Spuffy Twitter
Top 10
Contact Us



05/18/17 04:16 am
pj! I remember wishing one of your stories would be finished seriously about a decade ago. Amazing. I just tried an old password I used to use and amazingly got in too. Memories!
03/20/17 01:20 am
10 yrs later, i finally rem my username and password. Pari, you rock. Hope you are well.
12/23/16 01:12 pm
I donate every month. Please donate to keep this site up!
10/06/16 08:34 am
Great post.
08/31/16 03:45 pm
And anyone else who loves this site, it's worth mentioning there's a nifty little "Donate" option just below the shout box here! ;)
08/31/16 03:43 pm
Just wanted to take a moment to thank Pari and all the mods for maintaining such a great site!


Author's Corner

[Reviews - 166]

Microsoft Word Chapter or Story

Printer Chapter or Story

ePub eBook Chapter or Story

- Text Size +
3317 - Reads

Authors Chapter Notes:
First off, this is my very first fic, so for the love of everything holy, please be kind and review! Second, and more importantly, the thank you's...To Flibble my oh so cute beta, you are my supergirl! Evan, for being my info pump on rugby, and to Mandy and Amanda for getting me into this whole mess in the first place. Love you all!


"Twenty twenty twenty-four hours ago
I wanna be sedated"

Spike Blood crooned along with Johnny, streaking down a rural, crop-lined highway in his classic black DeSoto.

"Nothing to do, nowhere to go-o
I waaannna bee suhdaaated..."

The Ramones slowed to sound almost demonic, then suddenly raced to a speed and pitch that was reminiscent of an Alvin and the Chipmunks tribute band. The bleach blonde man pounded on the dashboard a few times with his fist, trying to get his tape to play normally again. When the music stopped all toghether, he pushed the eject button, only to be met with a handful of ribbon-like tape.

"Bollocks," he muttered angrily to himself, chucking the ruined cassette out the open window onto the deserted road. Fiddling with the knob on his radio, Spike scanned the airways for a decent station to keep him entertained, but found only static.

Finally he heard the voice of a DJ, but was none too pleased.

"And up next, a classic from one of my personal favorites: Garth Brooks." A deep twangy voice began assaulting the Brit's ears with a slow warble.

"Bloody poofter," he growled to himself. "Bleedin' farmers 'round here got no taste in music. What kind of nancy boy name is Garth, anyway?"

Minutes later, Spike was joining Mr. Brooks in a final raucous chorus, belting at the top of his lungs.

"Oh I've got friends in low places
Where the whiskey drowns and the beer chases
My blues away
And I'll be okay..."

Spike caught a glimpse of himself in his rearview mirror, thoroughly enjoying the honky-tonk song, and promptly slapped his own face.

"Been in this soddin' country too long, mate," he sighed aloud.

"Haven't been out of this part of it long enough, though," he amended, realizing he was drawing very close to his destination.

He could still remember with perfect clarity the first time he'd traveled this highway, the first time he'd seen the endless fields of corn and wheat, swaying with the wind, almost beckoning him. The first time he'd met...her.

Trepidation gripped him for the umpteenth time at the thought of what tomorrow had in store.

"Don't do this to ourself, you pillock. She's probably forgotten all about you. It's been three years!" he scolded himself again aloud.

"Has it really only been three years? It seems ages. Such a different time...such a different world...a different me."

Spike took his eyes off the road for a moment to bang his forehead against the steering wheel.

"Cut it out, you ponce!"

He cursed himself for every poetry class he'd ever taken.

Chapter One

Spike was hustling out the door of a classroom, bathed in relief at having finished his very last final as a freshman at University of Iowa. He turned around when he heard his name being called from behind him and saw a cute redhead hurrying toward him, arms full of ever-present books. When she caught up to him, she was slightly breathless, so Spike took the initiative to start the conversation.

"'Lo, Willow," he grinned at the winded girl.

"Geez, you move fast, Speedy Gonzalez," she panted.

