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Chapter Seven


Having the sense kicked into him by Spike had done little to still the panic swirling in his bowels on the morning of his wedding. Now, as Xander stood fiddling with his cummerbund in the dressing room mirror, he expelled a rush of breath and tried to tamp down the desperate urge to flee. I love Anya, I love Anya, I love Anya, I love Anya. The repetitive refrain was failing to get the message across and he couldn’t help but wonder how he could courageously go fight demons alongside Buffy on a regular basis but not go through with the ceremony that would tie his life to his lover—his girlfriend he’d been in love with so much during the previous year’s apocalypse to never want to let her go.

Just a few steps and he’d see her beautiful face beaming happiness at him, and still he was praying so hard that he wouldn’t chicken out that he almost peed his pants. His skin aching with the effort to keep his body still, his face tired and slack from terror, Xander tried to ignore the steadily growing frivolity outside his dressing room door. He tried to blot out the sound of his father’s drunken raised voice with persistent images of himself in untold years to come knocking back more than a few beers while his wife looked on in disappointment.

That’s what it always came down to. His actions always leading to disappointment—disapproval. For years now he’d turned himself into Buffy’s unneeded demon-fighting sidekick and he’d filled the job well. Buckling down to the act of living a married life would shake up the dynamics of the group so much that the realisation of how much he didn’t want that caused bile to rise in his throat. He would be swapping his very small hero cape and that glint of gratitude in Buffy’s eyes for an uncertain future with a woman who could one day see him as little more than a nuisance—a man fighting with a boy’s dreams of grandeur. He’d owe it to Anya to stop masquerading as one of the demon-killing squad and be the serious thing of husband—that thing his father hadn’t found enough balance to do with success. What chance did he have when his previous life wasn’t just as a glorified bricklayer, but a slightly weakened and often wounded soldier for the side of good? Yeah, what hope did he have of making marriage an actual success?

“Xan, you okay? You’re looking a bit pale. I could whip you up a magical tonic that’ll put you to rights straight away,” the apparently-peppy best man offered, her giddy smile trying too hard to mask how wrong everything in her world was.

The brunette cringed through his best friend’s intentions and moved subtly away from her. Willow had become a little bit creepy with her constant magical fix-it strategies and he had to see Tara’s point that maybe the redhead was overdoing it.

“Put your bloody hocus-pocus away, Witch. All the boy needs is some fresh air,” Spike announced with an unpleasant curl to his lip as he strode through the door. The vampire glared at Willow and Xander was shocked at the glint of malevolence she shot back at the blond before appraising him like a leech and finding him wanting. If he hadn’t been bodily dragged from her presence he might have found some words to beg her to chill out, but as it happened, Spike manoeuvred him out of the building and positioned him against the wall in the direct cloud of smoke as he commenced puffing on an already lit cigarette, polluting Xander’s supposedly essential and not-so-fresh air.

“You’re killing yourself, you know?”

The groom blinked, suddenly not certain whose mouth the words had tumbled from, but he didn’t remember his own mouth opening and thus assumed it had been Spike, despite the obvious killing-factor of his cancer sticks—for others if not for himself.

“You know, right now I actually wish I could. Death would be preferable to the possibility that I’m making the worst mistake of my life.” Xander slumped against the brick wall, eying the entrance and struggling against the urge to turn his back on it and run till he couldn’t breathe anymore. There was a gentle drizzle falling and he couldn’t help but compare it to his mood. Darkened sky, a Sunnydale shower not heavy enough to be a deluge but not light enough to minimise damage to those caught under it. Yeah, maybe he was provoking the weather now with his doom and gloom outlook on his future.

