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"Grandma Summers, Aunt Darlene..." Buffy checked names off her list, thumbing through the stacks of envelopes on the dining room table. "DAWN!!"
Dawn pushed through the kitchen door, a spoon in one hand and a towel in the other. "What?"
"Where are the Christmas stamps? Did you take them?"
Dawn scowled and pointed. "They're right there where you put them. Buffy, I swear, this is making you even bossier than usual."
"I'm doing all the work here, I'd like to point out." Buffy underscored her point with pen stabbage.
"Why do we even need to send Christmas cards?"
"Because last year they sent cards to us. See, right here on Mom's list."
"So? They're just gonna look at them and throw them away."
Buffy pushed her hair back. "I just want something to be... normal."
"In our house?" Dawn relented. "Okay. Let me go throw out the caramel olives and I'll help you. They weren't working out right anyway."
As she was turning away, Buffy muttered, "I can't find Dad's address."
Dawn paused, her hand on the door.
"I thought Mom would have it in her file, but," Buffy continued, "there's just the old one, from our house before..."
Dawn turned and leaned against the door frame, her arms crossed tight against her chest.
"Buffy, while you were gone," she stopped and cleared her throat. "Nobody could find Dad. We, um, left messages--"
"It's okay. I'll just set that one aside." Buffy shuffled the special card to the bottom of the stack.
Before the silence could get more awkward, the front door banged open. A figure muffled under a heavy blanket stumbled inside, sizzling.
Spike shoved the door shut with his foot and pulled the blanket off his head. His hair was sticking up every which way. He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and slapped it onto the table.
"What's that?" Buffy eyed the note suspiciously.
"Your da's address." Spike patted his shoulders to make sure there were no actual flames.
"Where did you get it?" Dawn asked.
"Beat it out of a DMV employee." There were dark circles under his eyes as if he'd had a hangover for a week. Buffy recognized the signs of migraine.
"...who was a demon, and therefore beat-able." Buffy prompted. "Right?"
"Well, DMV, so yeh." Spike sniffed and avoided her gaze.
He blinked in surprise when her hand caught his.
"Thank you." She squeezed his fingers, then let go.
"Don't mention it."
Dawn was beaming at him. Spike pulled out a chair and slumped into it. "Got anything to eat?"
"Caramel olives. I'll go get them." Dawn bounced back to the kitchen. "And I'll bring you a mug of blood!" she called over her shoulder.
Buffy grinned wryly. "I'm glad somebody likes her cooking."
"Dare you to eat one."
"Double-dare."
"I will if you will." He stuck out his chin.
"Hah. You'll pretend to swallow and spit it behind the china cabinet."
"That wasn't me."
"It so was you."
They both shut up before Dawn got back, matching smiles across the table.