An Englishman in New York

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Buffy woke to the sound of warm laughter as it filtered into the family room from the kitchen. Her sister’s soft giggle was accompanied by her mother’s almost husky laugh and Spike’s occasional throaty chortle.

A soft smile curving her lips, she climbed off the couch, rubbing her bleary eyes as she shuffled into the kitchen. Glancing at the clock, she realized that it was nearly eight o’clock, which meant it felt like midnight to her. Thankfully, she was more of a night owl, and her nap had helped.

“It lives!” Dawn announced gleefully as her older sister entered the kitchen. She flung herself out of her chair and tackled Buffy in a warm hug.

Smiling while she watched her daughters embrace, Joyce moved to the stove to make more hot chocolate. “You look good, honey. I’m glad you finally gained some weight back.”

Spike gave a sympathetic smile when Buffy’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and he said, “I think she’s perfect the way she is.” A moment later, he regretted his words, for he realized that Dawn was looking at him with a rather impish grin. “Err, you know, gotta have a roommate who knows how to put away the food. It’s like a contest between us – ow!”

Buffy grinned deviously, having released Dawn and whacked him in the back of the head for his comments, though which ones she had punished him for, she wasn’t entirely certain herself.

“Buffy!” Joyce scolded, shaking her head in amusement. It was so obvious to her that Spike was wholly in love, and that her daughter, while she may not be as attached to her roommate, was definitely fond of him – and not in the typical way of good friends and drinking buddies.

“Ooops,” the younger blonde said with feigned remorse. “I guess I just don’t know my own strength.”

“Rot!”

“Spike knows the coolest words!” interrupted Dawn. “He says ‘bloody’ and ‘bugger’ and ‘wanker’ and… what’s the other one?”

“Ponce?” Buffy offered, having mastered the language that was Bizarre English Slang in the months she’d known him.

“That was it!”

“My personal favorite was dunderhead,” quipped Joyce as she began removing various dishes from the oven.

Buffy was perplexed when Spike shot to his feet to help her mother with the chicken, and she nearly had a heart attack when Dawn hurriedly set the table. She wanted to impress Spike, she realized, and a twinge of jealousy shot through her.

Bad, stupid Buffy; she’s just a kid!

Finally, with the hot chocolate prepared and the food plated, the four sat down to eat. After too many meals in the cafeteria, alternated with various meals from the local diners and fast food joints, Buffy and Spike found Joyce’s home cooking nearly orgasmic; Dawn blushed faintly each time Spike groaned at the taste of it, and Buffy kicked her sister under the table for ogling him one too many times.

Light conversations were carried out for short lengths of time; Joyce volunteered little about the goings on in her gallery, for she was fixated on the welfare and happiness of her children, among whom Spike was now included.

For his part, Spike was delighted by everything he saw, heard, smelled, and tasted. The part of him he tried his best to ignore – the insufferable romantic part – wondered if Buffy would look anything like her mother when she was in her forties, and if any children she might have would look like Dawn. He immediately stamped such thoughts down; it was useless to think about the future.

Spike and Buffy cleaned the dishes while Joyce and Dawn put the leftover food away and folded the laundry, and Buffy secretly imagined that things were different, that she and Spike were there as a couple and – bad Buffy! Shaking her head, she forced herself to think of Riley. Sweet, normal, boring Riley, who found her fascination with vampires and urban myths strange; gentle, unimaginative Riley, who was so by-the-book that he made even Willow, the queen of studying, seem rebellious. Gah!

After the dishes were put away and a third pot of hot chocolate made, the ever-watchful Joyce noted Dawn’s nearly constant yawning. “Go on up to bed, sweetie,” she ordered gently.

“But Mom –”

“Don’t, ‘But Mom,’ me,” she chided, handing Dawn a mug of hot chocolate to take with her. “Buffy and Spike will be here for two weeks.”

“Go on, bit,” Spike pressed. “Mind your mum.”

After she decided that if someone as cool as Spike thought she should go to bed, she would, Dawn finally sighed with resignation and pushed to her feet, stopping to hug her mother, sister, and Spike on her way upstairs. “Goodnight,” she called.

“Cute kid,” Spike commented as he lit a cigarette.

“Annoying kid,” Buffy corrected.

“Buffy…” Joyce warned good-humoredly.

“Okay, okay, she is cute.”

“Course she is,” said Spike, “she looks like her big sis and her mum. How could she be anything but cute?”

“Flatterer.” Joyce was fairly beaming when she passed around mugs of steaming hot chocolate.

Buffy couldn’t help but notice how much her mother seemed to like Spike; she had never liked Angel, not even when she had gotten to really know him. She sighed, momentarily lost in her thoughts as she sipped her cocoa.

“Thinkin’ about somethin’, pet?” Spike asked with concern, causing Joyce to stop smiling for the first time since they’d arrived.

“Buffy?”

“No, it’s okay,” she answered automatically. “It’s just really good to be home.”