Author’s notes: The *’s in the first chapter mean the answering machine is talking.

Thanks so much to Carol, who's idea it was for this story, I hope I did it justice.

CHAPTER ONE

*You have five new messages*

“Spike, dah-ling, I’ve been calling you all week! I was hoping we could have a little more fun before I left for Milan fashion week -- give me a ring would you?”

“Hey, Baby, it’s your Nikki. Last night was spectacular -- I was wandering if we could have a repeat performance tonight -- call me.”

“Hello Spike, this is Candi, I know it was supposed to be just for one night, but I can’t stop thinking about you. I have to see you again. Maybe this time I could be the doctor.”

“Spike, sweetheart, it’s Jennifer. I’m going to be in L.A. early next week for a Vogue photo shoot. Please, don’t let my visit across the pond be a complete waste of time, if you know what I mean. Call me back.”

“Spike you son of a bitch! You are by far the biggest, most . . .” the message ended abruptly as a hand leapt to stop the voice short.

A long finger reached to press delete, hesitated, then walked away leaving all the sultry voices intact. Spike sauntered to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water and taking a long swig before setting it down on the counter. He whipped off his sweat soaked t-shirt from his morning skate and threw it in the general direction of the hallway hamper.

Spike was making his way to the shower when the phone rang. Smirking cockily, he picked it up.
“What are you wearing?” the voice purred.

Spike’s tongue found the back of his teeth, “Just about what I was born in, luv.”

The voice on the other end closed her eyes and took a minute to revel in the thought of his cut muscles, six-pack abs, and tight ass.

Spike smiled at her obvious contemplation, “What do ya need, Lilah?”

“I need a certain sexy young photographer for some mind-blowing, on-the-top-of-my-corporate-desk sex . . . .” Spike waited moment. “Oh, and I have an offer for the biggest project of your life.”

Spike smirked, “I’ll be right down.”

CHAPTER TWO

“Oh my God!”

“I’m gonna cry!”

“You look gorgeous!”

A gaggle of screaming girls gathered to fawn over a young brunette covered in white satin and lace. Her every dream was coming true one by one. She was going to be married in her grandmother’s church with red roses draped dramatically, yet tastefully all around her. She was to begin a new life with the man of her dreams. And whether she knew it or not, she owed it all to one person . . . .

Standing alone, with a soft, wistful smile spread across her face, Buffy watched the familiar scene play out in front of her. It had happen hundreds of times over Buffy’s five year career as owner of Fairytale, but the result was a happy one all the same. It meant that Buffy was making someone’s wish become a reality, and that’s why she decided to open her own business right out of college. Luckily, her friends were surprisingly eager to help, all having had no immediate plans after they all graduated from UC Sunnydale together.

Each of her co-workers brought a unique skill to Fairytale that made it was it was today: Willow takes care of inventory, shipping, and booking (really anything that has to do with computers); Xander works as delivery man, handy man, and takes care of any other jobs he believes he can do with wedding work without compromising his manliness; Anya takes care of finances, and Buffy’s younger sister Dawn helps out with any loose ends Buffy may forget. Buffy was content when the shop finally opened, and still is, but the difference is now, it’s getting noticed.

Fairytale is not a regular wedding retail shop, Buffy and the gang had worked very hard for it to become so. Fairytale not only supplied a young bride with her dream gown, but got her in contact with the best flower shops, caterers, and stylists in the area -- and that area was beginning to expand. Buffy was now in regular contact with the biggest names in fashion and style, shipping Vera Wang dresses cross country if necessary, all while headquartered in a small mom and pop looking shop in the small town of Sunnydale. It was that extra mile Buffy was willing to go, without compromising the small metropolitan upbringing, that made Fairytale so unique.

Buffy was distracted from her thoughts by the bell, sounding that someone has entered the store. It was Dawn and Xander, who had picked her up from school. Dawn walked back around the desk where Buffy was standing, gave her a kiss hello, then went in the back room to drop her backpack off before helping Anya.

Buffy waited for Xander to report some funny and clever happening on his adventure to pick Dawn up at their old alma mater high school. He always had a little observation to make Buffy smile. He made none, so Buffy took the initiative.

“Hi ya Xander! What’s up?”

Xander jumped at the sound of her voice, “Iummmmnnnaa,” his eyes bugged and looked around him frantically, glancing anywhere but at Buffy, before panicking and pushing past her quickly.

Xander had been acting strangely around Buffy for a week now. He couldn’t be mad at her -- there was just no reason. And he didn’t act mean, he acted . . . Nervous. Maybe . . . No, he couldn’t. Well, he always had . . . Liked her. She liked him too, but . . . . Maybe they could. Stranger things have happened. She looked on as her young client tried on several veils to match her fantasy dress. Buffy decided then that if Xander would ever ask her out, she’d say yes.

Suddenly, Xander was thrown out of the maroon curtain that separated the store from the back work area. He looked back, scowling at whatever force propelled him. He came face to face with Buffy yet again, and stared at her for a moment.

“Buffy, I want to ask you a very important question.” It seemed to Buffy to be THE question. The one she had been dreading, but sure of all the same.

“Yes Xander?” Buffy couldn’t believe this. Little Xander, who she had gone to school with for all those years . . . .

“This is going to be the biggest decision of my entire life.”

“Oh, mine too!”

“I hope you’ll say yes.”

“I guarantee you I’ll say yes.”

In all the commotion, Anya had come up to the couple, sharing in the excitement.

“Buffy . . . I want you to be . . . my wedding coordinator.”

“Huh!? Your wedding . . . Wait, you were dating someone!? Who are you marrying?”

“Me,” Anya lurched forward in her outburst, overcome with excitement. “We want you to be our wedding girl,” she knocked Buffy on the shoulder with her fist lightly. “We want you to give us the biggest wedding you have ever done, all the while keeping in mind that we put our own lives on hold to help you set up your precious dream shop.”

The rest of the gang had emerged from the back, hearing the word ‘wedding’ in respect to one of their own.

Buffy gapped, and Xander looked at his future bride lovingly, “Only my girl could be so insulting with such a genuine smile on her face.”

“So we expect a big discount,” Anya added quickly. “We need the extra money for our honeymoon, where we can leave this crappy town and go have many, many orgasms!”

“WHOA!” the gang said in unison, Buffy nervously glancing at Dawn, making sure there was no sign of mental or physical scarring. But the younger Summers girl seemed blissful about the abrupt upcoming events.

“So, Buffster, whataya say? You’ll do this for us?”

Buffy was a little flustered. She didn’t even know Xander and Anya were seeing each other, let alone getting married! But they looked at her expectantly. Buffy took a breath, “Well, OK then!”

The entire gang imploded into hugs, kisses, and congratulations, until finally dissipating to return to their work.

“Oh, and Buffy?” Anya called back to her, “We need it done in two months.”

CHAPTER THREE

Spike road the elevator to the eleventh floor, making sure to give the young girl next to him a little wink as he stepped off. Walking down the marble hallway, he greeted multiple fashion editors and other photographers. Approaching two clear glass double doors, he slowed. Written elegantly in gold, both above and below the doors, was “Today’s Bride.” Then, in smaller print, “The world’s most popular bridal magazine.”

He passed a slew of studios. Sticking his head in one of them, Spike could hardly contain his laugh as the model struck another pose. Ironic she be in a virginal white wedding gown, considering the defiantly non-virginal acts she was performing on Spike last night.

“Spike,” he was greeted from behind. Only one person could address him with such distaste and disappointment, as if he was being scolded.

“Cordelia,” he sighed, turning around.

“Lilah’s waiting for you in her office. And I wouldn’t boink her on her desk today -- we have a meeting in fifteen minutes and I have better things to do than sit around waiting for her while she searches for the papers she needs.”

“You suggesting I move my venue?”

“I suggest you quit sleeping with our boss.”

“Why? You got someone better for me?” He raised his eyebrows suggestively, albeit with a joking smile on his face.

