IT’S JUST NOT CRICKET

Willow smiled happily as she made her way towards the large entrance gates.  One of a throng of thousands of boisterous people headed to the same place. She felt relaxed in her anonynimity, soaking up the clear sunshine and giggling here and there at the strange accents the people had.

“Opps, sorry mate” A large voice boomed as a tall man in a gaudy pair of board shorts and green T Shirt with a ‘VB’ logo on it dropped his ice box sloshing cold water on to her sneakers.  “Too many tinnies in the esky” he laughed good-naturedly.

Willow smiled back; the cool water would dry in no time in this clear heat.  “Oh..that’s ok.  What’s a tinny and what’s an esky?”  she asked curiously.

A few of the people standing near by were grinning indulgently at her as they all shuffled towards the gate in a disorderly, yet relaxed line.  “Yank are ya?”

She guessed he was referring to her being an American.  She smiled nervously and nodded “California.”

“Well mate, a tinny is a can of beer and this is an esky” He said gesturing towards the portable icebox.  “Most blokes will have an esky full of beer today.  They’re bloody handy, they keep the beer cold, we don’t drink it warm like those idiot poms, and when you put the lid on, you can park ya arse and use it as a chair.”

Those standing nearby nodded in agreement and Willow noticed that an awful lot of them did seem to have ‘eskies’.  She smiled to herself amazed – not for the first time – at the amount of beer these people consumed.

The crowd shifted forward a little more as the line ahead made some small progress.

Willow jumped nervously when another board short wearing man ran up to the man she had been speaking to and punched a hole in a can of beer showering him and most of those standing near by with the foamy beverage.

“Johnno! You’re a complete mongrel!” the esky man yelled grabbing ‘Johnno’ around the neck in a headlock.

Willow jumped away from the two men currently wrestling and shot a look of alarm their way.  “Don’t worry ‘bout them, they’re just a couple of silly buggers” said an older lady standing next to Willow.  She noticed that no one else seemed to be concerned about the altercation and were in fact having a good laugh at the macho display.

“Shouldn’t someone try to stop them fighting before they get hurt?”

The woman laughed and shook her head “They’re not fighting love, just mucking around and saying G’day.” She explained patiently.

“But he called that a man a ….a mongrel!”  Willow said confused and unconvinced.

“Yeah that’s the funny thing about us.  We call our mates mongrels and bastards, but it’s usually meant affectionately.  I ‘spose it is confusing” she shrugged.

Yeah, Willow thought with a rueful smile, these people had all kinds of strange customs.  Looking around she noticed a motley kind of uniform, most wore shorts and tanks and nearly everyone had a hat ranging from the sublime to the ridiculous, many also had streaks of yellow and green swiped across their noses and cheeks.  Willow had been told this strange face paint was ‘zinc cream’ which prevented sunburn and the colors signified their allegiance to the ‘Aussie Team’.

“Ever been to a cricket game before, mate?”  Esky man asked apparently finished with attacking Johnno who was now guzzling another tinny.

Willow shook her head in the negative.  “No, this is my first time overseas.  I thought that I should really come to see the national game if I got the chance.  I have an English friend back home who constantly refers to cricket.  I’d like to have some idea of what he’s talking about”.

Esky man laughed “You’ll be able to go back and tell the pommie bastard you saw the Aussies give his team a hiding!”  with a more serious look on his face he asked “Where are ya sittin’ mate?”

Willow checked her ticket “Ahh, in the Bradman stand”

That piece of information was greeted with ooh’s and ahh’s all round.  “That’s good?”  She queried.

Esky man nodded seriously “Best you can get without being in the Members’ Stand.  Nice shady spot so you won’t get sunburnt.”

Eventually the line shifted again and in a surprisingly short space of time a friendly usher was showing her to her seat high in the Bradman Stand.  She quickly realized that she would have a perfect view of the game, which she had been told was a ‘day - nighter’ or rather, the shortened version of a game that was often 5 days long!

