Setting: End of S5, post-Intervention
Title: A Cup of Sugar
A/N: We need to indulge in a little canon-fudging: 1) Pretend Dawn's birthday is during this time period (I found no canon reference to her bday so I'm going with it) and 2) Imagine there's a little down time between when Spike takes a beating at Glory's hands and all the end-of-season craziness happens.
A Cup of Sugar
Buffy glared at the face through the kitchen door. “What the hell do you want, Spike?”
“Need to borrow a cup of sugar.”
“A cup of sugar? Go to the store and buy some like a good little chipped vamp.”
“But ‘m out of dosh, Slayer, and ‘sides the store is closed. If you want me to do a little B&E, though…”
She sighed. “No. Wait.” She was back in a moment. “What do you need sugar for? Is this some weird blood thing I don’t want to know about?”
“Pffshaw,” he scoffed. “Baking a cake.”
Buffy wrinkled her nose, staring at him, trying to figure out his game. She sighed. “You’re not baking a cake.”
“Am too!” he retorted.
“Are- Oh, for crying out loud. Spike, how on earth are you going to bake a cake without an oven?”
His crooked grin was sheepish. “Figured I’d be by later, ask to borrow yours.”
“You’re not going to get a new invitation that way!” she snapped, ignoring the absurdity of the situation and the air of adorableness he was trying to project. Stupid, evil vampire.
“I know. Don’t expect one. Thought I’d just stand out here and… direct.” He poked the mystical barrier with one finger, testing it.
Pinching the bridge of her nose to fend off the encroaching headache, Buffy said, “Why are you baking a cake?”
Spike eased away from the open door, suddenly skittish. “Just practicing,” he mumbled when she followed him down the stairs, repeating her question more forcefully.
Fed the hell up with her own personal stalker-vampire, Buffy knocked him to the ground, fist cocked for business, sugar spilling everywhere. “I don’t have time for your stupid games, Spike. Tell me now!”
His eyes flashed and his lips thinned in anger. “Fine, you bloody bitch, I was wanting to bake a cake because I thought it might help you out. Was trying to learn the recipe the Little Bit said your mum always used to make her birthday cakes, ‘n I figured what with you worrying about Glory and all you wouldn’t have the time for it!”
He was snarling now, and he bucked her off of him, cursing. “But no, the high’n’mighty Slayer could never believe Spike might want to be nice, be neighbourly-like, no, she’ll just knock him down and-”
Buffy grabbed him by the arm, fingers digging into the leather, halting his rant. “You were going to bake a cake for my sister? Out of the evilness of your heart?”
“Is that so hard to believe?” he glared at her.
Well, yes, Buffy started to say, but then she remembered Spike’s bruised and battered face, the pain in his eyes at the thought that she might get hurt, the surprised awe on his face when she’d kissed him, and it wasn’t so hard to believe after all. The hand restraining him grew gentler, more tentative, plucking at his coat.
“Spike.” She led him up the steps of the back porch. “Come in.”