Cordelia rolled her eyes, returning his smile. He followed her in the direction of Lilah’s office. “Don’t you ever get sick of it, Spike? Sleeping around with women who’s names you don’t remember the next day?”

“Never,” he answered, stopping in front of the office. Cordelia crossed her arms, facing off in front of him.

“You’re twenty-eight years old and a professional -- one of the best, I admit. But you insist on acting like a moron. I don’t care how many girls you sleep with, but the least you could do is be responsible about it. Grow up and quit wasting your time and money.” She turned on her heels and walked away.

Spike watched her go with a slight frown. Cordelia may be the most self-absorbed fashion editor he had ever met -- and he’s met a lot of them -- but damn if she didn’t call him on every cigarette, supermodel, and bad habit he’s ever had since he joined Today’s Bride right out of art school at twenty-three. Cordelia had been the one to show him the ropes of fashion, something of which he knew nothing. She had helped him dress the part, act the part And she’d been the first one to violently warn him against the darker aspects of the fashion world -- the drugs, the alcohol, and the women. He knew he had let each and every one overtake him. On cold lonely nights, he knew. In the past few years, Spike had successfully gotten past the first two sins, it was that last one he had trouble with -- the bold, sexy women he was paid a couple thousand to shoot. But he had no time to dwell because one said woman was waiting for him.

Pushing open the door with a gust, he entered the room. Lilah, his boss and lover, was perched behind her desk. Her feet were up on her desk, causing her already slight skirt to ride up even further. She had to be at least seven years older than Spike, but he was never dumb enough to ask.

“Spike, come in.”

Sitting down, he was slid a magazine, folded to one particular article, across the mahogany, “Do you know this girl?”

It was a People magazine article. The headline read “Fairytales Do Come True.” On the page was a face he hadn’t seen in five years. Though he regularly saw Red, Harris, and Anya, he and Buffy tended to distance themselves for the good of the community. Bad things always tended to happen when they came within fifty feet of each other. Yet for as distant as they were, they knew an impeccable amount about each other’s lives due to the closeness they had to the same tight knit. Though he did owe Buffy something -- It was her success that kept his friends well employed, which in turn kept them wealthy enough to meet him for a drink half way between their Sunnydale, and his current residence, L.A.

“Use to,” he finally answered.

“Didn’t you go to school with our little wedding planner herself?”

“We weren‘t exactly friends.”

“And would I be wrong to say that you and Ms. Summers once included yourselves in the same circle of friends and acquaintances?”

“You’re point?”

“My point,” she began, rising to stand behind Spike, “is that your girlfriend here, has small-town roots that have developed into a big time business. She’s on her way to becoming the Vera Wang of bridal businesses.”

“Know all that,” he stated as she sat on his lap, he seemingly distracted by her ministrations.

“Today’s Bride would very much succeed off a multiple page layout of the wedding-know-it-all telling all the future blushing bride readers her own dream wedding.”

Spike didn’t respond as he turned his attentiveness to her body.

“You have so much pent up energy,” she marveled at his roaming hands.

“Only for you,” he breathed, nipping at her neck.

“Seduce me all you want, Spike, but don‘t lie to me. I know quite well that your energy is not limited to me.”

“Well,” he smirked, “it’s energy just the same.”

“Good -- I’m going to put it to good use . . .” she stretched a long arm to the desk, returning with an credit card, wedging it between her neck and Spike’s mouth.

His eyes fell upon it with a raised eyebrow, “What, you startin’ to pay me for my services?”

“This account is critical to Today’s Bride. I plan on putting her on the June cover. Follow her around, get to know her, visit your family -- all on me,” she shoved the card in his hand.

“That only gives me two months to get the photos, story, and layout. She hasn’t even agreed to do the story yet.”

“Then I suggest you channel your frustration elsewhere until she does,” she shook his pleasure-giving hands off her as she stood up with a smile.

“Come again?”

“Think of my body as collateral. It’ll be reward for a job well done.”

“Oi! You cuttin’ me off!?”

“You’re lucky. The job is yours . . . since you’re such good friends.”

“Meeting time!” Cordelia breezed through the door, taking no time to look over the scene she had interrupted. “Spike, isn’t there a big project you should be working on?”

With that, Spike was shoved out the door, with nothing but a company credit card and a glossy picture of a girl from his past.

TBC

CHAPTER FOUR

Spike pulled the Desoto through the well-paved streets of his old neighborhood. The “Welcome To Sunnydale” sign was still intact after all these years -- which included the year he had drunk himself into a stupor and proceeded to run it over on his way back into town -- but he hadn’t been back in years. Before this unexpected job, there really was no point in him coming back. His dad had retired from The Magic Box and had taken his step-mom, Jenny, back to the motherland, merry ol’ England, where they have been residing happily since Spike had graduated from college and proved himself a capable adult.

He reached into the back seat and fished his cell phone out of his bag, pressing one, then send. The phone rang only twice when the other end was answered by a small voice, “Tara speaking, how can I help you?”

“Hey, it’s me.”

“Spike? Where are you?”

“Sunnyhell, USA. Did you hear about the job?”

“Yeah, Cordelia filled me in. Do you need me out there?”

“That would be great, pet. I’m thinking this project isn’t going to come to me, I need a brother-in-arms fighting the battle that is Buffy Summers. If you could note-take for me, that would be brilliant.”

“No problem.”

“You’re the greatest assistant in the world. How much am I paying you anyway?”

“For being the greatest assistant in the world? Not nearly enough.” Spike smiled at the shy girl’s uncharacteristic joke.

“When can I expect you down here?”

“After I finish up the layout we did on Carmen Electra’s wedding? About two days.”

“Lovely. Hurry down.”

“Okay, I’ll talk to you later Spike.”

“Bye, Luv.”

Ending the call, Spike made the left turn past the laundry mat and pulled to the side of the road, parking the car. He sat a moment, staring down the store at the end of the street. In it now resided the biggest project of his career -- the cover, the story, and the layout. Spike glanced at the clock -- five-fifteen. If the website’s hours were correct, they should have just closed to the public, sparing some unfortunate souls the sight of World War III. With a loud inhalation, Spike gathered his balls and launched himself out of the car.

_______________________________________


“Nothing new or exciting ever happens around here . . .” Dawn fought to untangle herself from the complex veil that was half-way on the ceramic store model.

“Dawn, be careful. You know the rule -- You break it, tear it, rip it, step on it, or breath the wrong way on it; you buy it.” Buffy filed through a pile of papers on the high, cream colored desk. Every so often she would lean down to file something or fumble through a low drawer. “Xander and Anya are getting married and we have a couple months to get Anya a million dollar wedding for a few hundred. How much more excitement do you need?”

“I don’t know . . . It’s always the same. Always the same faces, same people.” Dawn continued to complain as she dressed the mannequins.

“What are you talking about? We have new girls and families in here everyday.”

Dawn ceased her work to address her sister, “But they’re all the same girl. The same blushing bride that claims she has the last real gentleman in the world. She says that she’s found her ‘Prince Charming’ and she wants a replica of J.Lo’s wedding. The only thing that ever changes is which J.Lo wedding she wants to rip off.” She paused and pouted her next sentence. “And every time they try on their dress they cry.” This earned a smirk from her sister before she delved under the desk.

With that the doorbell clanged and instantly, Dawn’s eyes went comically wide and her voice squeaked out, “On second thought . . . .” Wandering awe instantly physically drew her to the hotness in the low slung jeans and gray t-shirt. Through his t-shirt, Dawn could make out every individual muscle group on his body -- biceps, triceps, . . . This man was way more fun to identify body parts on than the model used in her anatomy class. Caught up in daydreams of learning about his pectoral region, Dawn slammed into a low table, silently mouthing her pain.

The customer’s brows furrowed, “You alright, Nibblet?”

Dawn went dizzy at the low rumble of the English accent. “Yeah-huh.” she sighed, her heart speeding spasmodically.

At her sister’s animal-like tones, Buffy raised her head from under the desk to see what she had squealed and was now making low moans about -- noises her sister should not be making at sixteen years old.

