Chapter Text
Dusk had settled over Sunnydale when Buffy slipped out the kitchen door. She sat down on the porch steps, grateful to have found a moment to herself amidst the chaos that was her household these days, and sighed. She clutched at the quote from Xander's plumber buddy, glaring right back up at her with more zeros than she'd ever seen in her life. The urge to crush the piece of paper into pulp was strong.
Alright, all she needed was a pep talk. She'd been through worse shit before, hadn't she? So, the basement was flooded. That was barely end of the world material. And, okay, maybe the bills were piling up, and Dawn was in Angsty Teen Puberty overdrive, and she had no job or qualifications outside of a high school diploma, and her friends had managed to quite literally drag her into a living hell…
Wait, where exactly had she been going with this?
Before she could get back to her lacklustre motivational speech, a shiver spidered down her neck. Her body tensed, ready to spring towards the approaching vampire, and then Spike appeared from the bushes at the bottom of the yard.
“Jesus,” he yelped, nearly dropping a stack of books he had tucked under one arm. “What are you doing here, Slayer?”
Buffy stifled her laughter under a frown. “Um, I live here. I should be asking you that question.”
Spike rolled his eyes as he dropped down next to her on the stairs, so careful to leave an empty space between them.
“Yeah, I meant more specifically why are you skulking about in your back garden.”
“Oh you know,” she said with a shrug. “Just sitting here under the crushing weight of debt and responsibility. The usual.”
“Got another bill, then?”
She handed him the quote, and his eyebrows lifted towards his hairline.
“Pipes busted in the basement. Turns out plumbing is a pretty lucrative career path.”
“You don't say.” He passed the piece of paper back to her. “I'm sure ol’ Rupes would be happy to help with the cost, you know.”
“Maybe.” Or, maybe he'd realize her weight was too much to bear, much like her father had, or Riley. Or Angel, for that matter.
Okay, another not so great line of thought here…
“But, you know,” she said, sweeping all of that back under the rug along with everything else, “he's already helped so much since he got back. I'd feel bad for asking.”
“I don't reckon he'll be all that bothered.” Spike tilted his head. “But if you don't feel comfortable asking him, I could cover this one.”
Buffy raised an extremely sceptical eyebrow at him. “You? You have money?” When Spike looked affronted, she continued, “Okay, and what totally-not-evil way did you come into this small fortune?”
For a moment it looked as though Spike was going to vehemently defend himself, but then his gaze fell to his feet. “Never you mind where I got it from.”
“That's what I thought,” she said triumphantly. “I don't want your ill-gotten gains, Spike.”
He stood up then, sharply enough that it managed to startle Buffy.
“Suit yourself. But if you change your mind, you know where to find me.” He headed towards the kitchen door, waving the books he'd brought with him. “Just dropping these off for Dawn before she heads over to the Harris household for the night.”
A guilty pang shot through Buffy's chest. Dawn had already made double sure that she knew just how much Spike had looked after her over the summer, and here he was showing up for her family once more. Of all the men in her life, it sure as hell wasn't the evil soulless monster at the bottom of the trustworthiness scale.
“Look, if you wanna help, maybe come kill some stuff with me on patrol later?”
Spike froze halfway over the threshold, and for one manic second Buffy thought maybe Willow had just recast the dis-invitation spell.
“Uh, not tonight. Got a thing on.”
“A thing?” she repeated, very much ignoring the flutter of disappointment in her stomach. “What thing?”
“I have a life outside of your little Scooby gang, you know.”
She snorted. “Sure.”
Spike dumped the books on the kitchen counter just inside the door and turned on his heel.
“Look, just let Dawn know I brought her the books she needs for her English Lit homework, yeah?”
And he disappeared into the darkness again.
***
The cemetery was, appropriately enough, pretty dead. She hadn't been anticipating much action - the Hellmouth seemed to have cooled off a little after Glory's run through town - but dusting a couple of newbie vamps would have been nice. Along with some company…
God, she was so not wishing Spike was here right now. It was just, you know, weird that he'd turned down an offer to follow her around for the night. It was a good thing, though. An easy way to keep him at arm's length. Or to ignore how spending time with him kept eroding the foundations of her worldview from beneath her feet.
Buffy tossed her stake from one hand to the other as she weaved through rows of headstones.
It was just suspicious, is all. Spike was knee-deep in some evil scheme, and he was sneaking around somewhere trying to hide it. It wasn't even like he would have been particularly good company. Spike was annoying, and arrogant, and had stupid hair, and really blue eyes, and broad shoulders, and…
Woah, okay, that was getting wildly off topic.
She stopped suddenly. While she'd been too distracted by her own thoughts, her legs - stupid, traitorous, bad legs - had walked her towards Spike's crypt all on their own.
