Her black, suede boots hugged her calf to her knee, the chunky heel tapping against the kitchen floor. Buffy’s eyes nearly popped out of her head when she noticed that when Dawn moved, you could see the curve of her bare butt. “DAWN KATHERINE SUMMERS, GO UPSTAIRS AND CHANGE!” Buffy demanded, her cheeks flaming and her eyes snapping. Dawn looked disinterested, draining the juice from her glass and glaring at Buffy.
“No,” she said as she walked past her sister to put her glass in the sink. Buffy closed her eyes and counted to ten. When she opened them again, she found herself staring into the angriest set of near violet eyes she had ever seen. Taking a deep breath, she glanced at Riley, who looked at a loss at what to do, and decided to try a different tactic.
“Dawnie, honey. You can see your ass in that skirt. Don’t you have something a little longer?” she asked pleasantly. Dawn rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest.
“Duh, I KNOW you can see my ass. That’s why I put it on.” The seventeen year old looked at Buffy like she was the lowest lifeform on the planet, with the mental capacity to match. “I’m going out with Amber and Melissa. I’ll be back later,” she said, tossing her glossy hair over her shoulder, and starting out of the kitchen. Buffy was right behind her.
“Not in that get up you’re not. You look like a hooker,” Buffy said bluntly, standing in front of the door. She glared up at her sister, since Dawn seemed to have shot up half a foot over the last year, Buffy ALWAYS had to look up at her.
“Oh, yeah. And what are you going to do about it? Call the police?” Dawn taunted. “Puh-lease. Like you want it to get back to the social workers that you can’t handle me,” she scoffed, grabbing her jacket off the hook, and walking back into the kitchen. Buffy leaned against the front door, all her fight draining out of her. Dawn was right. If it got back to the authorities that she was having trouble controlling the teen, they would take her away. She flinched when the back door slammed, closing her eyes against the hot tears burning behind her eyes. She gratefully went into Riley’s arms when she felt them band around her, her shoulders shaking as the stress from the last few days broke free. She didn’t know how to deal with all this. Spike’s return, Dawn’s continued, and worsening rebellion. Riley just held on as the torrent broke, his soft words of comfort not helping.
~*~*~
Xander stared at the closed door of his house, his emotions swirling at a rapid fire pace. He could see the light from the kitchen drifting through the living room, and knew she was still awake. *Well, of course she would be up. It’s only eight o’clock,* he told himself, digging in his pockets for his keys. Jazz would be tucked safely up in her castle, his little princess. He smiled as he thought about her, his heart squeezing. He knew she must be confused by his disappearance, but he would cut his arm off before he hurt either her or her mother. The image of Cordelia floated through his mind, and he had to fight back the burning in his eyes. He’d just go in, get some clothes, and leave again. Make it as quick as possible
She looked up as soon as he stepped across the threshold. Her face held such a look of hope, he nearly said screw leaving. He loved her so much, and being away from her and Jazz was killing him. But, it was his love for them that was keeping him away. He’d been tempted once to hit her, and he wouldn’t allow it to happen again.
“Xander,” Cordelia gasped, pushing to her feet. She stood there, in a pair of cut offs, one of his old t-shirts, her feet bare, and her hair twisted up into a sloppy ponytail. He never saw her more beautiful.
“Hi, Cordy. I just stopped by to get some clothes,” he told her, not moving from his spot just inside the door. The look of disappointment that crossed her face nearly had him crossing the space between them and gathering her up. She braced a hand against the table, her eyes dropping to the floor, as he started to move towards the hall. He stopped at the door to his daughter’s room, smiling at the outline of her tiny body under the sheets. A wave of sadness washed over him and he continued down the hall to the room he shared with his wife. He worked quickly, throwing the clothes into a bag he found in the bottom of the closet. He then sighed, preparing himself to face Cordy again. He walked back down the hall, his head hung low. She hadn’t moved from her position by the table.
She looked up at him, her eyes filled with deep sadness. She wanted nothing more than to run to him, and beg him to stay. She refrained, barely. He was the one that left, he was the one that needed to do the begging.
“I’m staying at the shop, if you or Jazz need anything,” he started, his words stilled by the anger flaring in her eyes.
“Jazz needs her father. And I need my husband. What can you do about that?” she shot at him, feeling her anger flare. She took a couple of steps toward him, her arms crossing over her chest. He looked so tired, she thought, blinking against her tears. Serves him right, she thought, taking in the dark circles under his eyes, the stubble on his chin, and the slept in appearance of his jeans and god awful Hawaiian shirt. He looked away from her, seeming to struggle with something within, before his stance became determined.