Buffy stood up to scold her sister, “I thought I told you to be careful around . . . Spike.”

“Summers.”

“Spike?” This time his name was said in confusion -- as if “what are you doing here?” was implied in her tone.

Buffy didn‘t look much different in his eyes than she looked the last time he saw her in person six years ago -- same long brown hair formed into large, loose ringlets at the bottom and hazel eyes to match. And of course she had the same nose -- the nose that looked like that when God was sculpting her face from clay, he decided to play Snoopy, pressed on the tip of her nose and went “Meep!” -- forever forming the indentation. Not fancying this the best time to assess her appearance or stall talking about the weather, Spike cut to the chase. “I’m here to make you an offer.”

Buffy’s eyebrow arched in confusion of his first words to her in years, “And I suppose it’s going to be one I can’t refuse?”

Spike ignored both her joke and her little sister, who he’d seen in pictures, fumbling around behind him. Little did he know the teen was falling all over herself over the fact her sister was being propositioned by a gorgeous man she apparently already knew! She’d have to search through her sister’s picture boxes later for photographical evidence of this man’s existence to show Janice.

Spike thought the best game plan would be to start out slow and work his way to the real reason for him being here. “You know what I do?”

“Yeah.”

“And you know what you do?”

“Obviously.” Buffy glanced around the store.

“And you can see how,” he proceeded lightly, “in the right setting, our jobs could be connected?”

“Get to the point, Spike. I’m starting to think this has something to do with the mob. Do they have English mobs?” Funny how easily they fell back into snarkiness and bitch-mode after not seeing each other for six years. She wasn’t going with the tempo he was setting, so he said “to hell” with his original plan.

“Let me photograph you for the cover story about your dream wedding.”

He had the sentence out so fast, it took a minute for it to sink in. But when it did, a resounding answer permeated her brain, “No.”

“What!?”

“I said no.” There was the battle cry.

“All you have to do is prance around for a day like one of your little brides and tell me all about what it takes to get Businesswoman Summers hot.” This was all out war.

“No! I refuse to whore myself out to supposedly well-meaning magazines. I am a wedding retail saleswoman -- not a runway model. You are not the first to tread this area and you all get the same answer.” In the tizzy Spike never failed to put her in, Buffy began hurrying around the store, arranging flowers and fixing dresses all while debunking Spike’s pros of the situation without looking at him.

“You did it for People!”

“That had to do with the store, not me personally.”

“Millions read the magazine, it’s great publicity.”

He thought that halted her for a moment in her daisy arrangement, “How did you get the nickname Spike anyway?” She tried to change the subject, moving back across the room.

“By helping little old ladies cross the street. Listen, Buffy . . . .” he plowed, following her but remaining the same safe distance away. He kept away from Buffy for roughly the same reason there are signs at the zoo reading “Don’t feed the animals” -- she might go rabid and bite him.

She whipped on him suddenly, causing him to retreat quickly, hoping there was a shot for the froth that was coming out of her mouth. “And won’t those millions that read your magazine wander how it could be that Buffy Summers -- romance extraordinaire -- can’t find a man of her own? It’s an embarrassment, Spike, and I won’t do it.”

“Buffy, you don’t understand . . .”

“You want me to model in a replica of my dream wedding, without having a real wedding, or a groom, or have any previous modeling experience?”

Spike gauged the question, searching for the booby traps, “Yeah.”

“No.”

“Come on, we’ll give you one of those poofter male models.” The eggshells Spike had been previously stepping on when he first entered the store were now being violently thrown.

“I don’t know whether you’ve noticed or not, but I’m not exactly the kind of girl you photograph on a regular basis.”

Spike threw his head back in frustration, “Ohhhh! Don’t flatter yourself! I’m photographing you, not your body!” The whole scene froze. That was the wrong thing to say and he knew it. It was incredible -- Spike could handle any model that was put in front of him. But Summers . . . Summers was different. That girl got anywhere in his vicinity and he made a complete ass of himself. It was too late to take back what he accidentally implied and had no defense but to drop his jaw at his own idiotic tendencies.

“I can’t believe you!”

Spike decided it was best to move on. “Buffy, I know we didn’t particularly get along while in college, but I though we could put that all behind us and act like adults!”

“Oh! Good, Spike, now I can save many dollars by inviting you personally!” Anya popped out from behind the red curtain, waving a clipboard that read “My Wedding” at him.

Spike squinted, still distracted by his fight with Buffy. She took the moment escape behind the curtain. “This isn‘t over, Summers!” he yelled to the back of the store.

“Oh yes it is!” Answered him.

Spike sighed and turned to Anya, who was impatiently taping her foot, convinced that anything said or thought about within the next two months should only be about her or her upcoming nuptials.

“ ‘M sorry, luv, invite me to what?”

“My wedding!”

“You’re getting married? To who?”

The groom-to-be stepped up beside his bride, “Anya, haven’t we decided it would be called ‘our’ wedding from now on?”

“Whatever,” she answered. “So, will you come? More importantly, will you be Best Man, because I have to make arrangements for tux fittings and I do not want to waste pretty money.”

“Best Man?”

Xander stepped up to his best friend, “I was going to ask you myself, but Anya seems comfortable enough in our month-long relationship to ask you herself.”

Spike was slightly flabbergasted, but not exactly surprised. He had a feeling those two had been sweet on each other for months. “I’d love to, mate.”

This earned smiles from the couple and hugs went all around. Confusion furrowed the brow of the brunette as he pulled away from his Best Man.

“Spike . . . What the hell are you doing here?”

Spike took in a deep breath, looked to where his subject had disappeared -- halted with his answer -- then decided to just tell the truth, “I have no idea.”

TBC

CHAPTER FIVE -- The Curse

Spike sat in the midst of piles of satin, lace, and many other white materials that he could not identify. Head in his hands, he continued to wallow in his own self pity as Anya and Willow, who was splitting her time at Fairytale with getting her Master’s in computer science and had missed Spike’s grand entrance, sat packing the bridal paraphernalia in delicate pink boxes. Suddenly, Spike sat up as epiphany over his current company hit him.
“Perhaps you can help me . . .”

“It has nothing to do with you personally.” Anya answered as if she had been holding her breath, waiting for the proposition.

“What?”

“Not agreeing to the article, I have a not so hidden habit of eavesdropping,” she revealed, bright eyed.

“Then why won’t she do this for me?”

Willow, who had apparently been filled in on the latest battle between the lifelong foes, chimed in, “She’s not turning you down to punish you, she’s insecure.”

“About what!?” The girl had everything, a successful business and a slew of great friends. Spike truly could not understand what kept the girl on the bitchy edge all the time.

Anya was already getting impatient with his inability to understand the female psyche. “Good god, Spike!” She then turned to her fiancée, who had just entered the room, “He hangs around too many models.”

“A fact that I will be incredibly jealous of until the day I die.”

As Anya gave Xander a kiss to make up for his misfortune, Willow sighed and gave it a try, attempting to coax the reasoning out of his own brain: “What do you know about Buffy?”

“Well,” he contemplated. “She wears the same knee-length skirts, loose blouses, and plays the same boringly professional-conservative she was in college. I mean, look at the girl, Red, if she has misfortune with men, it’s only because she’s asking for it.”

This wasn‘t exactly what Willow was looking for, but she went with it, “Well, do you remember any of Buffy’s college boyfriends?”

Spike furrowed his brows at the random question, “No, but I wasn’t exactly paying attention.”

“Don’t you remember?” Anya asked the rest of the group, annoyed. “Buffy and Spike spent a good four years berating each other into the ground. They both despised what the other stood for. Buffy concentrated on her studies and Spike jumped into bed with every easy girl he came across.” Anya shot Spike dagger-eyes and Spike’s eyes darted to the ground. He specifically remembered saying some pretty horrible things, but nothing that wasn’t encouraged by Buffy’s own verbal tirades.

Willow continued delicately, “You don’t remember any of her boyfriends because she never had any.”

Spike blinked, “You mean she . . .”

