Author's Apology: I haven't updated in weeks. I'm sorry. The story has been buzzing around in my brain, but I had so much outside of it to deal with. Plus, this might be my most edited chapter so far besides the prologue.

Author's Note: It's the song you've probably been waiting for. (But probably not the chapter.) I got some really helpful feedback which served as a new muse, and the story went through some rewrites. (Minor and major) I had to reconcile my old plot with my new plot and the theme/lyrics of the song. I think I did okay.

The reviews I've gotten are great. I do take them into account while writing, so if you haven't reviewed yet, please do.

4. Sweater Weather

Xander wasn't talking to her. Well, that was just fine. Buffy had six more friends, Cordelia if she ever gave her a call, her parents. There were plenty of other people just dying to talk to Buffy. She didn't need one friend's validation. She hadn't really done anything wrong. She had broken a girl's nose, yes. But that girl had asked for it! Buffy winced. Was she blaming the victim? Was Faith a victim? She didn't act like a victim. Did victims always act like victims? Buffy poked at her mashed potatoes while she considered the relative agency of a fight club victim. She was nibbling on the pot roast when she realized that Xander didn't even know what happened with Faith. He didn't even have a reason for giving her the silent treatment. She groaned.

"Buffy, are you alright?" Joyce put her fork down to concentrate on the matter of her daughter's small appetite. "You're not eating."

"I'm eating!" Buffy chewed on the roast with conviction. "Mm, big eating."

"Is something troubling you, Buffy? Are you having trouble with your classes?" Giles asked. He had been trying so hard to tutor her in History and Literature, she really didn't want to tell him that she was averaging something C-worthy right now.

"No, uh...no trouble." It wasn't a lie, exactly. Cs didn't really trouble her.

"Is someone bothering you at school?" Joyce asked.

Now that was a loaded question. Nothing really happened at school. Spike's creeper act definitely bothered her. So maybe not as loaded as she thought. Still, she was the one who had followed him to that creepy back lot with all those people and that camera- camera! There was a camera! Had Andrew recorded her breakdown? Buffy struggled to keep her breath steady. It wouldn't be very convincing if she hyperventilated while informing them, "No one I can't handle."

She didn't even know if it was true. Buffy had never seen Spike fight. Gunn had assured her that he would never...but Gunn had also brought her to the back lot. Her stomach did a turn. She hadn't spent a lot of time considering Gunn as anything more than a potential friend, but his betrayal already stung. So far, none of the new men in her life had proved themselves really worthy of her trust. Spike was a pig. No, a boar. He was violent and predatory and...boorish. Gunn was an ex-bully turned street fighter, totally willing to help the aforementioned predator lure her into their weird fight club. Xander was refusing to speak to her because she dared to hang out with teenage males that weren't him. Even impish little Andrew had betrayed her trust by recording the fight. Oh god. That video. She couldn't go two minutes without pondering that video.

"Buffy?"

Buffy's head snapped up so quickly, she had to suppress a groan. Besides the bruises that were slowly getting easier to hide (except for that one evil bruise on her chin), her neck was still every kind of sore. Quick movements were definitely of the bad.

"Joyce," Giles looked up from his plate with an expression Buffy had only seen once before. He had threatened to hurt Parker, the one boy who had never even physically harmed her. "Do you mind giving us a moment?"

"Why not? We're pretty much done eating and Buffy's not touching her food." Joyce started clearing the dinner plates before anyone could object. Giles kept his eyes trained on Buffy, occasionally squinting at the harder-to-hide chin bruise. When Joyce had finally deposited all the dishes in the sink and moved up the stairs with a huff, Giles removed whatever softness was left of his countenance and spoke up.

"Been getting into fights have you?" They small tinge of an accusatory tone was swallowed by genuine concern. It felt like she had gotten stabbed by a cotton-wrapped dagger.

"Not fights. One fight," Buffy tried to play off her heavy nervousness with laughter. "If you think I look bad, you should see the other girl."

"I'm assuming she started the fight, then?" Giles pulled his glasses away from his face and began cleaning them.