Spike chuckled.

"Here, lemme get those for you pet," he said, relieving the girl of her burden of texts.

"Awww...look at you, all chivalrous and gentlemanly!" she teased, falling into step beside him as they made their way through the crowded corridor. "Neato final, huh?" Willow commented with genuine enthusiasm.

Spike quirked an eyebrow at the hardcore nerd next to him. "South American GeoPolitics? Yeah, right up my alley. Can hardly stand the pain of knowing I'll never sit through another titillating hour of that class again..."

Willow blushed a bit and smacked him on the arm playfully.

"Is there a reason you raced after me Red, or you just couldn't stand to be without my presence?" Spike inquired with his trademark smirk.

"Oh, yeah! Are you still looking for a place to live for the summer?"

Spike shifted the load of books in his arms to open the door, letting Willow go ahead of him, then stepped out into the glorious May sunlight himself.

"As a matter of fact, I am. Why d'you ask?"

Willow stopped walking and chewed her lip, toeing the ground in front of her, but gathered up her courage when he stopped as well and gave her a questioning look.

"I know someone who needs help on her farm, and I know how you say you hate farming, but she's really nice and she'll give you free room and board, and I'll be there, too!" She said all this very quickly and in a single breath, afraid that if she paused, she wouldn't be able to finish.

Spike flared his nostrils and rolled his eyes. "We've discussed things like this, Red. Now, you've been great to me all year, what with taking a chance on befriending a bloke like me, and I've told you before that I appreciate it..."

Willow opened her mouth to say something, but Spike cut her off.

"But I've also told you that because I'm only here for a few years to go to school, I want to do the whole 'American Experience' thing as much as possible. Which means there's no way in hell I'm ever gonna waste an entire summer on some bloody farm, turning into 'Spike of the Hill People!'"

It was Willow's turn to flare her nostrils. "Hey, calm down Mr. Huffy! It's just a suggestion. You don't have to go all British curse wordy on me. Besides, this is Iowa. There aren't any hills."

He sighed and looked down at his scuffed black Doc Marten's. "Look, I'm sorry. I'm just tired of being in a whole 'nother country and feeling like I haven't done anything worthwhile. No job, hardly any friends, and now term's out, the dorms are closing which means no home. Bloody fantastic, innit?"

Willow stared at her friend with wide-eyed exasperation. "What do you think I'm offering you, you dope? Job: check. Friends: I'll be there, and so will my friend Xander, so check on that one too. And home: double check. She'll even provide food!"

Spike looked up. "Wait, job? I'll get paid for the whole summer?"


He looked down and sighed, mumbling something Willow couldn't quite hear.

"What'd you say?" she inquired, cupping a hand to her ear.

Spike sighed even more dramatically and looked her in the eye, a defeated look on his face. "When do I move in?"

Willow did a Snoopy dance on the spot and gave Spike a bear hug, which was difficult considering the mountain of textbooks between them. She pulled away with a huge smile on her face, one that he couldn't help but return, but quickly caught himself and turned the old scowl back on.

"Holy yay, I am so excited! I'll pick you up tomorrow at two. You're gonna love it, I just know it. It'll be the best summer, ever! And who knows, maybe you'll even learn to appreciate a part of the whole 'American Experience' thing you weren't expecting.

He gave a wry smile. "Unless my definition of worthwhile experiences changes enough to include cowboy hats and steer wrestling, somehow I doubt it."


The following day, after several strenuous hours of attempting to cram all the earthly possessions of two young adults into one sedan, the pair finally set off on their trek. Considering the cramped space and muggy Iowa weather, the trip was rather enjoyable and the three hours went by quickly. They chatted about small things, reminisced about the previous school year, and Spike rejoiced what Willow lamented: the next three and a half months of freedom from education. As they neared their destination, the stretch of highway they'd been traveling grew steadily more rural, with nothing but corn and wheat farms as far as they could see. There hadn't even been another car in sight for the last twenty minutes. Spike began to wonder if they'd fallen off the edge of the earth. Willow took in the sight and sighed happily.