“You’re the biggest bloody pillock I’ve ever had the misfortune to waste my breath talking to. Life is chock full of mistakes and disasters. Know what else it’s full of? Love and laughter, being trusted by another human being and putting a smile on their face when you’ve been thoughtful. Making love when the rest of the world is making war. You spend too long sitting here spinning your heels about turning into your lush of a father and you’ll never take the leap with anyone, and in the process you could lose the only girl who has a chance at getting you. That bint understands you.” Spike threw the butt into nearby bushes and leaned forward, his eyes glinting with purpose as he tried once again to drill the importance of this decision into this boy that thought he was a man. “She understands what you do and why you do it. She encourages you, helps keep you focused and bloody hell, she helps keep you alive. You can’t be Buffy’s little hanger on all your life. Inflate your balls and get in there, show her you’re not full of chicken shit like you’ve half convinced me you are, and give that woman your life. She deserves it. Besides, you’re pissing me off, and when you piss me off, Buffy and I fight. Come too far for you to ruin what promises to be a good day.”

Xander stood before the huffing vampire with his mouth hanging open and his raging butterflies miraculously sedated. Without thinking of appearances—without considering his usual deep-seated need to keep Spike beneath his size eleven shoe—he threw his arms around the slim vampire and dispensed a burly man-hug. “I so owe you my first born—as long as you promise not to eat him.” And then he was off, a burning desire to get through the formalities of this nightmare day so he could get to the wedding night and claim all the kinky husbandly rights Anya had been tempting him with for months.

Spike grinned, relief and pride pumping through him like hot liquid silk. Success should always be this smooth. This achievement would have to give Buffy a bit of security about him now. He could have done what his demon had whispered in his ear; he could have taunted Harris and pointed out how very likely he was to not only turn into his father, but be a mile worse with all his extended knowledge about the Hellmouth and its inhabitants. He could have destroyed two of the Scooby crew without batting an eyelid, but he didn’t. Because Buffy would have been devastated and he was trying to prove that he was good for her.

That he didn’t need a poofy soul to do the right thing.

Standing tall with a satisfied smirk firmly curving his lips, he re-entered the building and took his seat for the show. Buffy had been glowing when he’d met up with her earlier. She might really hate Anya’s choice in dress, and maybe the ex-demon had hoped it would detract attention from her attendants and focus it all on her, but Buffy shone bright as the star she truly was. She looked happy and he wasn’t denying the skerrick of the wanker in him being certain he’d contributed just a little to that.

The music boomed around the room and Spike looked at the end of the aisle, smiling as his goddess came into view. Everyone else barely rated a glance and he was ecstatic to see Buffy’s eyes focused on him with a soft blush tinging her cheeks. Her smile took his breath away and for once he didn’t even notice that he wasn’t breathing. There was nothing for him in this moment but Buffy, and he’d ensured he had this by kicking Harris in the arse. Not that the boy didn’t need it on occasion, but the ending of this day could have been very different and Spike was more than glad that all the pillock had required was to be pointed in the right direction.

With a bit of luck, Buffy would be so happy and full of the romanticism of the day that he might get a little more than a goodnight kiss.

Not that he’d push her for more, but a bloke lived in hope, and only for so long before his balls turned blue.

He’d done a good thing today. Now he only had to wait for the payoff.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

“Would you two morons get your act together? They’ll be down here soon. Look, he’s kissing the bride.”

Andrew sighed whimsically. “That’s so romantic.”

Warren rolled his eyes and wondered not for the first time what he was thinking to engage these two in a super-villain outfit when they had such a conscience about everything.

“You know, Buffy really hasn’t been bad to any of us. Do you really think this is necessary?” Jonathan flinched as Warren treated him with the Death Glare.

“We want to take over the Hellmouth. The Hellmouth belongs to the Slayer. Just how far are we going to get with her breathing down our necks and foiling our every plan?” he hissed, veins popping in his neck as he ground his teeth together.

“Okay, okay. Just checking.” A nervous glance passed between Jonathan and Andrew and they donned the special gloves they’d developed for this moment. Warren returned to spying through the conveniently located window while Andrew accidentally got his foot caught in the bush he was strategically crouched behind with Jonathan and knocked the bag of their special enemy-neutralising-if-it-doesn’t-kill-her-first confetti from his partner in crime’s hands. It fell open and was suddenly drenched by the build-up of rain resting on the bush’s leaves.

