Set Post-Wrecked, Hank Summers decides to reappear in his daughters' lives at precisely the wrong time.

***

"Spike? Are you home?"

The crash of the crypt door slamming against the wall caused Spike to hurry up the ladder. "Ain't anyone told you to knock before entering someone's domicile?" he demanded as reach the crypt's main floor. "And what are you doing here anyway? I thought Big Sis always wanted you to head straight for The Magic Box once school was out."

Dawn flopped dramatically onto a stone seat, her book bag dropping to the floor beside her. "This is different. I had to talk to somebody."

"And I seemed like the best party, eh?" With a sigh, he headed for the small refrigerator in the corner. "Want a soda, Nibblet? Or I can make some hot chocolate."

"I can't stay too long. If I don't show up, Buffy will come looking for me."

"And since she knows you run here, it isn't the best place to hide." Leaning against the refrigerator door, he crossed his arms. "I'm not telling you a better one. You go missing, your sister will stake me for sure." Might even be looking for an excuse, he thought. They still hadn't managed to talk civilly since their night in the house, and he was doing his best not to prove love's bitch once more by staying away until she made the first move.

"I'm not looking for a place to hide. I'm looking for help. Dad's in town, you see?"

Spike frowned. He'd never met Buffy's father, barely knew a thing about him except that the man hadn't bothered to show up for his ex-wife's funeral. In Spike's book, that was a black mark. "And something's wrong?"

Dawn sighed as only a fifteen-year-old could, then winced and reached up to adjust the sling she still wore. "He wants to take me back to LA, and thinks Buffy should come with us, too. He doesn't think she's providing a steady environment. She's gotten Anya to claim she's working at The Magic Box, but I think he's figured out about Willow and Tara and that has him upset."

"What, that they're witches?"

"No, the girlfriend thing. Buffy's really good about hiding the occult stuff and anything he's seen, she explains away as artifacts Mom got for the gallery before she passed away."

Spike could see it now -- a fine display of hand-carved stakes. "So he thinks she's being a bad influence."

"He thinks everyone's being a bad influence. Funny, I don't think Sabrina wants us around."

"Who is Sabrina?"

The grimace told the story before Dawn spoke. "Stepmother. I think she's maybe a year or two older than Buffy."

"Right." Spike sat down beside Dawn. "Let me see if I have this right. Your father wants the two of you to go back to LA with him." He ticked the point off on a finger. "You don't want to go, and you don't think your stepmother wants you there either."

"And there's the whole slayer thing to worry about with Buffy."

"Which, of course, you can't tell him." He considered for a moment. "So what you need to do is prove that you have a stable environment so he won't worry."

He was tempted to tell her that he had not a clue how to proceed, that maybe Xander or Willow might be a better person to run to. Looking down at the hopeful face, though, he knew somehow he had to find a way. Besides, he wasn't enamored of the idea of Buffy leaving town just when thing were getting interesting.

"Don't worry, Nibblet. Ol' Spike will come up with a plan."

***

Buffy prayed the night would end quickly, or that an apocalypse would visit them, giving her an excuse to abandon this hell of a Christmas Eve gathering. Willow, Xander and Anya were already there to lend their moral support, and Anya was even getting along surprisingly well with her stepmother. Hank Summers still looked grim, though, as if he was unhappy with the presence of strangers.

Just an old fashioned Christmas, Buffy. Only now it's me and Dad fighting instead of Dad and Mom.

The doorbell rang Buffy hurried to answer it. "It's nippy out," Tara said as she stepped inside.

"Which means all the nasty creepies are probably nestled snug in their beds and won't be out tonight. Pity." She helped Tara out of her coat. "Thank you for coming."

"You sounded like you needed all the help you could get."

Buffy peered back into the living room. "Better believe it."

Putting on a brave smile, Buffy led the new guest in. "Look who arrived. Dad, this is Tara. You remember me tell you about her. Tara, this is my father, Hank Summers."

Hands were shook and polite greetings exchanged. Hank regarded Tara with suspicion as she greeted the others. Buffy hoped her father wouldn't say anything provocative, or Willow might get her back up.