“Is a virgin! I know!” Anya blurted, “She’s wasting time that could be spent having many orgasms.”

Spike balked slightly, “That’s not what I was talking about . . .”

Willow struggled to find the right words to explain the rhyme and reason of her best friend to another one of her closest friends, neither of which had ever understood each other. But Willow was convinced that the reason why they never got along was because they are so much alike in one big, annoying aspect -- stubbornness and the inability to admit to the character flaw. “This is about her insecurities with men -- her dad left and she’s never had a serious relationship. She feels awkward posing in a wedding gown, without having any idea what it feels like to be in love.”

Xander turned to him, a cream-filled pastry in hand, “I mean, think how horrible she must feel to stand for something she’s never experienced and doesn’t believe in.”

Good God, even Xander seemed to get it -- why couldn’t he? Spike stayed silent for a moment before standing up and making his declaration clear to the three witnesses before him:

“Then I’ll make her believe in it.”

________________

It had been a couple of hours since Spike’s arrival and things were winding down in the process of closing up the shop for the day. He had stuck around, piddling around and helping Xander, making sure to stay far out of the vicinity of Buffy. Earlier in the night he had gotten in her way when she was trying to move a stack of boxes while he was carrying a group of dresses over his head. He was rewarded with a sharp cardboard edge to the abdomen.

Yet all through the night, Spike continued to steal glances in Buffy’s direction, waiting for the right moment, preferably when she wasn’t armed, to proposition her with his next plan of action. He got his chance when the only ones left in the store were himself, Buffy, her kid sis, and Xander, who was in the back room. Spike made sure Xander was still around because if Buffy tried to kill him, he wanted to make sure someone heard him scream. Spike waited until Buffy descended the couple stairs that led to the floor where during the day future brides marveled at themselves in a wall of mirrors.

“Buffy . . .” he started, stepping down onto the floor himself, Buffy showed no sign that she had heard him. He sighed, blue orbs pointed to the ceiling of florescent lights in silent pleading. “Look, I’ll make you a deal. Anya told me everything.”

Buffy slightly stirred in reaction to his words, but tried not to show it. “And what exactly does ‘everything’ entail?”

“Why you won’t do the shoot.”

“Oh, really? And why is that? Enlighten me.” Buffy had turned on her heels to face him, arms crossed.

“You don’t believe in love!” He exclaimed accusingly, puffing up his chest, proud of himself for reading into her -- finally -- and having the courage to say it to her face. Well, OK, technically Xander had successfully read into the enigma that was Buffy Summers, but all the same . . . .

“I don’t believe in love?” She spoke slowly, smiling at his stupidity. “Spike, I own a wedding store. I make hundreds of girls’ dreams come true. I’m a modern day fairy godmother, for pete’s sake.”

“Yeah, well the fairy godmother never got laid, now did she? To concerned about other people’s love lives than deal with her own.”

“Spike, I believe in love . . .”

“Well, then you’re scared of it, I don’t know.” His nonchalantly complained words caused Buffy to flinch, causing much more of a reaction, albeit an unnoticed one by Spike, than his earlier tone. “But I want you to hear me out.”

“I’m all ears,” she replied, fixating on him intently, giving him the vast amount of attention he seemed to crave at all times.

Spike nodded, under the pressure of her gaze he faltered before starting, “You’re so quick to turn me down -- like you won’t get something out of this . . . .”

“Embarrassment. Humiliation.” She offered.

“Companionship. Love.” He contradicted.

“Love? I thought you said you were trying to get the fairy godmother laid?” She tried to undermine him.

“I’ll find you a guy in one month in exchange for the project.” Buffy looked at him. He was serious.

“You? Find me . . . ?” Then she huffed, “Don’t make me laugh.”

“There’s no one gigglin’ here, luv.” His eyes shone desperation.

“And just how do you plan on being able to do that?”

Spike replied confidently, “I know what women want.”

“Just because you fucked every girl on the face of the planet you claim you know women?”

Spike reacted to her words by encircling her closer, purposely making her feel uncomfortable by his violation of her personal space, before harshly whispering into her ear, “How else do you think I get so many notches on my bedpost?”

“That proves you know whores, Spike, not me.”

“OK, Aunt Linda.” Dawn’s voice snapped at Buffy from the top of the stairs, who had been watching the exchange in the mirrors.

Buffy swished around to face off her sister, her voice retracting into high school snobbery, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Dawn put on an evil glare and dropped her voice to scary-campfire-story range. “The Curse of the Summer’s women.”

“The . . . Oh, Dawn, come on!”

Spike looked on at Buffy’s reaction with interest. “What’s this now, Bit?”

“The Curse of the Summer’s women -- Aunt Linda and Aunt Sue. Both in their fifties and never married. Then Mom’s marriage didn’t work out. Buffy’s afraid she’s the next victim.” She replied smartly, showing off more of her ability to read her older sis’ diary then anything else.

“Aren’t you afraid, Nibblet?” Spike wondered.

Dawn stuck her chin out defiantly, “I’m not scared. If you don‘t believe in it, it can’t hurt you.” Spike smiled at her innocent bravery, a saying her mum told her to keep the monsters out of her closet doubled as her motto in life.

“OK. Fine. I’ll do it.” Buffy grit out painfully through her teeth. Dawn felt glee rise in her stomach. She’ll get to watch her sister play dress up and she successfully helped Spike get what he wanted, which made her feel pretty special to be on the receiving ends of one of the British hottie’s smiles and wink he gave her in return for her aid.

Buffy ignored her sister, who she more than planned to scold later, and turned to Spike, “What do I have to do?” she asked dully, no spark in her green eyes.

“Be like the models. Believe me, it’s not that hard.”

TBC

Chapter Six -- Model Citizen

“A model must project a look that makes people notice.” Spike, playing the part of Mr. Fashion, was sauntering around Buffy critically as she stood perched on a stool in front of the mirrors. Spike had wasted no time after he received Buffy’s compliance to the project. He had quickly enlisted all of their friends or, as Buffy thought of it, hired them against her to successfully complete Spike’s mission.

That was one thing Buffy would give him -- Spike had a way to get people excited over something they had no idea about or would have had no involvement in otherwise to further himself. All though college he was the one inciting the riots. Sophomore year, he convinced the entire senior class to stage a strike over the brand of sports drink being given to their precious sports teams just so he could start in the soccer game against their biggest rival. They won the game and now serve Gatorade, not Sports Aid, on the sidelines. No one realized the ridiculousness of the argument until years later. The man could easily raise a revolution simply by being aggressive.

Willow stood below Buffy with her little measuring tape, recording all of Buffy’s numbers for the designing of her fake future wedding dress. “If models want to model haute couture, they must also be tall and thin.” Spike paused, looking Buffy up and down critically. “Well, you got the thin part right.”

“Oh you must be loving this,” Buffy glowered. Spike ignored the comment.

“Though the clothing worn during a shoot is provided, models must also own a wardrobe that is fashionable and flattering for them to wear in public and in meetings.”

Buffy purposely sighed loudly and turned her eyes toward the ceiling.

“Look, Summers, I’m not doing this for my health. You agreed to the deal, so I’m doing this for you.

“Oh, so sorry fairy godmother, I had no idea I wanted to go to the ball so badly.”

“I’m not exactly asking you to turn water into wine, Summers. You’re job is to stand there and look pretty.”

“And what exactly is your job?”

He smiled proudly, “A fashion photographer must make the model and the product or service she is promoting look as appealing as possible.” He paused.

The many comments on what kind of perverted service she was promoting that had the potential of flying out of his mouth made her interject, “You even think it and this is over before it’s begun.”

Spike ignored the empty threat. “A good fashion photographer has a unique style of shooting and the ability to work with fussy models.” Buffy stuck her tongue out at him to play up to his insult.

Willow’s mediating spirit prevailed, “So who do you have lined up for Buffy on Friday?

Buffy putting on a fake cheer, “Yeah, have you successfully whored me out yet?”

“Don’t worry about it Summers, I already found the perfect guy.”