Buffy tried to recall the details of a fight that had happened nearly a week ago. Faith did swing first. If she was judging by swing, Faith technically started it. If she was being honest, Spike started it by bringing her there in the first place. "It was a fight club," she confessed.

Giles coughed. He stood. He sat. He stood and walked to the kitchen. After a moment of silence, he appeared at the doorway. "Please join me while I brew a cup."

That couldn't be good. Giles drank tea with everything, but he never made a new pot in the middle of conversation. Buffy sat at the island and watched her surrogate father puttered about their kitchen. He faced her every few seconds with his lips at the ready, but his voice never seemed to commit. It was starting to wig her out. She wasn't sure if she should be feeling guilt or fear of punishment.

"I wanted to learn to fight," She said in defense of herself. She told him the shortest version of the story she could think of. "There's this kid at school who my friends say can fight. And I decided I wanted to fight so I asked him to teach me, and he took me to this fight club." A muscle twitched at the base of Giles' neck and Buffy continued, "He paired me up with this girl and we fought pretty slowly at first until I snapped and just..."

Something wet was slithering down her right cheek. It was so much colder than it should have been. "I snapped and I just wailed into her. And she laughed. And I just kept hitting her and hitting her. It felt good, Giles. It scared me, but..." Giles put his glasses down and joined Buffy on her side of the island. She fought the shudder that came instinctively the minute he began to cradle her.

He held each of her shoulders softly and firmly. There was anger in his eyes when they met her own, but she knew from his touch that it was not directed at her. "I should start by saying that you are grounded for the next week."

"I figured I might be. Just please don't tell Joyce."

"I suppose I could come up with alternate reasoning for your punishment," Giles said. "We should take care of this problem of yours, however. First, I'm going to teach you to fight. Then, I'm going to murder the cretin who brought you into this."

"Don't murder him," Buffy almost laughed. "You fight."

There was a smile inching across his face as he made his way back to the tea. "Oh yes."

Buffy wondered if being bad at deep breathing could be considered a fatal character flaw. After four lessons, she should have learned to tap into her inner yogi by now. It made no difference that Giles had showed her how to breath between kicks and punches. She still hyperventilated after a fifteen minute workout. There were so many thoughts invading her head space. Just when she thought she had found a center, her mind would cloud and her breath would catch itself in her throat.

"Focus," Giles told her as he lowered his kick shields.

She shook her body, head to toe, hoping that her anxieties would fall away. Giles had already informed her that she had good form. If she could focus on that, maybe it would be enough to keep the thought of actually owning up to everything away. It had been nine days since the incident and the only friend who knew what had happened was Gunn. Facing the rest of them would take courage. All Buffy had up her sleeve was anxiety.

"When I said 'focus', I did not mean 'become so distracted by your inner monologue that you neglect the lesson'."

Giles sat on the basement cot and gestured for Buffy to join him. In the few seconds after taking a seat, she had the time to realize just how dedicated he was to her cause. All of the remaining boxes and useless junk had been cleared away from the basement. What was left was far more boxing equipment than Buffy thought she would ever see in her home.

"Perhaps you should get some help before the er, more physical therapy?"

"Excuse me? I'm not crazy."

"Buffy, there is nothing wrong with therapy," Giles assured her. "Anyone who's been through what you have would need someone to talk to. Someone...trained to deal with these situations."

"What if I don't want to talk to some stranger about it?"

"You could start by talking to me." The next few moments created a vacuum of silence. Usually, when no one speaks, every other sound seems to echo in surround sound. Buffy would have considered the possibility that she had gone deaf if not for the sound of her own breathing. Giles tried to ease her process by asking, "Why are you so desperate to learn combat? Do you not feel safe?"

"I never feel safe," Buffy said before she could stop herself. "Just when I think I'm okay, I make some stupid decision and I get myself hurt."

"Buffy."

"Don't! Don't tell me not to blame myself, please. Don't call me a...a victim." Buffy wiped away a stray tear. "I know it wasn't my fault when my dad hit me. And it wasn't my fault that I couldn't see the truth about Angel. But Riley, and Parker, and... this whole fight club thing? That's all me."

Giles nodded firmly. He waited a few moments for Buffy to calm down and said, "You're wrong. No matter what decisions you made, no one has the right to put their hands on you."