The doorbell rang again and Buffy headed for it, half-relieved for the distraction, but wondering who it be. Hopefully Spike hadn't decided it was an appropriate moment to come by and talk. Given her luck, though?

She opened the door and stopped. It looked like Spike, but didn't. The man wore a blue dress shirt beneath a sleeveless argyle vest and beige chinos. His white-blond hair was not slicked back, but formed soft waves, perfect compliment to the blue eyes and the glasses perched on his nose.

Buffy blinked. And again. And a third time.

"Aren't you going to invite me in, Elizabeth?"

His voice was softer than she was used to, the accent somehow more cultured. This had to be some kind of trick. Maybe Spike had an evil twin brother who'd just arrived in Sunnydale and was trying to trick them.

Maybe the sky just turned orange.

It was Spike; she could still see the scar in his left eye-brow, the one he'd picked up in China.

That thought was what shook her out of it. "What are you doing here?" she hissed.

"Watching your back, slayer." The words were equally quiet, but no less intense. "Will you invite me in? It's sodding cold out here."

He'd already begun to inch his way over the threshold, so she supposed the request for an invitation was for courtesy's sake rather than any mystical reason. Realizing the living room had grown somewhat quiet, she stood aside and gestured for him to enter. Leading the way, she said, "Hey, everybody, it's…"

Buffy trailed off as she realized she wasn't quite sure what to call him. "Spike" hardly seemed appropriate. Xander and Willow sitting on the floor with their mouths ready to catch flies wasn't helping. "Um, this is my dad. Dad, this is…"

Spike stepped forward, extending his hand. "William Ashbury-Smythe. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Summers."

For the first time that evening, Hank Summers seemed to show a bit of genuine pleasure. "Good to meet you, Mr. Ashbury-Smythe."

"Please, call me William. Forgive the hands; I'm afraid I foolishly went out without my gloves."

"We'll have you warmed up soon. My wife, Sabrina."

Another round of pleasantries, and Willow and Xander's eyes grew wider by the moment. On their parts, Anya looked puzzled and Tara grew very quiet. Only Dawn seemed not at all perturbed by this appearance, a smile lighting her face.

"I brought some wine." Spike extended the bottle toward Buffy. "My contribution to the table."

Buffy took it, glancing at the label. "Um, thanks…William. I'll put it in the kitchen."

She beat a hasty retreat, Willow and Xander hard on her heels. "Okay, who invited Evil Dead Junior?" Xander asked.

"Did you see what's he's wearing? And those glasses?"

"Worse than that, Will -- his name. I mean, does he expect any of us to believe William Ashbury-Smythe?"

The three stared at each other. "William the Bloody," Buffy whispered, remembering the day Giles had first told them about him. "You don't think…"

The three stuck their heads out the kitchen door to peer into the living room. "So, how long have you been seeing Buffy?" Hank was asking.

"I would say about a month or so -- seriously, that is. We'd met some time before."

The three pulled their heads back into the kitchen. "Someone get me a stake."

"Buffy, you can't just walk out there and stake your boyfriend?"

"He's not my boyfriend!"

"Your father thinks he is."

"What's weirder," Xander said, "is that your father seems to like him."

"Don't be ridiculous. My father's never liked any of my boyfriends."

They stuck their heads out once more.

"Actually, I'm writing a doctorial dissertation on the romanticism of language in Langston Hughes as compared to the late Victorian Pre-Raphelites."

"My, that sounds fascinating," Sabrina said, perching on the arm of Hank's chair.

Spike smiled and nodded his head slightly. "Poetry is a passion of mine."

Back in the kitchen, Buffy said. "Okay. I still want the stake. Only, this time it's for me. I don't think I can live through this."

"Maybe it's part of some evil plan," Willow suggested.

"Heh, some evil plan to get in good with Buffy's father. I mean, a guy only does that when he…" Xander trailed off at Buffy's angry glare.

"What are you doing in here?" Anya demanded as she entered. "Sabrina and your father are only interested in talking to Spike right now. And why is he wearing those ridiculous clothes?"

"And glasses," Willow added.