“He better be.” Buffy commented as she climbed off the chair. “Are we done with today’s festivities?”

“For now. We meet tomorrow at eleven o’clock at the salon. Be there.”

“As long as you’re paying.” Buffy wasn’t about to argue a free haircut. She left the dressing area and returned to her real work on the main floor.

Spike poked his head around the corner, making sure the Ice Queen was out of earshot. He saddled up next to Willow, who was gathering up her materials. “So, Red, what am I looking for here?” In all honesty, Spike had no one in mind for Buffy for Friday and had planned to throw a bunch of guys at her and just see which she’d take to.

Willow answered his question with a confused look, “I thought you’d set her up with a bunch of random losers, and see who she baits onto.”

“Yeah, well, a guess I’ll throw some normal ones into the bunch too.”

“How nice of you.” Willow rolled her eyes. “Well, I guess I’d be looking into the smart, funny, and cute bunch then.”

“I’ll try,” he began his way towards the door.

“Oh, and Spike . . .” He turned around. “She hiccups.”

“She what?”

“She hiccups, ya know, when she’s crushing on someone, she gets so nervous she gets the hiccups.”

“So I should be watching for diaphragm spasms to see if I hit the mark?”

Willow shrugged and nodded.

Spike sighed, “Okay.” Yet another strange characteristic of Buffy Summers.


TBC

**Job descriptions come from Careers For Your Characters

Chapter 7 -- Make Me Over and Over

Author’s Note: Wanna say thank you for all the wonderful reviews and an extreme thanks to Carol, her genius, and her charity in giving me a go at her brainchild.


“So nice you could join us.”

As he entered through the salon’s revolving door, Spike didn’t bother to hide his wide yawn as he rubbed his eyes and tried to place the voice. His eyes focused and saw the whole group standing in the lobby, not one of them looked particularly surprised at his fashionable entrance. It hadn’t been very hard for Spike to get an appointment in the nicest salon Sunnydale had to offer -- he had once gotten the owner laid by the captain of the University of Sunnydale’s football team. “What time is it?” he asked through yet another yawn.

“Twelve-forty five.” Xander answered.

“Not that late,” he grumbled. “Where’s Buffy?”

“Already in the chair,” was his response. Xander tried to make a crack on Spike’s lateness, “She’s been there for an hour and forty five minutes.”

Spike nodded, “Glad to hear it.”

Dawn piped up as Spike approached the conglomerate of friends, “I picked out Buffy’s new outfit, she looks really pretty.” After a pause she added, “Willow and Anya helped too.”

Spike smiled at her excitement, “I bet she does, Bit.” Dawn had never been at the Summers home during the few times Spike had been there. He suspected part of that was due to Buffy’s insistence she be forced out of the house when her friends were over. Dawn was sweet, always trying to play with the big kids.

“Spikey-baby, how are you darlin’?” A flamboyant man in a Armani suit entered through a set of swinging doors separating the lobby and hairdressing section. “Still swinging for the wrong team?”

“Lorne,” Spike greeted the salon owner in response. “ ‘Fraid I’m still straight as an arrow.”

“Well, the day you decide . . .” Lorne gave him a suggestive wink. Spike had known Lorne long enough and been around enough gay hairdressers to not be bothered by the comment. He’d heard worse.

But Xander apparently hadn’t. The shock on the boy’s face was almost comical. Lorne noticed this and gave the brunette a wink too. Turning back to Spike, he insinuated to Spike’s newest model makeover.

“Oh, Spike, who is that sweet-as-pie cutie Sergio’s working on. She’s just the nicest thing!”

Spike smiled, “You must be mistaken, mate. The girl I got here is a spit-fire.”

“Well I bet she is in certain situations, if you know what I mean. But anywho, I love her. I don’t know Spikey-kins, I think you should keep this one around for a while.”

“It’s not like that, mate. This one’s a friendly favor.”

Lorne looked doubtful, “Aren’t they all?” He opened his mouth to say something else, but was distracted. “Oh, here’s are little princess. Gorgeous.”

Spike turned around but was too late as Buffy was rushed upon and he lost her in the crowd. Buffy herself was a little overwhelmed. Dawn was tugging on her new honey blonde tresses and Willow exclaimed for her to turn around so she could fully admire her new dress. It wasn’t until a few of them parted that Spike finally got a good look at her.

Spike’s Adam’s apple bobbed dramatically at what he saw. Gone were the brown ringlet curls having been replaced by lightened layers making her look like the California girl she was. The same pink lip gloss she’d been wearing for as long as Spike had known her was now an enticingly strawberry lipstick. Her eyes were lined with brown making her hazel eyes shine out.

But it wasn’t the makeover that made her look different in Spike’s eyes. Granted, she glowed, but she looked so happy with all the attention she was getting. Buffy had never been one to want to stick out in a crowd and had, in Spike’s opinion, done everything in her power to make herself blend in with the world. But she couldn’t have picked a more eclectic group of friends. Buffy, until this day, had never branched out from their group as the rest of them had. Willow went the lesbian Wicca route, Xander had a habit of dating women looked upon to be out of his league and had now settled down with Anya, and Spike had left Sunnydale the day they graduated and went to the L.A. scene. But Buffy stayed, and seemed content to. But her friends took her for granted -- all assumed she would always be there as a sort of home base, a familiarity they could always come back to when other parts of their lives got rough. And for the most part she was.

And now she smiled. Spike was never lucky enough to be on the receiving end of one of her smiles. Of course, Spike had never given her a reason to give him one -- just an arsenal of glares.

Unbeknownst to Spike, Lorne had watched his reaction the entire time and now saddled up next to him, leaning close to his ear, “I don’t know, Spikey, she looks pretty sweet to me.” Lorne gave Spike’s open jaw a touch of his knuckle, calling attention to Spike’s reaction.

“My best piece of work,” Lorne exclaimed as he left Spike’s side, wrapping Buffy in a hug.

It wasn’t until Spike fished in his pocket for his keys that he was acknowledged by the group. Xander addressed him, “You outta here already?”

“Yeah, I’m off to find a decent skate route. Glad to see your transformation turned out alright Summers,” he smirk at her and Buffy dared to take it as a compliment. “I think I’ll try to find that new one by the campus.”

At the mention of her favorite workout spot, Buffy announced, “If you want, I’ll come and show you. I skate that path all the time.”

Spike’s eyebrow raised, “You want to come skating with me?” he asked incredulously.

Buffy gave him an innocent look, “Well, ya know, any excuse to push you out into oncoming traffic.”

He smiled and nodded understandingly, “Okay, Summers, I’ll pick you up at your house at two.”

“You remember how to get there?”

“Don’t worry, Summers, I’ll follow the lines of drooling men that are bound to come out of the woodwork now.” He motioned at her new dress -- a little snugger and shorter than she’d ever worn before. He smiled and existed the salon. Buffy was sure to take that last remark as a compliment. Spike gave her a compliment. The surprises he was pulling almost floored her.

TBC

CHAPTER 8 -- Skating Around the Edges

Author’s Note: I am so sorry this has taken so long. My floppy disk went kaput. (Note: please make sure all the floppy’s you use have “formatted” on them. I didn’t and my entire life’s writings are now gone.) And now, until we get our home computer fixed, I’ll be limited in computer time. Please don’t hate me and/or give up on this story. I will try my absolute best. Thanks.

Spike swung the Desoto into the Summers’ driveway. Christ, it had been a long time since he’d seen this house. He had only been inside the Summers home a handful of times, always part of a large group and usually on their way to The Bronze. Yet, warm thoughts only permeated his brain at the memories. He remembered Joyce as clear as day -- damn, that woman could make coco.

Spike jumped up the two steps onto the porch. His knocking was answered by a violent rustle behind the door -- like some one had a bad run-in with a wall. After a moment of silence, Spike started to wander if something bad had happed until the door was flung open to reveal Dawn, an impressive bruise beginning to show on her forehead. Spike couldn’t help but smile as she put on a brave front for him. “Oh, hey Spike,” she greeted coolly.