An elderly man occupied the seat on her left and was kind enough to explain the basic premise of the game when he learned she was a ‘bloody foreigner.’  The seat on her right however, remain unoccupied throughout the heated afternoon session of play.  Willow found that a little odd since the entire ‘ground’ (not stadium) appeared booked out.

Arriving back from the ‘tea break’ Willow took her seat feeling very relieved that since the sun was now just setting the sizzling summer heat would abate a little.  Drinking thirstily from her bottled water she felt very relaxed.  She was surprised just how much she was enjoying this game.  It was more of a thinking game and didn’t rely on brute strength for success.  Esky man was right, the Australian team was kicking English butt out there.  She giggled as she thought of Giles’ reaction when she announced she had ‘seen the poms get a belting.’

“Scuse me” Willow heard a soft and deep voice say.   A shadow fell across her as she sat in her chair with one bare leg swung casually across the previously unoccupied seat to her immediate right.

“Oh, sorry, didn’t realize this seat was taken –“ she broke off looking up at the new arrival.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“Bloody hell!  Can’t I go ANYWHERE in this bleedin’ world without one of you taggin’ along for the ride!”

Originally too astounded to speak at the sight of the familiar blond looming over her with blue eyes flashing gold in anger, Willow gulped before speaking  “Spike!  But I’m on holiday, I’m not supposed to be running into vampires.  Go away!”

He crossed his arms angrily over his T Shirt clad chest before plunking himself down in the empty seat next to her.  “Not bloody likely, Red.  Took some real enthusiastic convincing to make the bloke give me this seat.  You move.”  He snapped.

Willow snorted defiantly “No way, I was here first-“

“Well that’s not fair, I couldn’t have come any earlier now could I?”

They both sat in sulky silence for a moment, before Willow spoke again.  “I came all this way specifically to avoid..well…you….the least you can do is have the decency to go and find some other place to sit.”

“Listen to me you silly bint! I come to Australia every time the English team comes out for a series, so don’t you tell me to move.  You bloody ignorant American, what do you know about cricket?  You probably don’t even know who’s winning.”  He fumed quietly remembering the crowd around them.   Than just as an afterthought he added; “Besides, I don’t have any bloody decency!”

Willow smiled sweetly and turned to face him “Oh I know who’s winning, Spike.  The Aussies are giving the poms a BELTING!”

He snapped his head around and snarled menacingly at her “I’ll give you a bloody belting!”

Just then an Australian batsman hit the small white ball for a ‘six’ and the stand erupted with beer cans flung joyfully into the air.  Willow jumped up out of her seat and cheered loudly with the other Australian spectators.  “Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, Oi, Oi, Oi” she screamed enthusiastically fully aware how annoyed Spike would be by such gloating.  Somewhere in the back of her mind her survival instincts were screaming at her not to annoy the nasty, bitey, vampire, but……..she just couldn’t seem to help herself, he was such a smug bastard, it felt wonderful to have the upper hand for once.  ‘You don’t have the upper hand, Rosenberg’ her survival instinct wailed.  “Oh, shut up.”

Not too long after that little display, Spike got to make one of his own when an English bowler ‘took a wicket’, unfortunately for him, his enthusiasm was not shared by the one eyed Australian crowd and he sat down again growling dangerously after getting hit in the head with an empty paper cup.

The old man next to Willow shoved a can of beer into her hand with a little grunt.  Willow looked at him questioningly. “You gotta skull every time they get a run in this over.”  He explained looking at her as if she should have known.

“But I’m only 20!” she said confused before blushing furiously as those seated around her laughed at the statement.

“Drinkin’ age here is 18, mate, but we usually start well before that”

Willow shot a confused glance at Spike who merely shrugged and held his own can aloft “Tradition, Red.  Cheers”

“Wey hey” the audience cheered as the Australian batsmen took a run, they all dutifully took a healthy slug from the can.  Then someone passed a plastic bag to her filled with money and a notebook.  She quickly swigged from the can before looking stupidly at the bag.

Spike rolled his eyes.  “You put in 5 bucks and write down how many runs you think the Australians are gonna make.  Put your name next to it, whoever gets the closest to the actual score wins the money.” He explained impatiently.