Buffy shook her head. "I don't know. How did he even know that we'd be having a party tonight? It's not like I've talked to him since…" Don't go there, Summers. "I mean, I didn't invite him…"

Buffy stuck her head out the kitchen door once more. "Oh, Dawn," she caroled in the sweetest voice she could manage, "Would you come here, please?"

Dawn looked up, giving a good imitation of a startled deer. If Buffy had any doubts as to the instigator of this insane scenario, they were erased at that moment. Dawn looked back toward the couch. Spike paused in speaking to turn his head, eyes narrowed in a very Spike expression. He glanced down at Dawn and nodded slightly, as if giving his approval.

"Why does everyone look so serious?" Dawn asked as she entered.

"Dawn," Buffy said as evenly as possible, "why did you invite Spike?"

She shrugged. "It's Christmas. He didn't have anywhere else to be. You'd rather have him spend it all alone in that crypt?"

"But what's with the preppy undead look?" Xander asked.

Now the girl looked uncomfortable. "Uh…"

Buffy looked at her friends. "I think its time we did a little sisterly bonding. Why don't you guys go back in the living room. Tara's probably feeling lonely."

Reluctantly, Xander, Willow and Anya left Buffy alone with Dawn, who'd started to explore the various pans and bowls Buffy had spread over the counter. "Okay, give."

"Give what?"

"Don't try that innocent look on me. You invited him; you had an idea how he was going to come, didn't you?"

For a moment, Dawn looked as if she was going to try denial, but then deflated. "I did. But it was his plan," she amended quickly.

"And why would Spike feel the need for a plan before coming to visit?"

"Because he's trying to help convince Dad we have a stable environment."

"Trying to…Who told him Dad needed convincing…Dawn!"

"Well, you talked Anya into claiming you worked at the Magic Box. Spike and I thought that a nice, normal-looking boyfriend would convince him everything was going fine, that you were busy putting down roots and we shouldn't leave."

"That," Buffy said, pointing toward the living room, "is hardly a normal boyfriend. That is a vampire."

"No, it's Spike," Dawn countered.

This wasn't going anywhere. "I'm not going to argue with you about it now. But we are going to talk about it later."

Dawn wrinkled her nose. "Now you sound like Mom."

Buffy picked up the eggnog she'd planned to bring out earlier. "Someone has to act like an adult around here."

She carried the filled punch bowl out to the living room. "Buffy, be careful with that," Hank called.

"Perhaps I should help," Spike suggested, rising from his seat on the couch.

"No! I mean, I have it."

Spike joined her, wrapping his own hands around the bowl. "It'll be better if we both do it."

It was strange looking at his eyes through glasses. For one thing, the rims obscured the scar and gave his face a slightly softer look. He looked patiently down at her, not pulling on the bowl or pushing her in any one direction, merely waiting. A glance toward Hank showed her father was watching them and she knew her actions at this point would help make or break this charade.

With a smile, she gently steered them toward the coffee table, and the two of them deposited the punchbowl. "William, would you help me get the cups and…things?"

He obediently followed her out to the kitchen, not saying a word. Buffy waited until she'd closed the door that connected with the dining room before speaking. "What the hell are you doing?"

Spike leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms before him. "Merry Christmas to you, too, Slayer."

"Cut the crap, Spike. Dawn's told me about her little plan. What I want to know is what you thought to accomplish by going along. I told you we were done."

Blue eyes narrowed behind the glasses. "Who says this is about you? Dawn asked for my help. I'm giving it."

"And you're expecting nothing in return?"

A corner of his mouth twitched up. "Why? You offering?"

Instinctively, she pulled back her fist, fully intending to land one on his nose. Spike held up his hands. "Now, now. Don't want your father to wonder what all the noise is about, luv. Might lead to awkward questions. Besides, you shouldn't hit a man with glasses."

He was right. Annoyingly, infuriatingly right. She lowered her fist and stepped closer. "You think this is all some sick joke. This is the type you think I'm attracted to?"

She was so close, she could smell his scent; whiffs of tobacco, soap and a musky, almost musty scent she'd always associated with him. He was looking down at her, something in his eyes she didn't understand. "No. I suppose I shouldn't think someone like you would be attracted to the sensitive, bookish sort of chap. However, I was thinking of what might appeal to your father. Someone who looked steady and non-threatening."