"But the fight club. I-"

"Did you intend to get into a fight, or start one, when you entered that ring?"

"No. No, I was just defending myself. But-"

"No buts." Giles took a deep breath and looked Buffy in the eyes. "I was in therapy once. For a very long time, actually."

"Were you...Did someone..."

"Was I abused? Oh, no. Not at all. I was an abuser," Buffy fought the urge to shift to the other side of the cot. Was this confession supposed to make her feel safe with him?

"I had a fiancee. We didn't always see eye to eye, and I was going through a dark phase in my life. There was a lot of drinking. Drugs. I could tell you that it all stemmed from childhood issues, but the truth is, I couldn't handle my addiction. I took it out on...Jenny." Giles's voice got shaky then, but he continued. "I never hit her or, touched her without permission. In my mind, I did worse. I took her freedom away. Controlled her evening, after a particularly nasty fight, Jenny...shot herself."

Buffy couldn't help it. She gasped. Loudly.

"She survived, but...we didn't. I never knew how much pain I was putting her through. I joined AA and met Joyce."

"Wait, what?"

"That story belongs to her. Come," Giles was off the cot and holding out his kick shields before Buffy could blink. "I want you to focus. On Angel."

"What?"

"This shield," Giles said as he held up his right arm. "Is your father. The other is Angel."

Buffy froze.

"If you don't want to hit them, that's fine. You can talk to them."

She turned to face the right shield. Talking to inanimate objects was definitely something a crazy person would do. But everything in her life so insane. Maybe she had the idea of crazy all wrong. Actually getting to face her father might help her feel better. Hank Summers, the one that wasn't being held by Giles, was six feet under. Buffy had never attended his funeral, nor had she tried to face him before he passed.

"I'm sorry," she said. She expected Giles to be shocked, but his face showed no judgment. She continued. "I shouldn't have left the way I did. The way...Mom did. But...I couldn't stay. I couldn't keep waiting for you to be my dad again. I just thought..." She looked up at Giles.

"It's your fault, you know." His fingers are twitching around his fourth beer.

"What?" She holds close to Mr. Gordo, her fluffy confidante. Mommy's gone. But that's not what Daddy means. Daddy is mean to Mommy sometimes but he would never.

"I thought he would never hit me."

Walking into school should have been harder. Buffy didn't know how to be honest with her friends. She didn't even know who she could really trust. What she did know was that she had the courage to confront anything she needed to, at least for today. Today, she needed to confront Andrew about his candid camera.

When Buffy found him, Andrew's head was locked into an uncomfortable by Faith.

"Say you're sorry." Faith squeezed Andrew's head tighter. "Say sorry, you little bitch."

Buffy almost wanted to rush to his defense. She settled for clearing her throat. "Hi."

Faith released Andrew and he waved.

"The great Slayer graces us with her presence. Haven't seen you since that night, B. How've you been?" Faith's nose was still swollen. The circles beneath her eyes were turning yellow-brown, and her lip was split in two places. There were other, smaller bruises covering her face. Unlike Buffy, Faith had taken no precautions to cover up her injuries. She was flaunting them like trophies.

"Hi, Faith. I'd like to speak to Andrew. Alone, if possible."

Something about Buffy's desperate expression must have spoken to Faith, because she threw up her arms and started to walk away. "Call me, B!"

"I didn't realize you and Faith had exchanged numbers," Andrew said.

"We didn't," Buffy said. She took a deep breath. The time came to stand up to an actual person. Well, a jittery person who was currently scratching his elbow out of nervousness. Okay, confronting Andrew probably didn't pose the challenge she felt it did. "You were recording the night I hit Faith. I need you to get rid of that video."

"Oh, I don't know about that. Faith and Spike use their videos for training p-purposes. It's the closest a person can get to superhero training without holographic technolo-"

"No. Stop. Just- I don't care what they do with the videos, Andrew. I want it gone. Very gone."

"Okay, I...Honestly, you scare me more than Faith. You're like a warrior pr-"

"Please don't." On another day, Andrew's ramblings were awkward but tolerable. Today it was like watching an ad play while waiting for a movie to start.