“Ohhh” she said slowly.  What strange people these Australians were!  They were all terribly familiar even though she understood most of them had never met before this day, yet here they were having a friendly bet and passing beer about like old school pals.

After Willow’s second can of beer in quick succession, Spike leaned in to whisper in her ear “you better ease up, Red.  This beer has a lot more kick than what you American’s are used to.”

Willow rolled her eyes but decided to take his advice anyway.  She couldn’t afford to get drunk.  After all she had no idea how she was going to get back to her hotel without getting eaten.  She knew she was safe from him here in amongst this crowd, but leaving the ground, she guessed he would probably consider her fair game.

Willow stole a quick glance at the vampire and jumped slightly when she realized he was leering right back at her.

“That your boyfriend, Yankee?”  The old man next to her asked with a twinkle in his faded blue eyes.

“That vampire?  No way!” she squealed in an outraged tone, not sure if the blush she now felt tinging her cheeks was from the beer or the embarrassment.  He was kind of good looking in a ‘kill ya dead’ kind of way, but definitely not boyfriend material – especially not HER kind of boyfriend material!

“Oh” the old man nodded in understanding “He’s a lawyer is he?”

Spike laughed loudly and shot Willow a mischievous glance before leaning across her in a most familiar way to talk to the old man “You know how they are mate, they like to play hard to get.”

The old man grinned and passed Spike a can of beer.  “Well she’s a top lookin’ Sheila,  but you could hardly blame her for playin’ hard to get, you’re a pom AND a lawyer!” He laughed good-naturedly.

Spike  joined in the laughter and took a generous gulp of beer before placing a cold hand on Willow’s bare knee and squeezing harder than necessary.  He knew she would be quietly fuming at this blokey display. Knowing this conversation was probably pissing her off was very pleasing to him.

“Careful dead boy, that’s gonna bruise tomorrow” she whispered angrily into his ear.

He looked at her steadily, all laughter gone from his face and voice when he answered her, “What makes you think you’ll be around tomorrow to worry about it, luv?’

Willow gulped and swatted his hand away “you’re spoiling my holiday, Spike” she whispered lamely, not quite sure how to answer the thinly veiled threat.  Her palms suddenly felt damp and she clamped her teeth together firmly to stop their sudden chattering.

“Well that’s just – neat!” He responded happily dropping a cold arm around her shoulders in a parody of friendship.  Willow knew it for what it was though, and shivered.  There would be no stealthy escape between now and the end of the game she realized miserably draining her third can of beer.

Watching her out of the corner of his eye, Spike smiled to himself.  At first he’d been bloody annoyed to find the Slayer’s pet witch here - all the way across the world for the love of God! But she was alone and without the rest of the annoying bunch of twits he found himself enjoying their verbal sparring.  Besides, he thought with an evil grin, imagine the shit he would cause if the Slayer knew Red was here with him.

Looking out the corner of his eye again he noticed she was working her way steadily through  her fourth can of beer.  Her cheeks were flushed with delicious blood and her large green eyes had taken on that slightly out of focus look humans sometimes got when they were drunk.  Dutch courage, he surmised gleefully, enjoying her obvious discomfort.  He wound his arm a little tighter around her shoulders.  “Busy after the game, Pet?” he asked conversationally.

“Why? I..I..mean, yes I am…uh…I’m meeting a whole bunch of friends.”

He shook his head “Oh, I don’t think so”  He handed her another beer.  “I’ll take you out for a bite to eat.  You’ll need it after all that beer.”

“There will be no biting of any kind, Mr The Bloody! No, no, no…I don’t want to go anywhere with y-“

“Lets make a bet, Red” he interrupted smoothly.

She frowned “W..what kind of bet, Spike?”  It was exhausting trying to keep up with his conversation changes and trying to second guess his devious plans.

He loved the way she stuttered nervously over his name, did wonders for his already inflated ego.  “If the English team win, I have you for a late night snack”  He held his hand up quickly to silence her before continuing “If the Australian team win, you get to go out with me for a late evening meal – which will not be you.”

