Spike kissed her. "I love you! I love you! I love you!"
"Spike, it's only a television," Joyce said, laughing lightly at his actions. She shook her head in a motherly fashion. "Now, if only my daughter would greet me that way..."
The blond vampire grinned at her. "Joyce, your daughter is a-"
"Spike," she warned.
"-Wonderful girl," Spike finished with a wink.
"That's right, she is," Joyce said. She gestured to the back of her forerunner, which was backed up to the open garage door. "I hope I got one that you wanted. I asked the salesman, and he said as long as you have all the receipts, you can bring it back."
Spike followed her over to the back of the automobile and hefted the brand new, boxed television out of the trunk. "This'll be lovely, Joyce," he told her. He started back towards the door to the house. "Would you like to come in for a cuppa?"
"I'd love one," Joyce replied, shutting the trunk and following him inside. "As long as I get the grand tour."
"I think that can be arranged," he said.
Joyce closed the door behind her and set her purse down on the kitchen table, glancing at the neatly stacked workbooks and papers sitting side-by-side on the otherwise pristine surface. Two pencils were lined up perfectly beneath them. She headed in the direction Spike had gone with the television, entering the foyer and then the living room, looking over everything with a curious eye as she went from room to room.
"Do you have a cleaning service?" she asked, noting the supreme neatness of the home.
"No," Spike answered. He set the television box in front of the entertainment center. He'd already put the old, broken television in the garage to be taken out with the trash. "And before you ask -- yes, I'm a bloody neatnick."
Joyce smiled. "There's nothing wrong with that. I only wish my house looked half as good as this."
Spike straightened and turned to her. "Now, how 'bout that tour?" he said, then gestured to the room he was in. "This is the living room."
The Slayer's mother took in the soft beige carpeting, the pale blue walls, the boarded-over picture window behind a plush, light brown couch with a colorful throw across the back, flanked on either end by chestnut end-tables with a lamp adorning each. A matching chestnut coffee table sat in front of the couch and across the room rested a large, filled entertainment center, the only empty spot being where the new television was going to be. A neat stack of magazines sat on the coffee table, a precisely placed pad of paper and pen sat on one of the end tables, and a pretty, deep blue vase held a few violets rested on the other end table, which Joyce recognized as coming from the violet garden lining the front of the ranch house.
Then she looked up. "What happened to your ceiling?"
Spike raised his gaze to the hooks, strong bolts and two-inch rope holes that littered his living room ceiling. "Your daughter's what happened," he grumbled. "She and that bit- er, brunette Slayer stuck all my furniture on the ceiling the other night."
Joyce smothered a smile. "And why did Buffy and Faith do something like that?"
"Because they're mean," the blond vampire hedged.
"Spike."
"Fine. It's because I went and stole all of the Slayer's clothes and made those two twits embarrass themselves to get her stuff back," Spike told her.
"So you're the one who did that," Joyce said. "It's a good thing Buffy didn't go through with all the gruesome things she ranted about for three solid hours, or I'd be attending your funeral."
Spike shook his head and sighed. "These kids today..." He looked over at her and grinned rakishly, then gestured towards the foyer. "Shall we?"
The tour ended back in the cheery kitchen a short time later. Spike put two mugs of water in the microwave as Joyce made herself comfortable at the kitchen table. He was feeling very domesticated, which would normally make him wince, but after his childish tantrum earlier that day -- and the fact that Joyce had gone out and bought him a new television -- he was happy for the company.
Plus, the longer she stayed, the longer he could put off studying.
"So, how long have you been here?" Joyce asked.
"Since April," he replied, moving to the pantry to take out a box of cookies.
"And why didn't you tell me you were living here again?"
He gave her a sheepish look over his shoulder. "Sorry, luv. I didn't want your daughter knowing I was back in Sunnyhell."
"I haven't told her that we've spoken on the phone numerous times," Joyce pointed out.
"True," Spike agreed. "But I rang you at work, not home."
"And you'd go on and on about this lovely 'friend' you never named the few times you called over the summer," Joyce said.