“Hey, Nibblet,” Spike answered, entering into the foyer. “You big sis ready?”

“Oh,” the disappointment evident on her face. “Of course you’re here for Buffy. Everyone’s always here for Buffy,” she grumbled as she made her way up the stairs to find her sister. But she stopped halfway, “Buffy!” she screamed, causing Spike to flinch at the shriek.

“Dawn, honey, don’t yell,” a calming voice came from the direction of the kitchen.

“Spike’s here for Buffy,” Dawn answered dully, arms crossed, lips pursed.

“Spike?” Joyce asked, approaching the room. “Why would Spike . . .” she broke off when she entered into the foyer and saw him. “Spike!”

Spike smiled as Joyce drew him into a tight hug. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to be lost in the maternal warmth. Spike hadn’t been hugged with this much love in a long, long time. In his teen angst years he hadn’t been exactly welcoming to Jenny. He had still been bitter over the loss of his mother and pitched a few fits over the idea of another woman in his father’s life. Granted, he and his step-mother were fine now, but it still all seemed so . . . formal. The polite asking of how things were at work and the like. Spike really had never taken the time to get to know her. What bonded them was a mutual love for his father, and not much else. Spike knew what was mostly at fault was his initial hatred of her. The situation between them never fully recovered. But Joyce was so much the den mother to everyone, you couldn’t help but lose yourself in the radiating love.

“Buffy didn’t tell me you’d be in town!”

“I’d imagine she wouldn’t.” Spike had to give her that. For as horrible as Spike had been to Buffy (of which he was sure Joyce knew all about), Joyce had never treated him badly. It was as if she put herself in the delusion that he and Buffy were best mates -- and that would just never be the case.

Buffy rolled her eyes as she came downs the stairs. She always suspected her mother secretly wanted Spike as her son. Her mom loved all her friends, but she especially fawned over Spike. After all the years of Buffy complaining about the blonde English guy who was put on this Earth to make her life a living hell, her mom was always the first to defend him -- like she knew something about him Buffy didn’t. At random moments she would always mention what a nice boy Spike was and asking when was the next time he’d be coming over. Even five years after he moved to L.A. her mother would ask weekly how Spike was doing and if he’d ever be visiting.

She interrupted the love fest between Spike and her mother, “Mom, he’s not going to be able skate if you squish the air out of him.”

Joyce backed off, brushing the wrinkles she created out of Spike’s t-shirt. Buffy half expected her to lick her fingers and fix his hair like she was always doing to Buffy and Dawn. “Let me get you two some water to take with you. You’ll get dehydrated out there today. Oh, Spike! You should come to dinner sometime.” Buffy looked around helplessly as her mother took over. Joyce had already pulled Spike into the kitchen in front of the calendar. “Oh I know, how about next Thursday? Buffy’s aunts are going to be in.”

“The cursed ones?” He asked good naturedly.

Joyce looked disapprovingly at her girls. “Don’t listen to them, Spike, they’re very nice ladies. They’ll love you.” Technically they were Joyce’s cousin’s, but growing up they were so close and only a few years apart they considered themselves sisters. Buffy and Dawn dreaded when they came to visit. All three older women being single, they had the ability to regress into their early twenties when they were around each other -- some of their conversations being down right raunchy. Neither daughter wanted to know about their mother’s glory days.

“Consider me there,” Spike agreed. Great, Buffy thought, why not invite snob Cordelia Chase from high school and the boy that used to pull Buffy’s pigtails in elementary school. Everyone else she didn’t want to spend a night with was already coming.

“As much as I hate to break up you party, I’d like to skate sometime today.”

“Okay, Summers, let’s go.” Spike grabbed the water bottles, handing one to Buffy and grabbing the heavy bulk of her rollerblades to carry for her -- a fact Joyce did not fail to notice -- as they walked out the door. They didn’t get off the porch without her mother giving two more hugs to Spike.

Buffy stopped short of getting in the car. Her lack of movement caught Spike’s eye and he stopped to stare at her frozen form in front of the passenger door.

“Something wrong, Summers?”

“I just can’t believe you still have this thing. You’re a successful professional Spike. Don’t you think it’s time to get a new car?” She lifted her face and the smile that was there told him she was joshing him.

“And I’m guessing this is worse than having neither car nor license?”

Buffy sobered in defeat, “Okay, shut up.”

Spike smiled as they slide into the car. He turned the ignition and addressed Buffy, “Ok, Summers, you gonna show me what you got?”

TBC

CHAPTER 9 -- Pt. 2

Author’s Note: This chapter and the next are two mini-chapters, but I’ll make it up to you. Chapter 11 is some Bronzing, and Chapter 12 some light Spuffy (but, if you read the summary, you know the real Spuffy doesn’t come that easy). J


Their muscles tensed as they shot down the sidewalk. They had been skating at a leisurely pace at first, but that had lasted all of five minutes before the competitiveness began to show. It had started out innocently enough. Spike’s legs were significantly longer than Buffy’s and she began lengthening her strides to match his, then to edge out a little further ahead, just to show he didn’t have to do her any favors in holding back so she could keep up. Spike resented this, not about to let a little one hundred pound five foot nothing show him up. They tried to hold polite conversation at first, but within minutes their pace made talking physically impossible.

Buffy continued to fly down the sidewalk, turning her head back, she smiled, “Spike, are you coming or what?”

Narrowing his eyes, ready to partake in yet another battle, Spike pushed off hard, his strides smooth and even, slowing closing in on Buffy. He followed her crossovers, weaving in and out through pedestrian traffic. Their impatience with those slower than them -- whether it be on foot, bike, or skate, earned the two some smiles and some scowls. Buffy was enjoying her lead, closing her eyes and loving the breeze on her face as she stopped pushing for a moment and rode the momentum of her skates. Her victory was short lived, however, when she felt a swipe at the back of her white halter top. She whipped her head around to reveal Spike skating dangerously close behind her. Buffy let out a mock gasp and bolted through the windy pathway. Spike chased her through the park -- both of them laughing. She occasionally glanced back at her pursuer, wind flowing through her newly framed locks.

When they neared the parked Desoto and knew their fun was over, Buffy slowed and allowed herself to be caught by Spike as he wrapped his arms around her from behind, slowing them both to a stop. They unabashedly smiled at each other before plopping down in the grass. They had chased each other through the entire park for an hour. When they stopped at a water fountain, Spike had caught himself following a trickle of water escaping down beneath the low neckline of Buffy’s Adidas halter top. He shook his head to remind himself who he was with -- he was doing that a lot more recently. It wasn’t like being with Buffy The Ice Queen, it was like being with an old college friend. Weird.

Buffy sat next to Spike, scowling at her laces, “Stupid knot.”

Spike let her pick at it for a few more seconds. “Here,” he reached out and took her calf, placing her foot on his lap. Buffy relaxed on her hands back in the grass as Spike worked on the knot in her skate.

She watched the constant stream of people on the walkway in front of her, making eye contact with an old couple strolling, holding hands. The older couple stared poignantly at Buffy, then glanced down to the man diligently aiding her with her skate, and smiled knowingly. Acknowledging the young love. Buffy almost opened her mouth to correct them, to tell them they were mistaken because the man they thought was her knight in shining armor was in reality her mortal enemy. But they looked so happy for them that Buffy couldn‘t bring herself to say anything, just smile back sheepishly.

Buffy decided to change the subject, “So I think your little make-over-Buffy was a success. I think I look rather cute.”

Spike glanced up from the untied skate in front of him and smiled. Buffy gave him the other foot and without a word began to work on the tie.

“So Professor Higgins, I think I’m ready. Bring on the boys. I’m going to knock ‘em dead. The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain. I can do this,” She smiled at her feigned confidence.

Spike smiled softly at her, the idea of sending her to the lions he had picked out, suddenly making him slightly uncomfortable. He shook his head to clear out the thought, finished untying the knot, and padded her calf, “Your first dates tomorrow.”