Willow shook her head in panic and shrank back into her chair.  “None of those options sound very appealing.  What if I don’t want to play, Spike?”

Spike let her question hang unanswered between them long enough to increase her nervousness before leaning in close to place his mouth just below her ear, loving the way she jumped at the intimate contact.  He whispered in his most sinister voice; “Well then, all bets are off, and I just kill you anyway.”  He grinned. Either way, he was getting exactly what he wanted out of this little arrangement.  He loved winning – and he always won.

Willow spent the next half hour in sheer terror.  Little did she know Spike was already aware by looking at the scorecard that England couldn’t win.  Still, it was quite enjoyable watching her sweat it out.  ‘Teach her to give me cheek’, he thought.

By the time the game was over and the Australians had won, Willow felt as though she was going to throw up.  She sincerely hoped Spike would honor the bet and not kill her.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“Fast Eddies?”

“Well it has really good nachos, lots of beer, and its open 24 hours, what were you expecting, the bloody Hilton?”

Willow shrugged just glad to be in amongst a crowd again, he was less likely to bite her in front of an audience.  Although, she knew that if he really wanted to bite her, it wouldn’t really matter where they were – he would do it anyway and with a smile to boot.

Two hours later a very inebriated witch and vampire made their way towards the public phone in the Fast Eddies foyer giggling like school kids.  Spike, who was a lot less drunk than he was letting on, had managed to convince Willow who was very easily led at this point, that it would be hilarious to give the Watcher a call and say ‘hello’.  Unaware of Spike’s nasty motivation, Willow agreed.

“Hello, Watcher”

The voice that answered the phone back in the United States sounded distinctly disoriented, which made perfect sense since it was very early in the morning over there.  “Who is this? … Spike?  Is that you?  Why on earth are you telephoning me?  How did you get this number?”

Spike grinned holding the earpiece out so Willow could hear the conversation.  “Just thought you might like to say hello to my dinner guest” he drawled in amusement knowing full well how that comment would be construed.  He thrust the phone at Willow who almost dropped it in her drunken state before giggling stupidly.

“Hey Giles!  I went to see Cricket!”

Spike snatched the phone away again to speak to the Watcher who had begun to yell into the phone from his end “Willow!  Is that you?”

“Gotta go mate, give my – our love – to the Slayer” Spike said as he hung up.

Turning back towards Willow to share his mirth at the very nasty joke he had just played on the Watcher, he was mildly disappointed to discover the witch appeared to have fallen asleep sitting on the little bench in the phone booth.

He sighed and shrugged before digging through her purse to find her hotel key.  She was on holiday after all, and he’d eaten earlier, besides it would be just too predictable if he killed her now and Spike prided himself on his unpredictability!  He ignored the voice of the demon in his head that was telling him he was getting soft like his nancy-boy Sire.  “Fuck off” he growled to himself as he hoisted Willow’s limp form into his arms.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Willow woke reluctantly.  Her head was pounding and her stomach rolled threateningly.  “Oh.  My.  God” she croaked, wincing at the sound of her own voice.  So this was a hangover?  She was never going to drink again!

Deciding against sitting up, Willow contented herself with holding one cool hand against her pounding forehead and moaning softly and miserably. Was this how a normal hangover felt?  Could people die from hangovers?  She was convinced that she could quite happily die from this hangover – at least the pounding in her skull would stop and her stomach would settle.

Slowly she became aware that she was still fully clothed from yesterday’s cricket game.  For the life of her, she couldn’t remember a thing after finding her seat at the cricket ground.

Turning her head very carefully to find a cooler spot on the pillow, Willow’s eyes sprang open as something brushed uncomfortably against her cheek.  It was a folded piece of paper.  Squinting slightly against the light that was causing a sharp, stabbing, pain behind her sensitive eyes, she read the short note.

Must do this again, Pet.

Spike

Dropping the note, Willow shot into a sitting position as all color drained from her face.  “Oh my God!” she squealed reaching for the telephone.  She had to call Giles.

back