A/N: For convenience’s sake, the house that was for sale when Buffy and Joyce moved in the show is also for sale now. :)

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Chapter 31 - Adjustments

Buffy sat in the front seat of the U-haul that her mother had rented, looking out the window and watching the trees and buildings pass by.

“Doesn’t this look nice?” Joyce said as they entered the city limits.

There was a painted sign that read: Welcome to Sunnydale.

Welcome to the Hellmouth is more like it, Buffy thought.

“Honey?”

“Yeah. Um, it looks great.”

And it did. American suburbia. Nice houses, shops, restaurants, a campus somewhere. It certainly didn’t look like the demon refuge Wesley claimed it to be. Of course, it wouldn’t, now would it? If people had any idea, they would have left long ago. Though Wesley had said that the citizens of Sunnydale had an unspoken awareness that something was not quite right in their town. But it wasn’t something that people talked about.

Buffy had only seen pictures of the house that Joyce had purchased. It didn’t really bother her that this was the first time she’d be in it. The house she had grown up in had been sold, and the new place would really end up being her mother’s house. There was no telling how long Buffy herself would live there. Not that she had any immediate plans, but she didn’t intend to be one of those girls who lived with her mother until she was thirty.

It was a three-bedroom house in a nice neighborhood, with a painted exterior and a fair-sized back yard. Buffy picked the bedroom with a tree outside the window for herself, as there was no telling exactly when her Slayer duties would take her out and about. She didn’t intend to do much sneaking around, but it never hurt to be prepared. There was also a basement. She wasn’t quite sure why she felt like that was a good thing, but she did. Maybe she could train down there or something.

She hung back when the movers began unloading furniture, privately thinking that Slayer strength could get it done in half the time. Instead, she wandered around the house, mentally adjusting to rooms and wondering how everything would look. As the smaller items came out, Buffy and Joyce began moving them around and putting boxes into the appropriate rooms.

Almost eight hours later, they were back on the road to L.A. to return the U-haul and get the last things packed up in their cars.

While driving back to Sunnydale, Buffy’s mind drifted to Spike.

She had only seen him once since the night that she’d made the deal. Her Slayer senses had told her that he was never far behind, a fact that she had lied to Wesley about. She hadn’t felt good about it, but hadn’t really seen a way around it.

It had been late one night after patrol that Spike had stepped out of an alley several blocks away from Wesley’s office.

“Want to go a round, pet?”

They had fought, and reluctant as Buffy was to admit it, Spike had completely and totally beaten her. They had started out slow, but he had progressively gotten rougher as they continued, and every time he could have taken her, she could see him mentally calculating a score sheet.

Eventually, after he’d had his fun—because he was clearly having fun—she’d ended up pinned once again, her back against the pavement and Spike on top of her.

“So pet,” he said conversationally, still in game face, “How’re you?”

“I’ve been better.”

“You’re getting better,” he agreed. “Watcher teaching you something useful?”

“Routines. Techniques.” She writhed under him.

“Ah ah. We’re not done yet.” He leaned in. “How ’bout another payment?”

“Once we get to Sunnydale.”

“I’ve been followin’ you, and not been botherin’ the Watcher.”

“Like you wouldn’t have been following me anyway.”

“Point.”

“You get more blood when you’ve actually done something. When you’re working.”

“Fine.” He stood up. “You figure out a nice payment plan. I’ll be lookin’ you up first thing when I get to old Sunnyhell.”

Buffy snapped out of her thoughts as the Sunnydale sign once again came into view. Since the night that she had almost died thanks to anonymous vampire number one, Buffy had been more careful. She didn’t take anything for granted.

(“Never take anything for granted. They took for granted that you’d be easy,” Spike’s voice from long ago echoed in her head.)

She had been taking things for granted, slightly, before. She was the Slayer. She had powers, strength, she was chosen to fight. So she should win, right? It was like a hero thing.

Apparently not, since every other Slayer had kicked it in barely a few years.

