Sometimes, Buffy felt, dealing with Peter Vincent felt a lot like dealing with Spike. A cowardly, alcoholic, painfully human Spike. So really, not very Spike-like at all.

"You know what your problem is?" he asked her as she walked in on him sprawled on the couch, crotch barely covered by a tight little kimono that she's pretty sure came from her closet. "You need too much control."

Right. That, right there, was what reminded her of Spike. The aggravating bursts of insight from an objectively terrible sentient being.

"I don't seem to recall asking for your input, Peter," she snapped, dumping her shopping bags on the floor. "Particularly from the alcoholic stealing my clothes."

"Hey, that hurts!" Peter pointed a finger at her, and then looked down. "Or it would, if it wasn't true. But let's face it, this thing looks much nicer on me anyway. And we were talking about your control issues."

"No, we weren't. You were getting ready to put on real clothes and stick that kimono in the washer and promise to never steal my stuff again."

"Look, if anybody's going to understand control issues, it's going to be me," Peter continued, ignoring her. "And for much the same reason. Vampires are fucking awful creatures. You've had to fight them your entire life. Living in constant fear, knowing that any moment if you're not careful enough, your life or the lives of the people you care about could end..."

Rolling her eyes, Buffy yanked him up by the neck of the kimono (ignoring how his family jewels peeked out now because ew). "Yes, I know. Believe it or not, Peter, I have been told this before. This is also why I'm seeing a therapist. So I really don't need you chiming in."

"I was just trying to help," Peter protested weakly.

"Well DON'T."

/screams I LOVE THIS SO MUCH.

THANK YOU.