"I'll give it to you! You can destroy it yourself. It's just...I don't have it on me at the moment." He twitched again.

"Where is it, then?"

"Spike has it. Oh! I-I know! He's working at the Espresso Pump tonight. There's this coffeehouse event or something. You can meet him there and get it back."

Buffy felt sick just considering the possibility. She hadn't said a word to Spike ever since he left her at The Bronze. He still watched her from afar, but not as intently. If this had been Spike from the start, she might've found it flattering. With the context of what had happened recently, it was unnerving. Still, she needed to make sure the video was deleted. If meeting Spike was the only way to do it, she would have to grit her teeth and face the pain. The gut-wrenching anxiety pain.

Grounded.

Grounded meant she couldn't head off to a coffeehouse event, even if she used the defense that Willow would come to make sure she didn't get into trouble. Grounded meant that they didn't even call Willow to check. Grounded meant climbing out the bedroom window while Giles and Joyce were sleeping.

It felt skeevy and even criminal. Aside from the personal moral issues, she didn't have any difficulty sneaking out of her bedroom window. There was a tall tree that leaned almost directly against the windowsill. All it took was the patience to move at a sloth's pace so as not to wake her parents. Once she was on the ground the walk to the Espresso Pump was easy, if not a bit lonely. It was the first time she ever realized how dark her street was. Fortunately, the coffee shop wasn't far. It was also very well lit, and packed with people.

She managed to barely spot Spike, cleaning up behind the patrons as they moved around the space. He probably wasn't one for food service. Buffy certainly wouldn't want him for a waiter.

"Do you have a minute?" She didn't even know why she was asking. He didn't look that busy.

"Yeah, I'm kind of volunteering tonight," He said. "Let's just step away from the noise, yeah?"

Buffy didn't let him lead her too far from the front door. "Andrew said you'd be here, with the video. I want to see you delete it myself." He took a few steps closer."And don't try anything. There are people around."

"I don't care for what you're implying, Slayer. My mother raised me to be a gentleman." When Buffy scoffed, he dropped his proper accent and said, "Look, Faith needs that video for training, no one else has ever taken her down like that."

"I already told Andrew that I don't care why you made it. I don't want there to be a video linking me back to that fight club. I could get suspended or even arrested. Delete every copy of it, Spike."

"There are no copies. We never uploaded it from Andrew's camera. He's got one of those disc camcorders." Spike pulled a small disc from his pocket. "This is the only so-called copy of that night's romp." He dropped the disc on the ground and crushed it under the heel of his boot. "I like messin' with you, but I don't want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable."

"It's a little late for that, Spike. You've done a lot of things that make me uncomfortable." Before he could say another word, she held up her hand. If she could confront her father (kind of), she could confront some little stalker boy. "You follow me around school, harass me, take me out to some empty parking lot in the middle of the night. You make me feel unsafe!"

Spike took a step back. It didn't make any sense. He looked hurt. On anyone else, that expression would point to them having just been slapped. Buffy didn't want to, but she felt guilty. She would have apologized for hurting him, but he opened his mouth again.

"Fine then, didn't want your attention anyway." Buffy rolled her eyes. What happened to Mr. Cool-And-Mysterious? "Was only trying to suss out whether you could be trusted, walking in all new and swaggering about the school with your shampoo-commercial hair. And you asked me to teach you to fight, remember?"

"Right. Well, it was my mistake. And I won't be making it again. Get it through your head, Spike. I will never ever-" Thunder cracked. Buffy probably should have noticed the looming gray clouds. Cloud watching at night really wasn't something she usually did. What was supposed to be a quick confrontation became a heavy wall of confusion. And water.

"Maybe you should come back to my place. Get some dry clothes. I could give you a ride home."

"What did I just say to you?"

"Fine. You want to stay here and get soaked, that's on you."

Buffy stood in silence. Was this really her only option? She couldn't go back home soaking wet. Even if she climbed through the window, Joyce would notice the pile of wet clothes somewhere in her room. Of course, she could hide the wet clothes and dry them herself. But then a water stain would be left on the carpet. It seemed like so much trouble to climb a tree in the rain, break into her own house in the middle of the night, hide her soaking wet clothes, and then dry the carpet. She would have to do it all that without waking Joyce or Giles.