Which meant that she had to be smarter, tougher, better. She had been paying strict attention to Wesley’s techniques, instead of relying solely on brute strength and reflexes. She’d spent nearly all her free time training with him or working out, with the goal in mind to improve as much as possible on her own before she started in with Spike in Sunnydale.

She no longer assumed that any vampire would be easy, even if they were crawling out of their graves. And the next vampire around the corner could be a week old, or as old as Spike, as tough as Spike.

Spike. He could kill her. She knew he could. The fact that he wasn’t going to wasn’t much of a comfort, Slaying wise. If he could, then there were other vampires that could. Old ones. Like the ones running the Hellmouth.

She had to be better, get better. She had to be able to beat them all.

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They had gotten back to the new house late. Neither Buffy nor Joyce unpacked their cars, and Buffy had gone to sleep completely exhausted on a bare mattress, with only a blanket for linens. The next three days were spent unpacking boxes, and as Buffy came across her weapons that had been carefully wrapped in clothing and tucked into the bottom of her things, she realized that she should probably go meet her Watcher.

She had the address written down from Wesley. Mr. Giles owned a magic shop downtown and had been doing business there for some years, all the while keeping reports on the Hellmouth for the Council.

It was Monday morning, and her mother had gone to the gallery to get things set up and meet the staff. Buffy herself had to go by the college that morning, though she had been assured by Wesley that everything was in order, despite her late entry. All she had to do was get her schedule and booklist for the next semester. Most of the campus was shut down by now, but there would still be people around the admissions office for the intersession classes. She supposed she could go by the magic shop after she hit the university.

Until then, she had a little research to do.

Buffy booted up her mother’s laptop and plugged it into the phone line. She typed ‘donating blood’ into the search engine.

After looking online for half an hour, she felt somewhat more informed, yet still at a loss.

The average adult human body had about ten pints of blood. One pint was taken in donation, and people could donate every eight weeks. There were detailed amounts and times for the replenishing of plasma, red blood cells, and iron. But the ‘just plain blood’ blood seemed to replenish in a few weeks, from what she could tell. Drink lots of fluids and you may experience momentary dizziness.

Buffy sighed. It wasn’t like she was going to find LettingVampiresDrinkFromYou.com, but still— Besides, with the whole Slayer healing thing, she was sure she would replace her lost blood much faster than that. However much Spike had taken before, she hadn’t felt any adverse effects the next day. Would a vampire be able to tell how much a pint was? Of course, just because donations only took a pint didn’t mean a person couldn’t lose more and be okay, especially a Slayer-type person.

Spike at least knew when to stop, she supposed; he had the time before.

Buffy sighed again. She wondered exactly what part of her brain had decided it was a good idea to pay a vampire to watch her back. With her own blood, which by all accounts was like some sort of drug for the undead.

The part of your brain that wants to live, she answered. And it’s not like it’s just any vampire. It’s Spike. Spike I-was-on-the-way-to-being-in-love-with-you-Spike.

Still, that did nothing to squish the ick factor or the ouch factor. Biting hurt, Buffy decided.

Glancing at the clock, she went to get dressed. Time to face the music.

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Spike packed up the duffel bag and hooked it to the back of his bike. There was little in the apartment he needed besides clothing and a few personal affects. He locked the door behind him and was gone.

Hitting a bar on the outskirts of the city, he downed a couple of drinks and then surveyed his surroundings in a single glance. There was a busty brunette woman down the bar who had been casting him looks since he entered. An inviting smile and a raised eyebrow, and she followed him out back.

She turned to face him, and he brushed his lips across hers before working his way down her neck. A practiced hand found her mouth to cover the scream as he tore into her throat.

Spike drank slow, making it last. It would be the last kill he would get for a while.

He was a vampire of his word, after all.

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A/N: A huge thank you to whoever nominated me at the Spuffy Awards Round 14! I'm up for Best General Saga, General Excellent Author, Best General Angst, and Best General Romance. Thank you so much! I'm thrilled people are enjoying the story so much.