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Second, Stock the Shelves



“I don’t shave, Pet.” Spike pulls the shaving cream can from out of the shopping basket and plunks the metal container back on the shelf amongst the other products.



I snatch the can back and thrown it in the so-far empty cart. “I know, I know. The dead don’t need to shav. . .”



“Undead,” he corrects me for the millionth time.



“The *undead* don’t need to shave. But you need it. We’re trying to make it look like you’ve been living with us for a while.”



Spike crosses his arms and follows me up the aisle, pausing as I stop to peruse the razors. I’ve never bought guy razors before.



“He’s not going to buy it, you know.”



If I’m not allowed to control whether I’m alive or dead, I’m determined to control whether I get to keep my sister. “He *will*. That’s why we’re at the grocery store, shopping for you some stuff.”



“Yeah, and I almost died in the process of getting into this bloody place. . . *in the middle of the daytime*.”



Spike punctuates his complaint by throwing his ratty old blanket into the shopping cart. At least, he’s stopped burning. We don’t have time for him to be a fire hazard.



I bite my lip as I try to decide between a package of two razors and one of three. I’ve never been good at figuring out which size package of the same product is cheaper. “If you’re going to help us, you have to pick things you like.”



Spike rolls his eyes. “I *don’t* like razors and shaving cream.” He reaches for my hand before I drop the package of two razors in the cart. “Save your money for more important things, pet.”



I shake off his touch, pushing down the confusing feelings I have every time he’s gentle with me. As usual, I cover up the emotions, “Think what we can do with them later.”



Spike growls and moves in closer so that his breath laves over my ear, sending tingles down my spine, “What do you have in mind?”



Proud that I’m able to ignore Spike so well, I circle the cart to the next aisle and study the condoms, running my fingernail over my lower lip in thoughtful contemplation. “So many to choose from. Hmmm. Which are cheap but look like a good brand?”



Spike snorts and attempts to circle his arms around my waist. “Since when do we need contraceptives? I’m dead, remember? That means all my little swimmers are dead, too.”



“*Undead*, I believe is the correct term,” I say as I expertly step out of the potential embrace and flip over a condom box to read the back. “And if you and I are going to be ‘good ‘role models’ for Dawn, we have to demonstrate the practice of safe sex.”



“Demonstrate, eh? Wouldn’t that actually make us *bad* ‘role models’? I mean, not that I mind being thought of that way, but c’mon. Even I know that’s a little over the top. Look at what Angelus and Darla did to poor Dru when they role modeled in front of her.”



I wrinkle my nose and toss a box next to the razors I chose. “I so *don’t* want to know what you’re talking about. And by the way, these condoms are for display only.” At Spike’s look, I add, “In case Mr. Hel-mouth asks. . . or takes a look in the cabinets.”



“Ah. And if he doesn’t, what will you do with the extra condoms then?” Spike leans forward possessively, a trace of jealousy in his voice. . . as if I even have time to date what with the slaying and coping with being alive in general.



Dawn comes skipping around the corner then, and I elbow Spike backwards. He grunts softly, and I fasten my hands tightly around the handle of the shopping cart as he hovers near me momentarily and then backs off.



“So, Dawnie, what’d ya find?” I ask with forced brightness.



Dawn dumps an armload of food and other stuff from her hand-held basket into the large one with the shaving goods. She points to each item with her undamaged arm as she speaks. “Well, there’s cereal, more bread and meat for sandwiches, chips, popcorn, granola bars, peanut butter, a few other things, . . . and cigarettes. . . that you have to smoke outside cause well, eww.”



“How much are those cigarettes?” I ask, snagging the carton from Dawn’s fingers and taking the opportunity to slide the razor package over the condom box. No need for Dawn to get any ideas she shouldn’t have yet.



“Expensive,” Spike interrupts. “We won’t be needing these.”



“But you like this kind. I remember,” Dawn protests. I wonder how she knows what cigarettes Spike prefers.



“I haven’t smoked these since. . . .” he trails off, glancing at me before staring away at nothing.