“Nothing,” he said, and started towards the door.
“Dammit, Xander. I love you,” she cried desperately, her decision not to beg thrown out the window as he started to walk away. He stopped dead, his shoulders starting to shake. He turned to look at her, the dark orbs of his eyes tortured.
“I love you, too. You and Jazz, more than anything. That’s why I can’t stay,” Xander explained, walking out the door and leaving her even more confused than ever. Cordelia stared at the closed door for a long time, an idea forming. She’d go talk to Spike. If anybody could get through to him, it would be the blonde. With that decided, she turned and started to clean up the table, never thinking that maybe Spike was in no position to help himself, much less her husband.
~*~*~
Spike stumbled around his father’s apartment, looking for the bottle he knew Rupert kept stashed. Giles had gone back to work at the gallery, working late the last few nights to catch up on the paperwork that Cordelia had left for his approval, so he had found himself left to his own devices. And his devices had left him with a hangover every morning this week. At least it gave him an excuse for the fuzziness that was a permanent part of his life now.
He walked over to his father’s bookcase, and noticed a book out of place. He pushed it out of the way and cried out in triumph. He stared at the bottle of scotch and smiled, twisting the cap off and taking a swallow.
“Ahh,” he sighed, smiling. His father sure had good taste, he thought with a chuckle. Taking another drink, he flopped into one of the leather chairs and threw a leg over the arm. Closing his eyes, he raised the bottle once more. He cracked one eye open when he heard the knock at the door.
“Whoissit?” he barked, the words stumbling together.
“Spike? It’s Dawn,” he heard, scowling he took another drink.
“Come in,” he growled. He really didn’t want the interruption, but if he knew Dawn, she wouldn’t go away unless he let her in. So, better to let her, and get rid of her as quick as possible. He turned blurry eyes on the girl that entered, his jaw dropping open at her attire. His shock permeated his drunken haze, and he suddenly realized that Nibblet wasn’t a little girl any more. The obviousness of it was staring him in the face. “What in the bloody hell are you wearing? Or not as the case may be,” Spike demanded, rising unsteadily to his feet.
“Not you too?” she glowered, walking further inside and shutting the door. She then walked over to the couch and sat down, the short skirt inching up even higher. Spike caught himself staring at the long expanse of leg that was exposed practically to her hip. His outrage was obviously NOT the reaction she had been looking for. When his eyes had first traveled over her limbs, she had felt a trill of excitement. It didn’t last too long, though.
“What ya mean ‘Not you too?'” he demanded, motioning with the bottle in his hand. “If you’re talking about big sis, I can’t say I blame her. Why the hell she let you walk out of the house like that is beyond me,” Spike told her, looming over her in such a way that made her heart trill. She rose fluidly to her feet, her body angling towards his. He was drunk enough not to notice the obvious body language. He just scowled at her darkly, his protective feelings towards her offended that she would dress in such a way.
“Buffy doesn’t tell me what to do,” she proclaimed. Spike highly doubted that. He remembered what a bossy little chit she had been.
“Right. Care to try again, Nibblet?” he asked, eyes widening when she brought a hand up to brush her thumb over his scarred eyebrow. Alarm bells started ringing in his alcohol hazed mind. The look on her face had finally registered, and he realized, she was a girl on a mission.
“Do we have to talk about Buffy?” Dawn asked, her voice soft. *Bugger,* Spike’s mind screamed. For the first time in months, he wished he hadn’t drunk so much. Maybe then he would be able to get a firm grasp on the situation, and handle it like the mature adult he supposedly was. “I missed you, so much,” she breathed, stepping just a little closer to him. His stunned mind blanked out, as panic set in. He couldn’t quite reconcile the image of the little girl he had left behind with this older, more mature version. He had been right in his first opnion of her. She WAS a looker.
“Dawn. . .” he started, an edge to his voice. Her warm, soft fingers pressed over his mouth, stilling what he might have said.
“Sh. I just wanted to see you. I know I was supposed to wait until you wanted to see me. But, I didn’t think that you wouldn’t want to. I am the bravest one, remember?” she teased. Spike managed to step back, his heart stuttering when she followed him. He stepped back again, losing his balance when the backs of his knees hit the chair he had been lounging in. The unexpected obstacle, the booze, and his still weak leg sent him tumbling back into the chair, Dawn right behind him. The feel of her body pressed intimately against his, and the press of her lips on his snapped his hazy brain into clarity with a quickness. His hands banded around her arms, pulling her away from him with more force than he had intended. He managed to clamor out of the chair, nearly knocking it over in his haste to get away from her. He backed up, watching her advancing on him like a cat.