TBC

CHAPTER 10 -- Tara

Tara glanced at the name and address on the crumpled piece of paper in her hand, then at the store in front of her. This was the place, all right. She expected it to be bigger. The assignments Lilah usually had Spike and her working on were quite ritzy. This had a small, hometown feel to it. She liked it a lot.

Tara cautiously pushed open the door, setting off a bell that sounded her arrival. She looked around in front of her, the place was deserted. She was about to turn on her heels and hunt down a payphone to call Spike’s cell when a clatter had her jumping out of her skin. Composing herself, she followed the sound of screaming that followed the clatter, nervous that something bad may have happened. With all the publicity the little store with no security guard was getting lately, it wouldn’t surprise her if someone tried to rob it. To her left and down a couple stairs was a wall of mirrors where the future brides could admire themselves. To the right was a velvet maroon curtain that led behind the mirrors and into the changing rooms.

“Hello?” she called tentatively.

From behind the curtain she heard more commotion, then it opened to reveal a smiling red haired girl. At the sight of her, Tara blushed and bowed her head.

“Hi! You must be Tara, I’m Willow.” Tara smiled and shook her hand, but jumped when there was another loud thud.

Tara was worried, “Is everything okay?”

Willow looked at her confused. “What do you mean?”

“Should we . . . Um . . . Call he police or, um, something?” She glanced warily back to where the commotion was coming from.

Willow’s eyes widened, “Oh. That’s just Spike and Buffy.”

Spike came out from behind the curtain. He smiled when he saw his assistant, “Hey, Tara. You find the place alright?” Tara nodded slowly. “Great.” He seemed about to say something else when he was hit in the side by a high heel. His smile instantly vanished and his head shot to the curtain, where the offending item had flown from, “Summers, if you throw one more thing at me I’m going to come back there and ram it so far up your ass . . .” Spike stormed behind the display of mirrors.

Willow felt embarrassed by the open display of hate that Buffy and Spike had no problem showing. She looked nervously at Tara, “We thought they were getting along. They even went skating together yesterday. But then we all met here to get Buffy ready for her date, Spike came in in a bad mood, Buffy got cold feet, and, well, now they’re at it again.” Willow shrugged helplessly.

Willow nervously babbled to distract Tara from the small war going on, “Buffy’s meeting us at the Bronze after her date. You coming with?”

Tara was grateful for the conversation, “I’m supposed to follow Spike and help do an article on Buffy, so I guess so.”

The harsh screaming that reissued had Tara grasping onto Willow’s arm. It grew louder and louder until the curtain once again flew back and out marched an agitated blonde fighting with a dark haired man about the proper color of bridesmaid dresses. She was concerned that the other girls in the wedding would take away from the attention she should be receiving. The man was yelling to get a word in edgewise but the girl continued to ignore him. But the fighting didn’t stop there. Spike emerged next, his face red with the amount of screaming he was doing and had a girl, who Tara assumed to be the one who had thrown the shoe, slung over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. She was violently kicking and screaming, saying she wasn’t ready yet and refused to go be his guinea pig of dating.

Willow let them stand there for another minute before interrupting, “Um, guys?”

The arguing instantly stopped and she was met with a violent quartet of “What!?” Willow gently nudged her head in Tara’s direction.

Buffy, lifted her head from it’s current upside-down state and smiled, “Hi, you must be Tara.” Buffy surveyed their little group. She blew a fluff of hair out of her face, “Welcome to Sunnydale.”

TBC

CHAPTER 11 -- The Usual

“Don’t you think we’re a little old to be here?” Spike called over the music as he and Tara followed Willow’s zigzagging around the round tables and stools of The Bronze.

Willow fluttered her hand at him, “Nonsense. They serve alcohol here, don’t they?”

“They better,” Spike grumbled, pulling his coat tighter around him, surveying the crowd. He hadn’t been here since they graduated. The dance floor was crowded with gyrating bodies, the base thumped through the floor, causing the tile under Spike’s feet to vibrate.

“Look! It’s free!” Spike turned his attention to where Willow was pointing, dragging Tara alongside her. The crowd parted to reveal the table that Spike and the group had spent a good deal of time during their four years in college, listening to local bands and eating those really good onion things.

They pulled up stools around their table. Willow raised off her seat, waving her arm, “Hey guys! Over here!” Holding hands, Xander and Anya came off the dance floor.

Spike looked around at the excitement radiating off his friends, “Having fun reliving your college days, then?” He waved over a waitress, placing their orders.

“Come on, Spike, don’t you want to shake your grove thing for old time’s sake?” Xander made some violent jerking motions.

Spike looked at his friend questioningly, “Harris, I didn’t dance in college. What in God’s name would lead you to believe I would do it now?” He studied Xander’s ‘dancing’ motions, “And if that’s what you call dancing, I don’t think I want to be in the same room as you.”

Anya nodded excitedly, “We’re getting ballroom dancing lessons for the wedding.” She turned to her fiancée, “You will not embarrass me in front of eight hundred of our closest family and friends.”

Xander was perplexed, “Okay, I’m mentally counting up my friends and family and I get a total of five . . . and that’s including myself.”

Anya patted his shoulder, “I’m not inviting your cousin Jack.”

“OK, make that four.”

Xander was relieved when his change of subject walked through the door, “Buffy! How’d the date go!?”

Buffy approached the table, looking emotionally drained, “Yeah, that Warren guy? Never again.”

Spike smirked, “Wasn’t romantic enough for ya?”

Buffy rolled her eyes in his direction, “No, and I’m sure you had no idea.”

“So sorry I didn’t teach him everything I know in the romance department.”

“He was a sleazeball, Spike, I’m fairly certain that you did teach him everything he knows.”

“Are you saying I don’t know how to be romantic?”

“Oh come on, Spike, you couldn’t be romantic if you tried.”

“Oi! I can to!” Spike looked around the table, their faces showed that they didn’t believe him.

Buffy noticed this too, throwing more wood onto her verbal fire, “How? ‘Hey, baby, you wanna be a notch on my bedpost?’”

“At least I have notches. You don’t even have a bedpost.”

As anger boiled between Spike and Buffy, Tara was getting nervous. She had seen Spike mad before -- he’d yell and scream and kick things from time to time when a project didn’t go his way, but she’d never seen him with such unadulterated, passionate . . . disfavor. Hate seemed too strong a word, one Tara didn’t like to use. But it was hard to believe that one single girl could get him so worked up. It seemed sadistic to watch them explode at each other, but at the same time she couldn’t help but find the relationship . . . intriguing. She continued to watch the spar as Spike yelled over the music at Buffy, both completely unaware they had an audience.

“To find what you want, you’re going to have to get out of your precious comfort zone and live a little.”

His eyes challenged her to a comeback, her head shook at him in anger, but she surprised them all with her response, “I need a drink,” Buffy turned on her heels in search of the bar. The whole night was getting to be too much. She needed to forget -- and soon. The Warren guy she had gone out with was a nightmare. His lack in the romance department was the least of his pitfalls. He was arrogant and kept hitting on some brunette named April -- and he actually bragged about the time when he had broken into a museum and beat up a guard.

Spike was thrown by her statement. He sat there blinking for a moment, “Since when does she drink?”

Xander watched her retreating form, “Since you got back, apparently.”

Spike turned back to the group. They sat in silence, Spike drumming his fingers on the table, not looking at the others. When he could no longer stand four sets of eyes boring into him, he glanced up and was faced with silent pleas. He gave a silent protest before giving in. Spike sighed and slid off his chair to find Buffy.

They watch Spike get enveloped into the crowd before turning back to the table, looking somber, the night’s cheery vibes gone. Anya looked more worried about the Spike and Buffy fight than the others. “They’re not going to do this at the wedding are they?” The other three didn’t seemed too surprised at her concern, “I mean, I cannot have the best man and the maid of honor fighting. That would take attention away from me.” She looked quite put out, and Xander ran his hands up and down her arms comfortingly as she pouted.

Tara shifted a little towards Willow, “I’m sorry your fun night was ruined.”