"Fine," she said. Part of her- a big chunky part- was telling her to turn back around and hide. Call Giles and tell him everything. It was like falling off the wagon, right? Following Spike around at night was her addiction. And Giles was her sponsor. She could even go to group. "But just the dry clothes."

"And the ride?"

"Spike."

"You can't be walking in the rain at this time of night."

"Don't. Tell me what I can't do."

He sighed. "I can't let you walk around alone."

"Okay. But if you try anything, you'll be sorry."

"I believe you. Slayer." He laughed to himself before he started to lead the way. "Break my nose, you will."

When Spike said his place was right around the corner, it was an understatement. His apartment was, in fact, a loft above the coffee shop. The old school car parked out front had to be his. It didn't look like the kind of car a high school senior would pick up at a used lot. She would have asked him what the story behind it was, if she cared enough to know. Which she didn't. When they got to the front door, Spike offered to let her in. Buffy stayed put. It was enough to fight the feeling that he might abduct her once they were away from strangers. She wasn't walking into an enclosed space with him. Still, he left his door open for her.

He returned with his hands full. "Here. Dry clothes, as promised."

"These are women's pants," Buffy mused as she took the clothes from him. The shirt was black and lacy. When she was in middle school, she might have called it goth.

"Ex's. Sweater is mine."

"I...uh. I need to change." Spike didn't respond. "Give me your key."

"I'm sorry? Are you completely off your bird?"

"I'm going to lock the door and you're going to stay out here. I want insurance that you're not going to sneak in and watch me or something. Because that's what you do. Follow me around and watch me."

"Well, that's just insulting," he said. "It's not enough that I'm giving you clean clothes and a ride? I'm supposed to let you lock me out of my own bloody home?"

"Yes. I'm not gonna rob you or anything. You want me to trust you?" His face softened in that way that made Buffy very uncomfortable. "Prove that I can."

Without further argument, Spike pulled a skull-shaped key chain from his coat pocket. It was almost unsettling. As far as Buffy knew, there was no reason for Spike to actually trust her. Yet here she was, pulling the key from his hand and letting herself into his apartment. His...surprisingly bare apartment. It wasn't a complete vacant wasteland. It at least looked lived in.

There was one large room that made up the living and dining areas. He had a lone couch and a TV that sat in the middle of a cheap entertainment center. There didn't even seem to be a cable box. The kitchen was more like a kitchenette in the far corner of the main room. To the left, Buffy could see a solitary door that lead to the bedroom. She considered stepping in there to change, for extra precaution of course. Snooping around would be completely pointless, but the place felt familiar.

She realized what the resemblance was as she changed her shirt. This apartment was...spartan. She remembered what it was like to live like this. No friends leaving their glasses or jackets over by accident. Ramen for dinner almost every night. If something happened, something major, there was only the homemade safety kit to help ease the pain. Aside from several architectural differences, Spike's apartment looked just like her temporary home in L.A.

It was suffocating. The moment she slipped her arms into his- surprisingly comfy- sweater, Buffy ran to the door. And her toes squished. She opened the door a crack. "Do you have any dry socks?"

He sighed. "There are a pair of Crocs in the closet, or flip flops if you like those a little better."

Buffy fought the urge to laugh. Crocs and flip flops? So much for the bad boy routine. His comfy sweater didn't exactly scream dark warrior. She ripped her socks and shoes off at the door, leaving them with the pile of wet clothes. She moved as slowly as she could towards the bedroom door. She cursed the size of the living room, wishing the walk could have taken another few seconds. Any length of time that could have helped her prepare to walk into a relative stranger's bedroom would have been appreciated. Even with his front door locked, Buffy couldn't get over the fear that she would be trapped in the room the moment she entered.

This wasn't the type of bedroom she really wanted to be trapped in. There weren't any bedrooms she wanted to be trapped in, even alone, but this one was not quite as spartan as the rest of his place. The walls were covered in a dark red, damask pattern. His bed had a black framed canopy and crimson bed sheets. Not everything about the space was depressingly dark, the carpets were a nice neutral color. There were a few band posters, one of them signed by at least four people. Buffy got the sense that all of the attention he could put in the entirety of his apartment went into this one room. She wouldn't be surprised to find a very modest bathroom. Not that she was going to inspect his bathroom.

