“Are you over your desire for random bloodshed yet, or should I come back later?” Spike asked Dawn in a teasing voice, peeking his head around the door, waiting for her answer before he went all the way into the room.

She almost laughed aloud, in spite of herself, though she really wanted to hold onto her mad, was trying very hard to do so. “Not quite over it,” she replied with a shrug. “But you can join in on the bloodlust. You’ve got more experience with it than I do, anyway.”

“Maybe you should give the Whelp a break,” he suggested with a smile, as he came to it on the bed beside her. His stance was casual, non-confrontational; he didn’t want her to think he was trying to lecture her. “He looked bloody miserable out there.”

“He *should* be bloody miserable!” Dawn countered, echoing his wording without even thinking about it. Then, she *did* think about it, and smiled. “Emphasis on the blood.”

“Oh, come on, now, Bit,” he laughed softly, putting his arm around her shoulders. “Everyone makes mistakes. I should know.” He paused, looking off into space for a moment and frowning thoughtfully as he added in an ironic sort of tone, “Round here, mostly for the love of Buffy.” He looked back at her as he explained, “He thought he was protecting her – and you too, most likely, Bit.”

“*Protecting* me? From you?” Dawn was incredulous. “First of all – you’d never hurt me. Stupid Xander! He’s the one who’s scary! And secondly…” She looked him up and down in an exaggeratedly appraising expression as she smirked, “I could *so* kick your butt right now!”

“Could not!” he argued in a slightly offended sort of voice, but he was not really. The words had not been spoken in a mean-spirited way; Dawn was simply joking around with her friend. “Don’t know if you’ve noticed, Bit, but I’m feeling right better, you know. Not back up to top form just yet – but you better be careful, cause I can still take you on anytime!”

“Sure,” she scoffed, not unkindly, glancing sideways at him from her spot beside him on the bed, not moving a bit – suspiciously still, Spike thought suddenly – as the corner of her mouth began to twitch upward with her effort to suppress a secret smile. Then, suddenly, her fingers shot out, aiming for his ribcage.

He yelped out a helpless laugh, clumsily pushing her back as he tried to avoid her hands. “Hey, now! That’s not allowed, Niblet! No, cut that out, that doesn’t count!”

After a brief, chaotic struggle, they found themselves in a stand-off of sorts. She was reaching toward him to try to tickle him again, but he had caught her arms and was holding her back firmly, so that neither was actually moving at all, as their eyes met in a shared expression of laughter and challenge.

Dawn tried to pull away from him, but found herself unable to break the grip he had on her wrists. Blue eyes sparkling as he realized that he had gained the upper hand, Spike lowered his head in a mock-threatening way, his trademark smirk in place, a low playful growl rising in his throat.

Her eyes widened in surprise and she squealed in delighted childish panic, anticipating his return attack. “No! Don’t!” she laughed, meaning it and not meaning it both at the same time.

Though he was nowhere near his full strength yet, he *was* stronger than she was, and he slowly, dragging out the anticipation, brought her wrists together and held them in one hand, reaching with the other to tickle her mercilessly.

She screamed and twisted and fought to get away, laughing wildly, but his grip was too strong. Only when she was gasping for breath, tears streaming from her eyes, and her sides aching with laughter, did he finally release her, leaving her lying across the bed, breathing hard, still laughing as she tried to recover.

“Butthead,” she muttered through her laughter, once she was able to speak again, slapping at him weakly.

“Told you,” he replied with a smug note in his voice to match the triumphant smile on his face.

“You tricked me,” she accused him good-naturedly, then mimicked him sarcastically, “ ‘Oh, I’m weak and helpless and injured, go easy on me…oh, just kidding! Now that I’ve got you fooled I’m gonna *totally* kick your butt!”

He laughed. “Wasn’t a trick, pet,” he admitted quietly, smiling down at her. “Blame your big sis.”

She was confused for a moment, still finding complete rational thoughts difficult to form, before she realized his meaning and let out a little snort of teasing laughter. “Nice little side benefit you’ve got there,” she remarked with a smile. “Awesome supportive relationship, great sex, with a side of super-strength to go, please.”

He let out a little laugh in response to her joke…just before all of her words sank in and he did a little double-take, giving her a shocked look.

“What?” she demanded, sitting up and raising her hands in a questioning, defensive gesture. She rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically. “I’m not twelve, Spike,” she pointed out, giving him a look. “Please! Like you and Buffy don’t…” her words suddenly trailed off, as she shook her head slightly in surprise, her eyes widening at the expression on his face. “You mean you don’t…”

“No, I *don’t*!” he stated emphatically, standing up and taking a backward step away from her, shaking his head, holding his hands in front of him in an I-don’t-want-any-bloody-part-of-this sort of gesture. “I *don’t* plan on having this bloody conversation with you!” He stared down at her, still a little stunned, amazed by the girl’s nerve.

He wasn’t really angry, just shocked. But there was no way in the world he was going to discuss his and Buffy’s sexual relationship – or current lack thereof – with Buffy’s little sister, no matter how close he was to her.

The intimacy he had shared with Buffy in the giving and receiving of her blood was really the only intimacy they had experienced since he had come back. Oh, there had been plenty of slow, sensual kissing, whenever they could sneak it in actually, without making things *too* uncomfortable for Dawn or whoever else happened to be around.

But since that first time when they had seemed to be headed in that direction, right after Xander pulled the stunt that was the last straw for Buffy, and his shameful secret had come out, neither had initiated taking things any further than kissing again.

He knew why he hadn’t. He simply hadn’t been able to find the nerve. At first, he had simply not felt it appropriate considering what he had done to Buffy. Then, as he began to accept the fact that she genuinely was not holding it against him anymore, that became less and less of an issue.