“Nibblet. What are you doing?” he asked her, shaking his head to clear the last of the fog. His back hit the wall, and panic hit again.
“I just want to make you feel better,” Dawn said, pouting a little. Her hips swayed as she neared him, her perfume filling his nostrils. He had to repeat over and over in his mind that this was Dawn, his Nibblet. Not some cheap floozy that he might bed if he had the itch.
“You would make me feel better if you stopped, right now,” he practically begged. Her arms snaked around his neck, her slim, lithe body pressing against his once more. He actually whimpered as she did this, not from arousal as she perceived. But from fear.
“I can make you feel even better if I don’t,” she whispered, leaning in to cover his mouth with hers. His hands came up and gripped her wrists. His touch was gentle, his eyes dark as he looked at her, a soft smile curling his lip. She answered with her own smile, sighing as she moved to cover the distance between them.
Only to cry out as his fingers clamped tight around her wrists, forcing her arms from around his neck.
“Have you lost your bloody little mind?” he asked, voice harsh. She tried to pull away from him, wanting to get away from the look in his eyes.
“No, I just thought. . .”
“What? You just thought what?” he asked, pushing away from the wall and walking forwards, steering her towards the couch. “Just thought you’d come give Spikey a little taste of the virgin fruit?” he sneered, angrier with her than he had ever been. He steeled himself against the tears that rushed to her eyes.
“How do you know I’m a virgin?” she shot back. She shrank away from the look of utter rage that crossed his face.
“You better be,” he returned, his voice low and dangerous. He gave her a light shove and pushed her unceremoniously back onto the couch. “Don’t. Move,” he told her, stalking over to the phone, snatching it up and punching numbers with a force that spoke volumes of just HOW much she had pissed him off. Dawn glared daggers at his back, fighting off the tears that threatened to spill, feeling foolish. She knew who he was calling, and she stifled a groan. Buffy was so going to ground her.
~*~*~
Buffy’s eyes snapped open when the sound of the phone ringing split into her troubled sleep. Fumbling slightly, she leaned across the softly snoring form of Riley. Grabbing the receiver, she placed a hand on his chest to still him when she felt him shift.
“‘lo,” she mumbled, slipping out of bed and going in search of her robe. Finding it, she pulled it on, covering her nude body She then left the room, her bare feet silent on the carpet.
“Get your bloody arse over here and get your sister,” came the growling, slightly slurred British voice.
“Spike?” she clarified, confusion dripping from the word. “Dawn’s there? Why is Dawn there?” she asked, almost to herself.
“What’s she doing here?” Spike repeated, “Well, let me tell you, she’s here trying to put her newly found skills of seduction into play.” His voice was full of shock and dismay at this.
“WHAT!” Buffy exclaimed, immediately lowering her voice to avoid waking up Riley. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“She’s here, dressed like an upstanding citizen of the streetwalker society might I add, draping her nubile young body across me in hopes of enticing me into a bit of slap and tickle,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his clipped, accented voice. “That simple it up for you?” he finished, returning the furious glares being shot at him from the girl on the couch. Dawn’s cheeks were flamed in embarrassment, her face filled with hurt and anger. *Why did he have to call Buffy?* she asked herself. *It’s always about Buffy,* she though nastily. *Why couldn’t he ever notice HER?*
“Oh God. I’m on my way,” Buffy sighed, her eyes drifting closed.
“Fine,” he growled, hanging up before she could answer. With a sigh, Buffy turned off the phone and walked back into her bedroom, rooting around in the dark for some clothes. She was going to kick Dawn’s ass when she got a hold of her.
“Whassa matter?” Riley asked, his voice thick and tired.
“I have to go get Dawn,” she answered, pulling a T-shirt over her head then slipping a pair of loose shorts on.
“You want me to come with?” he asked, starting to get up.
“No, no. No need for both of us to lose sleep. This won’t take long. Just go back to sleep,” she told him, walking to the edge of the bed, and leaning down to brush a kiss over his lips.
“If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure,” she confirmed, smiling as he snuggled deeper into the covers. She straightened and shoved her feet into a pair of sneakers, grabbed her purse and keys off the dresser and left the room. All the while images of strangling Dawnie danced in her head.