"Never think you are non-threatening, Spike. I know exactly what you are, and what you can do."

Suddenly, his arms slid around her waist, and he pulled her closer, his head dipping slightly to allow his lips to brush against hers. More out of surprise than anything else, she began to push against him – until her slayer senses let her know the kitchen door had swung open.

"Oh, so sorry to interrupt," Sabrina said, a giggly note in her voice. "We were just wondering where the glasses were."

Spike let Buffy go, managing a look of innocent embarrassment. "I think they were…here you go."

He handed the tray to Sabrina and she gave him a knowing wink as she departed. "You enjoyed that," Buffy accused as the door swung close.

He smirked. "Made a convincing show – the young lovers sneaking away for some private time. Your new stepmama will burble to your father how 'cute' we are, which is precisely what you want."

His attitude was precisely what she expected; cocky, daring her to challenge his assertion. Somehow, though, it didn't go with the clothes. "Don't touch me," she warned.

"I fully intend to hold your hand at some point during the evening. They'll be expecting it. Besides, I wouldn't miss Harris and Red's reaction for anything."

A hundred retorts flew through her mind, but she found herself unable to form any on her lips. Instead, she satisfied herself with stomping back toward the living room.

"There you are," Xander said as they emerged, his voice a bit too bright. "We thought we had lost you."

"Just checking on dinner," Buffy said, aware of Spike right behind her. "It should be soon."

"Then you can sit for a while and visit." Hank's suggestion was not an invitation. Reluctantly, Buffy took a place on the sofa, hoping Spike wouldn't join her. Looking back, she found him in conversation with Tara. He glanced down, noticed her cup was empty and took it, heading for the punch bowl. She watched as he refilled glass and returned it with a small bow, a gesture that coaxed a smile onto Tara's face. If she didn't know the truth, Buffy could have easily been lulled into thinking he was exactly what he appeared to be; a grad student more interested in books than fighting.

Romantacism of language in Langston Hughes? Spike? Nah.

"I think I understand why you're somewhat reluctant to leave Sunnydale," Hank said quietly. "Seems like a nice young man."

"He certainly is…unique," Buffy said, choosing her words carefully.

"Seems fond of you."

She didn't like the position this was putting her in. It was one thing to try to convince her father she had steady employment, but speaking nicely about Spike was another matter all together. What could she say? He's a hundred-plus year-old vampire. The first time, we brought a house down around us.

The silence dragged on as Buffy tried to think of words. Then, Sabrina leaned in and whispered, "I think it's cute the way he watches you as if you were the only person in the room."

Surprised, Buffy turned to look back at Spike once more. Dawn had joined him and Tara, and was chattering away happily about something. Tara's attention was focused on Dawn, but Spike indeed was watching her. This time, there was no mistaking what she saw there, and Buffy shifted uncomfortably as she recalled the last time he'd look at her like that. A smile touched the corners of his mouth and for just a moment her heart softened. Then she remembered herself and turned away. "William is…William," she told Sabrina. "He's very devoted."

"Lucky girl."

Hank raised an eyebrow. "Aren't I devoted?"

Sabrina smiled and pressed a finger to Hank's nose. "I need to go check on the turkey," Buffy announced, deciding she couldn't handle this. "Dinner will be real soon."

For the next half hour, Buffy buried herself in the kitchen, seeing to the final details. Willow and Anya wandered in at various times, but Tara proved the most helpful. "Maybe I could make you some tea," she suggested at one point as Buffy furiously arranged the mashed potatoes. "It might calm you down."

"What I need is everyone gone. That, or a drink."

Tara rustled in a drawer and extracted a corkscrew. "Did you know Spike was going to show up?"

Buffy sighed. "No. That was Dawn's idea. The clothes were apparently his."

"I think they suit him."

Buffy stopped trying to force the potatoes into perfect peaks. "You're joking, right? I mean, this is Spike, the Big Bad."

"He seems comfortable in them." Tara extracted the cork. "He feels comfortable in them. And he has read Langston Hughes. We were talking about it."