“Way to go, idiot,” Warren chastised, quickly picking it up and shoving it back into the shorter one’s hands.

“I can’t help it,” Andrew whined, his long black raincoat getting snagged on a particularly gnarly branch. He tilted sideways and just stopped himself going face first into the prickly foliage by elbowing Jonathan in the ribs.

“Ouch!” Shorty yelped, his subsequent glare lacking many of the points that made Warren’s worthy of capital letters.

“Cut the crap. Shhh. They’re coming. Remember, cover the Slayer with it. Then the Hellmouth will be ours.” The evil smile consumed his face and the other two lackeys shivered. Still, they obediently kept watch and shrunk back, bags open as the bridal party walked out of one venue into the next, running from one hiding spot to inside the building to take refuge behind a potted palm just in time as Buffy came down at the back of the procession.

Rice rained down on the bride from everyone she passed—except for the something indescribable some of the demons where throwing—and she squealed in excitement, clutching her new husband’s arm as they walked through the parted friends, family, demons and other. Andrew sighed wistfully again before being kicked by a storming Warren as he positioned himself behind them.

Buffy was finally in front of them and though strange-looking in their high-necked, floor length black raincoats, Buffy didn’t even notice as they almost dumped two sackfuls of mini explosive confetti all over her head and dress. She smiled good-naturedly even though it landed in soggy clumps, quickly passing on so that she was out of their reach. The three darted back outside, running crouched like demented chickens.

Once again hidden—and safely out of her reach—Andrew took out the remote from one of his pockets under the coat and whistled at the complex gadgetry. He was lost for a second until Jonathan yelped as some of the guests fell through the door to the outside so they could light up and prepare for whatever fireworks were in store. Andrew snickered. ‘Little do they know,’ he thought unpleasantly, his finger poised over the button that was about to blow Buffy Summers to smithereens and make him a power to be reckoned with.

Spike crept up behind Buffy, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist and the little blond winced, wavering for longer than a second about detonating the confetti. His shoulders slumped in misery, for destroying such a fine specimen of evilness could only be a bad thing, but Warren thumped him on the back so he tipped forward again and almost lost hold of the remote.

“Press the freaking button, numb nuts. This is perfect. Ignite the vampire and they’ve got nothing to fight us with.” Warren bounced on his toes just waiting for the big ball of slayer-extinguishing flames, staring through the glass door so he wouldn’t miss one second of his mastermind glory.

Jonathan nodded sadly then hung his head. He didn’t want to see the destruction of a girl who’d been responsible for keeping him alive throughout the years.

Andrew pressed the button and then held his breath. The expectation died with a confused furrow between his eyes as Buffy yelped and Spike leapt back from her a foot—but there were no flames, no sparks, no fire. No neutralised Buffy.

No, what there was was an irately pissed off vampire and an equally furious slayer staring straight at them.

Warren grabbed a collar in each hand and hauled them out of the bushes, the three of them running from a likely smack down as fast as their legs could carry them.

Good thing they’d parked the van close. They tumbled in and revved the motor, speeding off with a violent squeal of tires and a fear too strong to look behind them to see if they were being chased down until they’d careened around a corner. All three breathed deeply in relief as their specialised monitoring devices revealed no persistent pursuers.

Warren twisted from his post as getaway driver and pinned them both with furious looks, his eyes almost sparking with fury. “You two are the most pathetic screw-ups.” He seemed too steamed for more words and the startling blaring horn of an oncoming car had him swerving wildly to avoid it and then concentrating on the road. Andrew and Jonathan shrunk back in their seats, worried about Warren but in a depth inside they didn’t want to admit they had, secretly grateful that their scheme failed and Buffy was still alive.

Until tomorrow.





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