Spike was thankful the microwave beeped. He busied himself with making the tea so he wouldn't have to face her. "Well...er...that is..."
"I knew you had a crush," she said. "I just hadn't realized it was on Willow."
The blond vampire scowled at her as he handed her the cup of tea. "I don't have a crush on Willow."
"Mm-hmm." Joyce took a sip of the hot brew, giving him a motherly 'if you say so, dear' look over the rim of her mug.
"I don't," Spike insisted, taking the seat across from her. "She's my friend, my closest one at that, but only a friend."
"Spike, don't deny it. Willow is special to you," she said.
"I'm not." He frowned down at his tea. "She's the best thing that's come into my unlife since..."
"Since Drusilla," Joyce finished.
"Yeah," he agreed sadly. "Since Dru."
Joyce reached over and put her hand on his wrist, squeezing gently. "It's been nine months, Spike, since you called and told me you two broke up. It's okay to move on if you want to. Although I do think Willow's a little young for you."
"By about a century or so." Spike raised his head and gave her a half-smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Doesn't matter, though, ducks. Kitten and I are just friends, no more, no less."
"Well, as long as you're happy, that's all that really matters," Joyce said.
"How someone as lovely as you ended up with an obnoxious twit of a daughter is bloody unfathomable," Spike said.
Joyce's eyes sparkled as she picked up a cookie. "She takes after her father."
Spike laughed and the two settled into a pleasant conversation that lasted the remainder of the afternoon.
Willow wondered if gouging her eyes out with her fork would hurt.
She was extremely tempted to find out. She loved her parents dearly, but
being subjugated to dinner with them was a torture equal to that which
Spike could devise.
"We just want you to be prepared," Sheila Rosenberg told her daughter. "You are an adult now in the eyes of the law, and with becoming an adult comes responsibility."
"She's still too young to be having sexual relations of any kind," Ira Rosenberg grumbled, stabbing a piece of fish with his fork.
"Now Ira," Sheila said pacifistically. "We've raised Willow to be a mature, productive and responsible member of society. I'm certain she will not take the decision to engage in intercourse lightly." She looked at Willow. "Isn't that right dear?"
"Right," Willow agreed. She smiled tightly and refrained from telling her parents that she'd already slept with all the men who's last name started with the letter 'A' and was currently working on the 'B.' It would be a major lie, considering she was still a member of the virgin brigade, but it may actually get them to stop lecturing. Of course, with her luck, the lecture would change from safe sex to the horrors of venereal disease complete with detailed symptoms guaranteed to make her throw up her fish dinner all over the dining room table.
"Now, do you have a current suitor?" Sheila asked.
"Well, I have a date on Sunday," Willow admitted, a real smile crossing her lips.
"I trust it's not late on Sunday," Ira said. "You have classes on Monday. School is more important than boys."
"Men, dear," Sheila corrected.
"Don't remind me," Ira told her grumpily.
"It's not late," Willow reassured her father. "Tris and I are only going to see a movie on the campus' big screen."
"Tell us about this young man," Sheila prompted. "His name is Tris?"
"Tristan Montgomery," Willow said. She knew the information her mother wanted and recited the facts in a precise order. "He's 21 and a junior majoring in architecture with a high GPA. He's from Eureka, and his parents are still married. This is our first date and I'm really looking forward to it."
"He sounds nice, Willow," Sheila said.
"Architecture, hmm?" Ira grunted. "Drawing is not a lucrative profession."
"It's a highly specialized area, Dad," Willow said, defending Tristan's choice of major. "It takes five years of schooling to receive a degree in architecture and you have to take a three-day exam to get licensed."
"Ignore your father, dear," Sheila told Willow. "He could find fault with the founder of Habitat for Humanity." She cut another piece of her dinner. "Now, do you have plans for this weekend? You know Ira and I are going to a convention in San Francisco early tomorrow morning and are staying overnight."