“Since before I died,” I finish for him. Before my stomach was filled with the hollowness of desire; now it’s filled with hunger for the calm and peace of death. I close my eyes and sway with the sudden overwhelming longing for eternal sleep. Neither of them can understand, and I hope they never will until it can’t be taken from them. Well, at least, that’s how I feel about my sister. Spike’ll probably end up in some hell dimension somewhere, enduring some eternal torture.



Trying to be a peacemaker for once, Dawn scoops the proverbial elephant-in-the-room from my hands and tosses it onto a nearby shelf between two bottles of Herbal Essences shampoo.



“Okay,” she says with something akin to a forced smile. “Don’t we need to go by Spike’s crypt and grab clothes and stuff now?”



“Yeah!” Spike is now enthused. “And to the butcher’s to get me some blood.”



“He can keep it behind the can of pig’s feet that Xander hid in the back of the fridge. It’s so old that even Mr. Hel-ish won’t wanna look back there.”



“Well, I dunno bout that, Nib.” Spike casts her a grin, and I marvel at the brother-sister-esque chemistry between them. Why hadn’t I noticed before today? “Not sure I’d want to look behind it either. Then, what’ll you do with a ravenous walking vampire skeleton? Might not be to good to look at around the house, and you know I’d scare away all your little school girl friends.”



“Ewww. I’ll just hide you in the closet when I invite people over. That should do it. Either that or I’ll tell them that you’re my wrinkly old grandfather who’s demented.”



Dawn shrieks and jumps back as Spike makes a fake grab for her. “Better watch it, little miss, or someone will eat you while you sleep.”



“Ha! You can’t! You have that chi. . .” Dawn dissolves in a fit of giggles as Spike tickles her ribs, and she almost stumbles into the shelves of band-aids behind her, her cast knocking several of the almost weight-less boxes to the floor.



The muscles in my face barely recognize one of my as-of-late rare genuine smiles. I clear my throat and tap my watch to get their attention. “Let’s go, you two. We’re on a timetable here. We’ll figure something out for the blood.”



The brightness drains from Spike’s face as he resumes his nonchalant slouch, and Dawn gives me a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”



God, am I always such a downer lately?



* * *



“This makes absolutely no sense whatsoever.”



“What doesn’t, Dawnie?” I ask, shifting the cardboard box from the surprisingly dust-free floor of Spike’s crypt to my right hip.



My little sister tugs down on the edge of the box I’m holding and emits an essential repeat of her protest after Tara moved out, “We have to get rid of all the candles in the house and tons of mom’s stuff, and now Spike gets to bring in his candles?”



I shrug. “That was when Willow was living with us.”



“Yeah, two days ago.” Dawn spreads her legs and cocks up one hip, topping it with her fist.



“That was before you came up with your plan to fool the new social worker. And before Willow decided to move out for a little while.”



“And now we can’t get our stuff back,” Dawn whines.



I’m starting to realize that she’s doing an awful lot of whining lately. . . something she never used to do. I wish she’d stop.



But instead of saying anything to her, I try to placate her. “Look, we can’t. But, at least you’ll get to borrow some of Spike’s,” I say, blowing a strand of hair out of my eyes. “Get busy. You’re supposed to be emptying Spike’s fridge.”



“I already finished.” Dawn points to another box in the shadows under Spike’s window. “There wasn’t much in it, and Spike won’t let me help him downstairs. I don’t know why; it’s not like I haven’t seen everything down there before.”



I fight to keep the flush of embarrassment from staining my cheeks. I know for a fact that the last time I was here, I left behind at least one torn negligee. Can’t have Dawn finding that. “Well, you know. It is his space.”



Dawn makes a noise of annoyance. “Not like I’ll have my own any time soon. Gonna be weird having a vampire camped out on my bedroom floor.”



Slinging his box onto the main floor, Spike walks silently up the ladder from the lower level of his crypt. “Never complained about it last summer, Bit.”



Now it’s Dawn’s turn to blush as my eyes widen. She studies the ground and tries to gain my understanding, “He was watching over me. I had a lot of nightmares after. . .”



My gaze shifts away from her wide eyes, and she shuffles her feet uncomfortably. I’m not sure what Spike’s doing. I do everything in my power to fight the tears that are threatening to surface. They know I’m in pain, but they don’t need to know how much.