"Isn't it beautiful? I love coming home."

Spike had to admit, though not aloud, of course, that there was something calming and inviting about the infinite expanses of young crops, dancing with the warm breeze.

"So you grew up 'round here?" he asked, turning his attention back to his companion.

"Yup. Right here in good old Price, Iowa. My parents actually decided to retire last year, so they up and sold our house and moved to Boca Raton. Guess they felt the need to get their shuffleboard on." She shrugged. "But this place will always be my home, so this little arrangement works out just peachy for me."

Willow turned off the main highway onto a rough dirt road. Spike became instantly annoyed when he was forced to make the decision between keeping the window down and inhaling massive amounts of dust, or rolling it up and dying from heat exhaustion. He chose the first, compensating by pulling the collar of his black T-shirt over his nose and mouth. Willow took one look at him, with his eyes squinted and face half-hidden, and burst out laughing.

"What?" she heard Spike snarl, muffled by his shirt.

"You're such a baby! It's just dust. Better than those nasty old cancer causing stinky sticks you're always sucking." Sensing the impending retort, she spoke up again. "Besides, we're here."

The road curved suddenly to the right, stopping dead in front of an old farmhouse. It was a good thing Spike's face was concealed, because he'd have been smacked for his expression. He took one look around him and was flooded with simultaneous feelings of shock, satisfaction, and regret. He was shocked that there was no herd of cattle grazing, satisfied that, other than the beef, he'd been exactly right in his presumptions of the place, and regret that he'd ever stopped to talk to Willow the previous day.

Taking a more thorough look, he noted the overgrown front yard, the rusted old tractor sitting in it, the tool shed that should probably have been condemned, and the house next to it. A fairly large, two-story ranch style home, with the requisite shutters, wraparound porch and paint that looked as though it was probably white at one point, before most of it had peeled away to expose the wood beneath. The only thing that seemed, to Spike, to be missing, was a fat man in overalls named Bubba, sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch, playing his banjo, bloodhound and shotgun in tow.

Willow turned off the car, opened her door, and stepped out. Shaking his head, Spike followed suit, stretched his travel-weary joints, and walked around to the trunk to grab the first load of bags and boxes. He slung a dufflebag over his shoulder and asked, "Why's this bird need help, anyway? The place is immaculate."

She didn't miss the sarcasm. Willow made a face and purposely hit him with a bag as she hauled it out of the car.

"This place used to be really beautiful, actually. It kills me to see it like this. As a matter of fact, that's one of the reasons I'm here, to see if we can't get it all shiny and new again."

She gave a half smile and started making her way toward the house, weighted down with luggage. Spike scoffed, thoroughly unconvinced this place could ever have been described as anything close to beautiful. When they reached the porch, Willow set down her bags and her expression turned serious. "No, really it means a lot to me. I've been friends with these people my whole life and this farm was like a second home to me, growing up. This family's been through a string of really rough years, recently. The woman who lives here lost her husband a year ago, and they are both very close to me. So please Spike, don't be a poopyhead."

Feeling a little ashamed of himself, he made an apologetic face and nodded. "Right. Well, if you like her, I will too, most like."

Willow smiled at that. He smiled too, picturing the woman he'd be working for all summer. In his mind, he could see a plump, kind-faced woman, white hair pulled back in a loose bun, complete with apron and fresh-baked apple pie. Willow opened the door and as he followed, he realized he'd missed something important.

"Red, I don't even know the name of this woman," he stated, furrowing his brow.

"Oh, geez, I'm sorry. Her name's Buffy. Buffy Summers-Finn."

A/N: So there it is, my very first chapter! Hope it wasn't unbearable. And I promise, Buffy and Spike will meet in the next chapter, and no, she's not what Spike's expecting! EW! If you liked it, review and I'll post sooner!

Enter the security code shown below:
Note: You may submit either a rating or a review or both.