The issue was his behavior that first night, when she had initiated it. He was terribly ashamed of himself when he remembered it, breaking down in tears like a child, ruining what could have been a passionate moment between them with his pathetic “issues”. A part of him was afraid of having a similar emotional reaction next time, and all of him was embarrassed at the thought of reminding Buffy of the last time – all of it adding up to his simply not feeling brave enough to make the first move with her anymore.

He could only guess at why Buffy hadn’t tried to start anything since then, either. Maybe she was also trying to avoid another such embarrassing little scene. Maybe, he thought with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, she was no longer attracted to him in that way after witnessing his pitiful display of weakness.

Or maybe, she was just trying not to push him before he was ready, restraining her own impulses toward pleasure and intimacy for his benefit. Of course, that option didn’t actually occur to Spike. He was fairly certain that whatever her reason was, it had something to do with his own failure to be what she needed.

Seeing her friend’s darkening expression, as all this flashed through his mind in a matter of moments, Dawn shrugged, keeping her expression and tone light. “Betcha didn’t plan on this either,” she announced, rising slowly from the bed and then suddenly lunging at him, hands outstretched to begin her counter-offensive.

And in a matter of moments, his mind was no longer contemplating the depths of his failure, but rather how he could gain the upper hand again in the delightful little battle with his infuriating, wonderful, wise-beyond-her-years friend, who always seemed to know just when to *make* him talk about it, and when to just distract him so thoroughly that he couldn’t think about his troubles anymore.


Buffy entered Dawn’s bedroom a few minutes later and stopped short in surprise at the sight before her. Spike lay sprawled across the bed, gasping for breath he didn’t need, one hand holding his stomach, aching from laughter. Dawn was slumped down in the wicker chair in the corner of her room, still fighting off giggles, gasping for breath she *did* need, as they tried to recover from their latest round.

Buffy’s eyebrows raised, and she smiled, asking mildly, “Do I even *want* to know?”

“Tickle fight,” Dawn explained simply.

“Oh,” Buffy nodded, accepting the explanation as perfectly natural and normal.

In this house, it was about as normal as it got.

“I’ve got an idea,” she said, smiling through warm, excited eyes at them both. “I don’t know about you guys, but I could really, *really* do with a night out.”

Dawn sat up a little straighter, interest in her eyes. “Keep going, I’m listening,” she remarked, grinning broadly.

Spike sat up on the bed again, looking at her with a guarded expression, not showing any reaction, good or bad, to her half-finished suggestion.

“I know you must be tired of just being inside all the time,” Buffy said to him with a little sideways shrug and a grimace of sympathy. “So I was thinking…how about we hit the Bronze? Just us three?”

“Yea!” Dawn squealed, getting up out of the chair. “I need to find something slutty to wear,” she breezed, heading for her closet.

“Yeah, and then you need to pick out something with stripes for the prison sentence that will follow,” Buffy shot back, eyebrows raised again, this time not so pleasantly.

At the exact same time, Spike said, “Over my cold pile of ashes, Niblet!”

Their eyes met and they both laughed. God, they were starting to feel like a real family, Buffy realized with a warmth spreading through her at the thought. It felt so nice.

“Ok. Nothing that screams ‘hooker’,” Dawn conceded with a sigh, browsing through the clothes in her closet.

“Let’s be ready to go in half an hour, okay?” Buffy told her, beckoning with her hand for Spike to follow her to her bedroom as she walked out the door.

He complied, but the moment they were out of Dawn’s room, his smile faded into a troubled, uneasy expression. Buffy caught it, but said nothing until they were in her room and she had firmly shut the door.

“What’s the matter?” she asked him, going to him immediately and wrapping her arms around his neck, looking up into his eyes with affection and concern.

“Oh it’s nothing, love,” he replied, not meeting her eyes, swallowing hard as he tried to keep his voice casual. “It’s just…’m not so sure I’m…up to this yet…you know?”

She nodded, holding his gaze solemnly. She did know what he meant. And she also knew that that was the very reason she needed to get him out of this house…soon. She knew that he had spent five long, brutal months inside Warren’s house, never leaving even for a moment, trapped. Then, even since they had rescued him two weeks ago, he had not left *her* house once. He had to know in his mind that he was not a prisoner, that he could leave anytime he wanted.

But she wasn’t so sure about his heart. Over the course of his ordeal, Spike had developed the attitude of a prisoner. Doing as he was told, when he was told, keeping his mouth shut…and staying put….all marks of his slavery, that he had maintained for the most part, even here.

Buffy just knew that getting him back out into the world, helping him to break through the fear that he had to have of it, now, after so long in isolation, would be key to his recovery – reminding him of all the things he’d missed out on for so long – all the things that could now be his again.

“I know,” she said softly. “But the thing is,” she kissed him softly, tempering her words with affection as she went on, “I think…if you don’t just make yourself get out there … you never *will* feel up to it, Spike.”

He sighed; deep down, he knew she was right. And he really couldn’t understand the reasons behind the sick, anxious feeling that had come over him when she had mentioned her idea. Why should he be afraid to go outside? There was nothing to be afraid of anymore!

There wasn’t. There *wasn’t*.

Why couldn’t he just feel sure? he wondered in painful frustration. The person he had been before wouldn’t have been afraid at the thought of a night at the Bronze. In fact, the Bronze would have seemed a bit tame for his taste.

She was right, he decided suddenly. He had to just force himself to get out there again. Once he did, he would see for himself that it was all right, it was safe, it was okay for him to *live* again.

“You’re right, love. Maybe a good time is just the thing.” he said, a note of resolve in his voice as he looked at her with determination. “Let’s go.”