To avoid the discussion that seems to keep coming up at unexpected times, I duck my head and pick up a stray pair of Spike’s jeans that’s been balled up in a corner of the crypt. Brushing off the spider webs that have accumulated on the denim, I surreptitiously glance at my sister and my lover who are hastily going opposite directions and following the change in conversation I’ve invoked.



My sister is attempting to pull her long dark hair into a loose bun at the nape of her neck with her one working arm, and Spike is picking lint off of his recliner, his blond hair a light against the afternoon shadows of his crypt. He really can be an okay guy when he doesn’t open his mouth too much. Maybe he can change. Maybe he is an enigma among vampires. Maybe the chip did something to his brain chemistry. . . something for the good.



I shake my head. I can’t keep letting myself lower my guard. . . lower the walls of my heart. Gotta remember that he’s evil. He’s not like soulful Angel who slept on my floor and never touched me. Spike’s capable of anything, and if he can do what I let him do to me, who knows what all he’s filled Dawn’s head with.



“Maybe Spike better sleep in Mom’s room,” I suggest under my breath. I know both sets of ears in the room have heard me.



* * *



“This is *so* not going to work.”



“Sure it will. Just do this. . . and. . . move this. . .”



I hear Dawn and Spike’s words as I’m trying to empty half a can of shaving cream into the bathroom sink. I remind myself that the goal is to make it look like Spike has been living here a while. Hence, we’ve been emptying bottles of all sorts of stuff, including aftershave, ketchup, and whiskey. Now I’m working on the shaving cream. Dawn and Spike sent me out of the room. . . my bedroom. . . while they take a stab at cramming Spike’s wardrobe in next mine. They said I would just slow things down.



But damn it! It’s my closet!



Setting the shaving cream aside, I flick the extra foam from my hand and try to scratch the itch in my nose with my one clean finger. “What’s going on in there?” I shout.



“Nothing, Buffy!” Dawn shouts back, her voice slightly muffled because she’s in my closet.



“Be careful!” I return to my shaving cream task, turning on the water to try to get the mountain of foam in the sink to disappear faster. I crinkle my nose up and down because it’s still itching.



Then, I hear something crash that sounds suspiciously like something big and probably something valuable. This time, I don’t wait for an explanation.



I dash down the hall and burst into my room to view the damage.



My eyes must be huge, and I must look pissed because Spike and Dawn look like two deer caught in headlights.



“What the *hell* are you two doing?”



“Hanging up Spike’s clothes?” Dawn asks weakly, shrugging her shoulders.



Rubbing my nose vigorously and not caring that I now have shaving cream all over my face, I rush forward and pick up the clothes rack that’s fallen out of place, dumping my carefully hung clothes all over the floor amidst Spike’s things. . . laid out for the world to see.



Can’t have that, can I?



“Damn it! We don’t have time for this.” I pull up the broken rod, attempting to keep as many of my clothes in place as I can. Hurrying forward, I jam the pole back into the closet. Spike and Dawn just stare at me. “Come on! Get your clothes in there! And good god, some of this is dirty! Don’t you ever do laundry?”



The doorbell rings before Spike can respond.



I run toward the stairs as Spike and Dawn step up the pace of their reluctant movements. My legs fly down the stairs, and I barely pick up Dawn’s mumbles, “No way he’s gonna believe us now.”



Spike’s British grumble adds, “No way he’s gonna believe Buffy and I both sleep on that little bed.”



“Well, if you snuggle real clo. . .”



I even have my little sister talking about Spike and me. . . if she only knew the real status of our relationship, she wouldn’t be joking about it like that!



Inhaling deeply, I straighten my shoulders and fling the front door open, plastering the fake smile back on my face. I’m getting really good at the fake smile thing. For some reason, that doesn’t bother me at the moment.



“Hello, Mr. Helmunde.”



I didn’t think Mr. Helmunde could be grumpier than he was on his first visit, but he definitely is. He must not like emergencies. I mentally cross my fingers and hope that he won’t find any surprises upstairs.



He doesn’t even bother with a greeting. “Miss Summers. You need to clean up your face. What *is* that stuff all over it?”



Oh, no. The shaving cream!