Willow sighed, “That’s okay, I was stupid to think they could go five minutes without yelling at each other.”

Tara looked out over Willow’s shoulder to the dance floor, “Well, we could make the best of it?” Her statement came out as a request and Willow turned behind her to follow Tara’s gaze.

Willow smiled wide, the fighting couple momentarily forgotten. “That’s right! We don’t have to let those two party poopers ruin our night of fun and dancing!” Willow, having had her usual optimism reinstated by Tara, put down her drink and held her hand out to the girl next to her, “Come on, let’s dance!” Tara smiled back and joined Willow on the dance floor, flowed by Xander and Anya.

Spike found her at the bar, a group of drunk university boys looking a little too appreciatively at her form.

He touched her shoulder lightly, “Summers . . .”

“No, I don’t want to hear it,” she was already throwing back shots. Buffy was know for a lot of things, holding her liquor was not one of them.

Her voice wavered and her eyes were watering -- two signs she was already wasted. She stood suddenly, knocking over the stool she was sitting on. Two school boys held out their arms to steady her, Spike shot them a glare and they all found sudden interest in the red headed waitress at the bar. Buffy was on the verge of crying, she pointed a blaming finger at Spike‘s chest, “You think you’re too good for Sunnydale. Think you’re all high and mighty because you picked up and left. You’re gone for five years -- five years, Spike! Then you just swoop in one day and start trying to fix my life. But what makes you so special? You grew up here too! Well I happen to like my life. I like it here. I grew up here, my family’s here. I want to raise kids here. If you don’t like it then just shut the fuck up, Spike! I’m not pushing my lifestyle on you.” She was openly crying now. Spike had seen . . . well, made, a lot of girls cry in his time. It had never really affected him before. It wasn’t his fault they let their emotions be dictated by what he said and did. But Buffy’s tears were different. He said a lot of awful things to her over the years, but he never meant to make her cry. He had the sudden urge to apologize for ever cuss word, every ponytail pulled, and every generalization he had ever made about her life.

But he couldn’t. She had already grabbed her coat and whirled out the door. How long he had been standing there looking like a loon, he had no idea. But he was already getting disapproving stares. He went back into the crowd in search of his friends. He’d tell them what happened then go find Buffy.

TBC

CHAPTER 12 -- Midnight In the Garden of Good and Evil

It was midnight by the time Spike had found the dancing (and tipsy) group, explained what had happened, grab his coat, and made it to Buffy’s house. Knowing full well that Joyce and Dawn were sleeping, and knocking on the door would accomplish nothing but piss off the entire Summers household, Spike sat in the parked Desoto contemplating his options.

It left him with only one.
He couldn’t go to bed with Buffy mad at him. He didn’t know why not -- he’d done it many times before. But this was different for some reason.

Spike sighed as he slide out of the car, “God I hope I don’t get the cops called on me.” Instead of heading for the front porch as he usually did, Spike headed for the left until he reached the side of the house. He halted and glanced upward. Buffy’s house was an older one, meaning the ceilings were high and the second floor was well off the ground. He eyed the top window -- Buffy’s window. Taking a quick survey of his surroundings, his eyes eventually fell onto his only choice -- an old, sturdy tree.

“Bloody hell,” he cursed before shedding his coat and grabbing on to the first reachable branch, hoisting himself up. Spike had dark hair the last time he climbed a tree -- he remembered it being easier. He cursed a couple more times as a particularly sharp branch caught him in the face, drawing a thin red line across his cheekbone.

As he continued to navigate a tricky clump of branches, he was too caught up in not falling to his death to notice the window to his left open.

“Spike?” The voice broke through the dead silence of the night. In his surprise, Spike lost this grip on the branch, teetering on the twig he was standing on before securing himself on one behind him.

Spike caught his breath, “Christ, Summers, don’t scare me like that.”

“Says the dark-clad man climbing up to my window.”

“I was trying at a grand gesture.”

“And you couldn’t have throw a rock at my window?”

“Get in the car,” he demanded.

“You’re kidnapping me?”

“I was hoping to not to have to take it that far.” At his pleading eyes and weirdly not-angered demeanor, she considered.

“Give me a minute,” she said finally. Spike let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding, relieved she gave in so easily, only to tense again when he glanced down at the descent he was going to have to make.

Spike made it down without incident and reached the front door, just as Buffy was shutting it quietly behind her and locking it.

She turned to address her sleep interrupter, “What happened to your face?”

“War wound,” he replied.

“Where are you taking me?” She asked as she followed him to the car.

“Why?”

“Because I want to know where to tell the police they can find my bruised and broken body,” she replied in sarcastic anger.

She slid into the passenger seat and the rest of the trip was made in silence.

The Desoto climbed a steep hill. Reaching the gravel top, Spike pulled the brake, smiled mischievously at Buffy and got out of the car. Guessing she was to follow suit, Buffy slid out too. She found him pulling an old plaid blanket out of the trunk, spreading it out over the warm hood of the Desoto. He hopped on top, motioning her to join him. She stood with her arms crossed for a minute, her eyes screwed in confusion, before climbing up next to him, her hazel eyes continued to stare at Spike.

Spike was gazing out into the air in front of him, feeling her eyes on him, he nodded to the view in front of him, “Look.”

Buffy forced her herself to follow his directions -- and was immediately glad she did. Her breath floated away at the drape of sparkling stars in front of them. They sat on top of the entire town, the late-night lights of the houses shone like scattered diamonds on the ground below.

“This is gorgeous,” she breathed.

Spike was glad she appreciated the view as much as he did. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a wrapped Twinkie, split it in half and offered it to her. “Sorry I don’t have a better menu.”

Buffy accepted the Twinkie, but looked at it suspiciously. She smiled slightly, turning to the man beside her, “What are you doing?”

He glanced up from below his lashes, smiling softly at her, “Showing you I can be romantic.”

Buffy‘s featured softened towards him, “You don’t have to prove it to me.”

“Yeah, I do.” He paused, gazing out into the sea of stars in front of them. “I want more out of life you know . . . more than what I have. You’re right . . . I did think I was too good for Sunnydale.” Buffy moved to object, but he silenced her. “I thought I could find what I was looking for in L.A. And I did, for a while.”

“What did you find?”

“Shit I wished I hadn’t. I’ve done some really stupid things in my life.” She didn’t try to interrupt him, so he continued. “But the more I’m here, and the more time I spend with everyone, the more it undermines the life I built in L.A. -- the life I thought I wanted. I was horrible to you in college. Don’t know why you put up with so much of it.”

“I remember saying a few choice words to you too,” Buffy said softly.

“Yeah, but they were provoked. I know now why I said some of the things I did. You threatened everything I stood for. I fancied myself some big-city boy and you were the innocent small-towner. I was scared that I would be happy in a simple existence -- that I would live without seeing the world.”

“You can always change. Us small-towners move to the city all the time, you could move back.”

“No. It’s too late now. I have a name for myself up there.”

“It’s not about where you live. You can travel the world to wherever you like -- as long as you know where home is, you’ll never be lost.”

And that’s what he had been -- lost. Giles and Jenny had moved and he had fled to the fast pace of L.A. He filled the void with drugs and women -- both false, fleeting, and slowly killing him. He hadn’t know where home was anymore.

Spike looked deeply at Buffy, “I think I’m beginning to remember where that is.”

His look, like all his looks, was intense and Buffy found herself shying away from the serious self reflection.

“So,” she lightened, “Do you do always do such chivalrous acts to get your point across?”

Spike chuckled, “You’re the first woman I’ve ever climbed a tree for and split a Twinkie with.” At her look, he continued, “Don’t take that lightly, Summers. I’m bloody fond of Twinkies.” She giggled, he smiled along with her, “Don’t share them with just anybody.”

After a minute of silence, Spike spoke, “So . . . Truce?”

“Friends,” Buffy offered as she gave him her hand.

“Friends,” he agreed.

The two new friends turned again to the clear night in front of them and watched the stars.

TBC

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