According to the clock on the fireplace mantle, it was nearing midnight.
Alone in the house, save for Spike in the basement, Hel and Dawn sat across from one another at the dining room table.
Hel rested the heel of her palm upon the table surface, a book spread open in front of her. Her eyes traced the narrow rows of text, reading the words but not really registering their meaning. Her mind was far too busy worrying over Spike.
"How is he?" Dawn asked tentatively.
"He is healing."
"You must be relieved."
"What makes you say that?"
"Nothing, it's just..." Dawn trailed off, uncertain of how best to phrase what she was dying to say. "I bet he was glad to see you, though."
Furrowing her brow, Hel lifted her head. "What are you implying?"
"Oh, come on, it's so obvious!" Dawn exclaimed, rolling her eyes.
"What is?"
Dawn leaned forward on her elbows, staring at her intently. "Spike is completely in love with you."
Hel blinked thrice in rapid succession, struggling to process her words. "Sorry, what?"
Dawn smiled gleefully. "Spike. Loves. You."
Recovering from her shock, Hel shook her head and closed her book. "You are mistaken." She pushed out her chair, standing from her seat.
Throwing her hands into the air, Dawn sighed dramatically. "Why is everyone around here so frigging blind?" She crossed her arms.
Turning away dismissively, Hel strode into the kitchen to escape Buffy's younger sister.
She recalled the memory of Joyce Summers that Spike shared with her once, prompting her to put on the kettle and grab two mugs from the upper cabinets. While waiting for the water to boil, she scoured the cupboards for hot cocoa mix. The kettle began to whistle and she shut off the burner underneath. Measuring powered hot cocoa into each mug, Hel filled them with hot water.
Once both mugs were stirred and topped with mini marshmallows, she opened the basement door before retrieving the hot cocoa. Descending the flight of stairs to the lowest level of the house, she rounded the corner.
Her gaze was drawn to Spike within seconds, and her feet instinctively carried her towards him.
Slouching against the cinder block wall with his forearms draped over his thighs, pale blue sheets pooled around his waist and his upper body was sans shirt. The damage inflicted to his face had begun to heal, and the swelling of his left eye had gone down significantly. His bare chest, however, still bore the superficial engravings of a Harbinger's knife.
She handed him his designated mug, which he gratefully took.
He smiled upon noticing the layer of mini marshmallows, his warm gaze rising to hers. "Thank you." He brought the rim to his lips and took a cautious sip of hot cocoa.
Cradling her own mug, Hel raised her eyebrows when Spike didn't immediately make room for her on his cot. "Move over."
He smirked up at her, a defiant glint in his eyes. "Make me."
"Fine." Without warning, she turned around and took a seat on his lap.
Chuckling good-naturedly, he rolled his eyes at her stubbornness. In truth, he absolutely adored her cheeky personality.
After a moment Spike yielded, scooting over to accommodate her, and grasped her hips between both hands. He hoisted her off of his lap and plopped her down beside him. Her hand rested close enough to his that they were nearly touching, but neither of them dared to cross that boundary.
She turned her head, meeting his eyes hesitantly. "How are you?"
"As well as can be expected, I suppose." He replied, smirking a little. "How do I look?"
She smiled slightly. "Is this one of those times when you want me to lie to protect your delicate emotions?"
His smirk broadened into an authentic smile, and he faced forward once more.
A long pause of uncomfortable silence settled between them, as they were both at a loss for how to continue the conversation.
Spike dug a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, withdrew one, and stuck it between his lips. He patted both front pockets of his jeans and gave the room a sweeping, cursory glance, in need of a lighter.
He was startled when the end of his cigarette suddenly ignited.
"Don't mention it." Came Hel's flippant remark. Her smirk was practically audible.
Pinching the narrow white cylinder of his cigarette between his thumb and index finger, he took a puff. Spike withdrew it from his mouth, exhaling a waft of grey smoke.
His wandering eyes took a detour, admiring the elegant, almost regal features of her pale face. Her beauty was undeniably striking, ethereal even. His gaze trailing gradually downward, he observed the flutter of lean muscle in Hel's slender forearm as she tapped the black fingernails of one restless hand, one by one in a consecutive fashion, against her knee. Mindlessly beating a soft, meaningless rhythm. She was anxious. That much was obvious to him.
Completely out of the blue, he glanced sidelong at her and blurted: "Have you ever played scrabble?"
She raised a perfectly-arched eyebrow at him. "I'm sorry?"
"Scrabble." He reiterated. "It's a board game."
Amused by his lighthearted behaviour, especially given the approaching apocalypse, she resisted a smile. "Do you really think now is an appropriate time for games?"
"I suppose you're right." Spike admitted dejectedly, his good mood deflating.
Sensing that he was in need of a distraction, Hel stood up from the cot. "Where is it?"
"Where's what?"
She couldn't help but smile a little at the adorably-confused look on his face. "The board game."