What exactly was the plan here? Go snooping through his stuff for clues to his whereabouts? Sit around and wait for him to get back from whatever his stupid thing was?
The truth of it was that since returning from an early grave, Spike was the only person she could be around and feel… normal. Not normal in the sense of An Ordinary Girl With A Nine-to-Five, but normal as in herself. No expectations, no judgements. Just a chance to take off the mask and know that what lay underneath would never be used against her.
Before she could make any truly dumb decisions, the door to the crypt swung open. Buffy reflexively ducked for cover, hiding behind the base of a weeping angel statue. When she peeked around the corner, she caught sight of Spike slinking away into the night, throwing a few cautious glances over his shoulder.
Well, now she had to go after him. It was her duty as the Slayer.
She followed as he left the cemetery and skirted through the back streets of town, taking care to stay downwind and far enough away to avoid Spike sensing her presence. Eventually he stopped outside a door in an alleyway, lit overhead by a single exposed bulb, and knocked. A large flappy demon answered the door and, after exchanging a few words, handed Spike a black duffle bag.
Okay, this was good. This was the stable ground she’d been looking for. Spike helping to pay her bills and babysit her little sister raised too many uncomfortable questions. Spike making shady deals with a monster? That made things way easier.
“You are so busted, mister,” she muttered to herself.
She trailed him as he left the alley, and before long, Buffy realized they’d entered the UC Sunnydale campus. They meandered around courtyards and dorms, until Spike slipped inside one of the more modern looking lecture buildings. Buffy watched him from behind a palm tree, hanging back momentarily to remain undetected, before entering the building herself.
She stalked the labyrinth of hallways, straining for Spike's presence and tamping down on the weird mix of nostalgia and heartache that had been stirred up the moment she'd stepped back into a previous life.
After about fifteen minutes, she was starting to seriously wonder if Spike had somehow developed the ability to teleport when she finally caught wind of him, just outside a classroom door.
Well, that was kind of concerning…
The door swung open quietly as she stepped inside, and then there he was.
Buffy stood utterly bewildered. Spike had apparently changed at some point - a shirt and tie under a navy V-neck paired with slate grey slacks - and washed some of the gel out of his hair, and wait, since when did he have curls?
“Yes, fantastic point, Kathy. British Romanticism was a rebellion of sorts, against industrialization and counter-revolutionary action from the govern…ment…”
His words trailed off as he at last noticed Buffy creeping in the doorway, and even though she knew it was impossible, she could have sworn Spike turned a charming shade of pink.
“Okay, how about we take our break a little early?” he said, suddenly regaining his composure. “Go get yourselves caffeinated and we'll reconvene in about ten minutes.”
The students ebbed out of the classroom, chattering amongst themselves, and Buffy stomped her way towards Spike with her arms folded across her chest.
“What the hell are you doing here, woman?” he growled.
“Will you stop asking me that before I can?” she countered. “What are you doing at my old school, Spike?”
He gestured at himself with open arms. “What does it look like I'm doing?”
“Um, well it looks like you snuck onto a college campus to cosplay as Giles.”
“Oi.”
Buffy threw her hands up. “So, what? You're a professor now?” Her eyes widened. “Wait, is this how you were gonna pay the plumbing bill?”
Spike set his jaw and looked towards the ceiling. “I'm part-time teaching faculty. And yes as it happens.”
“And what about the lying and the sneaking and the big demon handing you a sketchy bag of stuff?”
“Oh, that's just my poker buddy, Clem,” he said dismissively. “He holds onto my change of clothes for me. In case some nosy bint decides to insert herself into my business.”
“So you're here, totally legit, under the university's progressive vamp hiring policy,” Buffy said flatly.
Spike reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked to be a very real staff ID card, proclaiming him to be a member of the English department.
What was happening right now?
“But you're… you're not even remotely qualified for this!”
“I bloody well am,” he snapped. A couple of students wandered back into class, takeout coffee cups in hand. “Look, I will let you ask as many questions as you like after I'm done here, but I need you to leave.”
“What? No, I'm not going anywhere.” She lowered her voice. “As if the Slayer is just gonna leave a vampire unattended with a room full of people. What if you try to eat someone?”
She regretted the words as soon as they'd left her mouth, even without the flash of hurt behind Spike's eyes.
“Chip, remember?” he said, tapping at his temple. “And even if I wanted to, I'm not about to use this gig as an all you can eat buffet.”
She huffed angrily, not really sure why she was still scrambling for an excuse to stay.
“Okay, fine. But guess what? Your class just got an auditor.”
She grabbed the nearest chair and dropped herself behind a desk.
Spike sighed deeply. “Great. Stay, then. But you've got to let me at least cover the plumbing.”
Something warm and golden and way too complicated pooled in her chest.
“Deal.”