It was enough that she was opening Spike's closet without him present. She didn't need to sneak around in the last unseen room of the house. Buffy found the Crocs hiding in the darkest corner of the closet, along with the flip flops she knew would be there...and the high heel boots she didn't expect to find. No matter where she looked in the room- not that she looked very close- she couldn't see a real relic of a dead relationship. Maybe the wallpaper was his ex-girlfriend's choice, maybe the canopy bed was too. The only items that seemed to obviously belong to someone else were these clothes. Unless Spike was wearing these boots, which was totally fine if that was what he was into. They didn't seem to be his size though

She stepped back outside with more confidence than she expected to have. Her feet and hair were damp, the black skinny jeans were a little too long and the Crocs were a little too small, but Buffy felt as if she held all the power. It didn't take long to realize why. When she handed the key chain to Spike, he ducked his head. He had a meekness about him she never expected to see. If this was the result of taking control of a situation, she could understand why people liked to do it so much. She could never live in this state of authority, but she didn't mind visiting.

They made a quick run through the shower of rain, which was already getting lighter, and jumped into the car. Twenty minutes ago she was afraid to come anywhere near the vehicle. Now she got the sense that she could pop Spike in the nose if he tried any funny business.

"So what's the story here?" She asked as he fired up the engine.

"Story? Don't quite catch your meaning, luv."

"Single high school student with a part-time job affording a swanky classic car like this? There has to be a story."

"Interested in my life then, are you?" His scarred eyebrow went right up as his voice turned husky and low. It made her want to slap him right upside the head.

"No. Well, yes. Kind of. No."

"That was very clear, thank you."

Buffy narrowed her eyes at him. Sarcastic jerk. "The answer is definitely 'no'."

"Well, fine then."

"Fine."

"Good."

"Great."

Outside of the fast-paced punk music that beat in the background, the pair sat in silence. The ride seemed much shorter that Buffy expected it to. Unfortunately, the rain was still coming down hard as he parked by the curb.

"I, er, don't really like the idea of lettin' you out just to drown," Spike told her.

"Are you telling me I have to stay in here with you?"

"Bloody hell, woman!" He leaned over her and she tried not to jump. He unlocked her door. "You want to leave? Leave!"

"I don't want to get wet, okay?. Plus, it kinda feels cold."

"I could..." He looked at her with an all-new intensity, like she was the most puzzling thing he'd witnessed. "Turn on the heat."

"Okay."

Turning on the heart didn't help as much as she hoped it would. Alone in a car with any other hot guy, she would let him warm her up himself. It couldn't hurt just to cold his hand or something. The car was still so cold. She could feel two instincts at once, and she wasn't sure which was the one she was supposed to listen to. Buffy inched a little closer to Spike, and allowed her hand to just barely touch his own.

He was like ice. It was then that she noticed he left his coat behind. He had never changed out of his soaking clothes. He pulled his hand away and tried to warm it in the other. Buffy almost wanted to lean over and warm him herself.

"Sorry 'bout that." He didn't offer any explanation, he just turned up the volume of his obnoxious punk music. "Hey, do you like The Ramones?"

She didn't. She really didn't. After six tracks it wasn't so bad, though. The rain started to ease up as Buffy got a little warmer. Spike offered to walk her right to the door, but she confessed that she had taken the illegal route out of the house.

"Well, at least take this with you." He handed her a small umbrella. "For next time. And you can't keep the clothes if you want."

Buffy couldn't imagine keeping the ex's apparel, but Spike's sweater was comfy. She said her goodbyes and tried to ignore the way his face fell as she shut the car door. 'Maybe I should have given him a kiss on the cheek or-No! Bad Buffy.'

She flashed the lights on inside, as promised, and listened out for the tell-tale sound of a car driving away. Buffy climbed into bed, completely dry, and tried to ignore the twinge of regret she felt for not giving Spike a little affection.

To Be Continued...With more brawlin' Buffy.