"I know," Willow said, feeling guilty at the quick wish that they had left today instead of tomorrow morning. "I'm just going to visit with friends-"
"Not that Bunny girl." Sheila tisked. "She's not a very good influence."
"Yes, I'm going to see Buffy. And Faith and Xander and Giles and Spike and we're going to have an orgy with lots of drugs and alcohol," Willow stated blithely. "Then I'm going to do my laundry."
"Well, you are an adult now," Sheila said. "Your friends are your own to choose. Just remember that the company you keep reflects on you personally and professionally." She paused. "Did you say you were going to do laundry?"
Willow rolled her eyes and her Mom's selective hearing. "Yes, I'm going to do laundry."
"Be sure to use the Energy Saver if you're going to do multiple loads," Sheila told her.
"Yes, Mom."
"You would not believe how expensive it is for something as simple as doing a load of washing..."
Willow wondered if it wasn't too late to purposely choke to death on a fish bone.
"Yo, Red, what up?" Faith asked cheerfully as Willow joined the
table at the Bronze.
"Is it still illegal to kill your parents?" Willow asked in reply.
Buffy laughed. "I take it you got the sex lecture again."
"Yep," Willow said. "Ever since I turned 18 it's been family dinner, lecture on-on...that."
"Come on, girlfriend, you can say it," Faith said. She slowly sounded out the word. "Ssssss-ex."
Willow blushed. "Faith."
"Sssss-ex," Faith repeated. "Sssss-ex." Buffy joined in. "Sssss-ex."
"Fine!" Willow exclaimed. "Sex! Sex! Sex! Sex! Sex! You happy now?"
"Depends on if that's an offer or not," Xander said from behind her.
Willow squeaked and buried her bright red face in her hands as Faith and Buffy burst out laughing. "I hate you both," she whined loudly.
"So, who's having sex and how can I get some?" Xander asked, pulling up a seat.
"No one!" Willow exclaimed.
"I can't have sex," Buffy said. "If I do, Angel will try and kill us all again."
"That does sort of put a damper on the orgasmic festivities," Xander said.
"Guys-" Willow pleaded, glancing around the filled to capacity Bronze in embarrassment.
"I'd love to get me a little unh!" Faith grunted. "Sex-u-al feeling."
"Isn't that a song?" Buffy asked. "Sexual feeling? I think I heard it on one of Mom's radio stations."
"'I want your sex,'" Xander warbled. "'I want your lo-o-o-ove.'"
"That's Mr. Whackin'-in-the-john George Michael," Faith said.
"I think it goes 'I want to get some of that sexual feeling,'" Buffy crooned in a breathy, fake Marilyn Monroe voice.
"Will you guys please stop?" Willow begged.
"How 'bout this one?" Faith stood and started to dance dirty beside her chair. "'Let's talk about sex, bay-bee. Let's talk about you and me. Let's talk about all the good things and the bad things that may be. Let's talk about sex. Unh!'"
"Hey baby," Xander said to Faith in a horrid accent. "How 'bout chew an' me go in the back of mah motor and you kin gimme some-a dat wahild thang?"
"I was always partial to that song called 'Rub Me,'" Buffy said. "You know, 'come on and stroke and rub me the right way.'" She wiggled her brows. "Angel sure does."
Faith chortled. "So you and sexy-vamp do that whole touchy-feely-bitey-"
"But no sex-y thing? Yeah," Buffy replied. "It...well, he," she grinned wolfishy, "sucks."
Xander shuddered. "Now that's something I never wanted to know about you and Goldenfang, Buffster."
"Jealous?" Buffy asked sweetly.
"Yup." Xander nodded. "I want me a huge beefstud like Angel to call my very own."
"I didn't know you swung that way, Xand," Faith said.
"I'd swing any way if it got me sex," Xander said with a grin.
"Will you guys stop talking about sex!?" Willow exclaimed loudly...
...At the exact same moment the music stopped.
All eyes turned to stare at the redhead, who shrunk down on her stool, her face matching her hair. "I hate all three of you," she muttered.
Buffy, Faith and Xander just gave her innocent smiles.