I rush to the downstairs bathroom and take in my appearance. To my dismay, shaving cream has managed to work itself across my cheek and into my hair, which I forgot I clipped back sloppily at Spike’s crypt. I rip the clip out of the strands, wincing as I work the tangles out with my fingers. A mass of sticky spider web clings to my fingers and I let out a small cry of dismay, wiping it on the edge of the sink. I grab the hand towel from the ring and wipe down my face, smoothing out my wrinkled skirt and swiping at the dirt stains on my once white shirt.



Am I so far gone that I don’t even notice what I look like now?



When I return to the living room, Mr. Helmunde is already writing. Not a good sign. “I don’t know what you’ve been doing, Miss Summers, but you could at least make sure your appearance is appropriate for an in-house visit by a social worker.”



“Right,” I agree. New golden rule: when in the presence of someone who can greatly affect your life, agree with whatever they say. “Well, I apologize. We’ve been doing some cleaning.” I grimace as another crash comes from above.



Dawn’s voice shouts, “Sorry!”



I smile at Mr. Helmunde. “It’s okay, Dawn!”



Mr. Helmunde returns my smile, but it’s not out of kindness. “I think I’d like to see the upstairs first.”



“Sure!” I start leading the social worker up the stairs. To my annoyance, he follows too closely for my taste. I can almost feel his breath on my neck, and it’s not nearly as pleasant as Spike’s. He’s also somehow managed to continue writing with his clipboard pressed into my back. I shudder.



“Something wrong?” he breathes at me.



Just got to get through a few more minutes. “No, of course not!”



Dawn and Spike are grinning fools at the top of the stairs. . . like cats who ate a canary. I’m too worried about what Mr. Helmunde will do next to glare at my sister and her vampire pal.



Spike immediately senses something is amiss with the way Mr. Helmunde is acting around me, and his expression of compliance melts into one of anger. I shake my head almost imperceptibly at him. He gives me a look that says, I don’t like this, but I’ll do what you want. . . for now.



Just what I need right now. . . a possessive vampire on top of a perverted social worker.



“Stay here,” Mr. Helmunde orders.



Without permission, he stomps toward our mother’s old bedroom first.



“Um, no one stays in there anymore,” I inform him, my arm automatically rising as if I can slow him.



“So,” he states.



He flicks the light on and clumps through the room, and I tremble, feeling like he’s raping my privacy. It was one thing for Willow and Tara to occupy her room; it’s quite another for a complete stranger to walk boldly through what had been my mom’s sanctuary from all the horrors of Sunnydale.



I feel an arm around my shoulders and another slip around my waist. I blink. I’m sandwiched between my sister and my lover, my two pillars of support since coming back from death. For the first time, I have I clear realization. They, not including Giles, are the only ones who let me rest in peace. Without thinking, I allow my arms to go around them.



When Mr. Helmunde returns to the hallway, our arms disengage, and I sway a bit before the world stabilizes again.



“Looks all right,” he says. He seems annoyed that he isn’t writing anything at the moment. “Ah! The bathroom.” He takes one glance, not bothering to enter the tiny room. “What’s with all the shaving cream in the sink?”



Stupid, stupid foam. I have half a mind to write the company that manufactures that particular brand of shaving cream and tell them where they can stick their extra foamy crap. Who needs all that foam?



“Well, um, we learned at school that shaving cream cleans stains off basins, so I told Buffy about it, and she was trying it out,” Dawn says quickly, standing a bit on her toes.



“With half the can,” I add.



“That’s interesting!” Mr. Helmunde actually sounds genuinely interested. “My son, Billy, said he learned the same thing the other day.” He fixes his attention on me. “It work?”



I let out a breath that I hadn’t realized I was holding and say, “Well, I wasn’t quite through with it yet, but I can tell you one thing, don’t use the extra foamy brand when you try it!”



Mr. Helmunde makes such a funny noise that several seconds pass before I am aware that he’s laughing. Belatedly, Dawn, Spike, and I force a chuckle.



Abruptly, his laughter is gone. “Dawn. Show me your room.”


Dawn loops her arm around mine so that we’re connected at the elbow. Her face drains of color.

TBC...





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