"I can't picture Spike reading poetry of any kind." Buffy accepted the glass Tara had poured a small amount into, and took a sip.

"There's more to him than just the surface, Buffy. I know I haven't been acquainted with many vampires, but Spike seems complicated, much more so than he would appear to be."

"Complicated. That is Spike to a word." She looked at the glass and frowned. "This isn't the Gallo."

"No, it's what Spike brought. The vineyard's called Byron, I think. Yes, that's what it says on the label."

Buffy looked at the glass with new respect. "He has taste in wine. I'm impressed."

Tara smiled. "I said, 'complicated.'"

***

Dinner on the table, Buffy finally felt she could relax. Her father sat in the patriarch's place and performed the honors, cutting the turkey. She'd thought of seating Spike down at the far end, next to Hank, but he'd managed to maneuver a place at her right hand. Willow sat opposite him, with Tara next to Spike and Dawn next to Willow. Anya was between Dawn and Sabrina, providing a suitable buffer, while Xander took the spot next to Tara. The seating was a little scrambled from her original plan, but she hadn't counted on an extra guest.

There were moments it felt like a normal Christmas dinner, but it was strange to see her father sitting where her mother would have normally been, and her stepmother talking away to Anya. Stepmother. She wasn't quite sure how to deal with that one yet.

Then there was Giles' absence. For the last three years, he'd been a fixture at the Christmas table, part of the warm and cozy family. Presents were waiting under the tree that he had sent, but it didn't compensate for the empty space.

A cool hand covered hers. "You look pensive, pet."

She looked down, realizing for the first time that evening he had removed the black nail polish he usually wore. A concession to the clean and wholesome image, she supposed. His hand casually rested atop hers, just as it had done a hundred times. Strange to realize that until just recently, she'd come to accept his casual touch.

Raising her eyes to meet his, she felt on familiar ground. This was the Spike she was comfortable with, the one who let her ramble on when things got too hard. Now it was easy to say, "Just thinking of Mom and Giles."

"To absent friends." His smile was warm, his voice low. "I miss Joyce, too."

It was the first time he'd directly spoken of her mother since her death. Buffy didn't understand the sorta friendship the two of them had shared, how her mother had seemed to simply adopt Spike in a way she never had with Angel. Of course, the circumstances with Angel were different, their relationship tainted by their first meeting. But Joyce had genuinely liked Spike, to the point of worrying that Buffy might have led him on when she'd learned of Spike's feelings.

What would she have made of William Ashbury-Smythe? Buffy could almost see her mother sitting in her familiar place, taking one look at the glasses and the clothing and breaking into hysterical laughter. Mom probably would have termed it "adorable."

Buffy wrinkled her nose and retrieved her hand, earning a lifted eyebrow from Spike. "Everybody ready for dessert?" she asked, hoping she could find something to do away from the table.

The looks down the table, forks paused in mid-air, told her the turkey and sides were still the prime point of interest. The pause also had the unfortunate effect of focusing her father's attention back on her. "Delicious meal, Buffy. My daughter's an excellent cook, William."

Spike grinned at this not-so-subtle recommendation. "I'm quite aware of Elizabeth's many talents, sir."

Anya put her fork down with a clatter. "I have to ask. Why do you keep calling her Elizabeth instead of Buffy?"

There was a hiss as the other Scoobies all sucked in their breathe at once. All it would take would be one wrong word from Anya and this entire charade would shatter. That she could utter that one wrong word was all too likely. "Elizabeth's my given name," Buffy said quickly, hoping to stave off questions. "I've just been called Buffy all my life."

Anya frowned, clearly not satisfied. As she opened her mouth, though, Spike added his own two cents. "I call her Elizabeth because it's a lovely name and happens to be the name of one of my favorite poets."

"Elizabeth Barrett Browning?" Tara asked. "Her work is beautiful."

Buffy saw the smile on his face, and felt a strange twinge of jealousy at the connection Spike and Tara seemed to have. She didn't recall them speaking more than two words to each other over the last year or so, and here they'd spent much of the evening in conversation together.

"So you're calling her Elizabeth because she reminds you of this other woman." Leave it to Anya to not let a topic go. "Is this woman a vam…"

"Anya," Xander said warningly.

"Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote the 'Sonnets From the Portuguese.'" Spike's voice was calm but precise, as if offering an explanation to child. "She was the author of what is considered some of the most beautiful love poems ever written."

"I remember her from school," Sabrina said. "'How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.' I can't remember the rest, but I loved reading it."

Spike reached up to adjust his glasses, which had begun to slide down his nose. "Actually, my favorite is:

"If thou must love me, let it be for nought
Except for love's sake only."

The words rolled easily off his tongue as if they were long familiar to him, his voice wrapping about each syllable like a caress.

"Do not say
I love her for her smile--her look--her way
Of speaking gently,--for a trick of thought
That falls in well with mine, and certes brought
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day'—"

All were silent now, their attention focused on him. Willow's eyes had widened, awe and surprised mixed there, while Dawn was grinning as if this was just what she wanted. Tara was listening thoughtfully, while Anya had stretched her hand across the table to find Xander's. Hank and Sabrina were holding hands as well, all smiles at the scene.

"For these things in themselves, Beloved, may
Be changed, or change for thee,--and love, so wrought,
May be unwrought so. Neither love me for
Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry,--
A creature might forget to weep, who bore
Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby !

He turned his face toward her, and their eyes met. She saw passion, desire, and much, much more dancing there, hers for the taking, as he reached the final couplet.

"But love me for love's sake, that evermore
Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity."

The last words lingered in the air as a sighed escaped from those listening. He was going to kiss her, she was certain of it; he would lean forward and she didn't know if she would be able to resist the promise his eyes and the words implied, no matter how much her mind might scream against it.

His eyes never leaving hers, he lifted her hand from the table and pressed his lips against her flesh. Her breath was coming faster, part of her warning that she needed to flee, while another part just wanted to melt right then and there. A third part petulantly demanded to know why he could be so poetic now and couldn't he have been that way the morning he'd woke up with her?

They were all watching her; she could sense that without taking her eyes from Spike's. He still held her hand, still acted as if they were the only two in the universe. She wasn't sure how to extract herself, or even if she wanted to.

"Pie!"

The word came out as an explosion as Willow surged to her feet. Mood broken, Buffy snatched her hand back, while Spike looked like he was considering violence, chip or no chip. "That was great, but now it's time for pie. Dawn, you help Anya with Hank and Sabrina's plates. Oh, and get Xander's, too. Buffy, why don't you get Tara's and…well, grab his plate."

Buffy rose to her feet, not sure why Willow had done that, but really glad she had. Tara handed over her plate, which Buffy stacked atop hers, before reaching for Spike's. He looked up at her as she leaned forward and she noticed the little smirk on his face, the one that indicated he'd scored a point. The warm feeling enveloping her dissipated. He was still Spike.

"Where did you learn to recite like that?" she heard Xander ask as she headed into the kitchen. "And can you teach me how?"

"It's all part of some evil plan," Willow said as they stacked the dishes on the counter. "That's got to be it."

"Nah, he's just hot for her." Anya munched on a stray olive. "It's obvious from the way he looks at her."

"Eeeww. Buffy went through that creepy, stalky thing with him last year."

Anya shook her head. "This is different. Trust me. I've seen a lot of relationships in my time."

Buffy busied herself with slicing the pie, wishing she could shut the words out. "But he's a vampire," Willow protested.

"Vampires have the hots for humans all the time. Where do you think the inspiration for all those books and movies come from?"

"A desire to make money?"

"Scoff if you want, but I've seen some pretty intense human/vampire romances."

Enough was enough. "Okay, that's it. We're not going to talk about my love life anymore."

Both Anya and Willow stared at Buffy. "That did not come out right. We are not going to talk about Spike's fantasies about my love life or anything to do with anything that might concern me and Spike. Dawn asked him to show up and play perfect boyfriend to impress my father. As soon as Dad leaves, he's going back to the crypt where he belongs."

She turned back to cutting the pie, concentrating on making each golden pumpkin wedge perfectly even, but she could feel the looks her friends were exchanging behind her back. Not good. So not good.

On to Part 2

On to Episode 1: One Saturday at the Magic Box