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Author's Chapter Notes:
Light hearted shindig here. Should be fun. Some things I'm planning on bringing to the fic are Monster of the Week, sub plots with other cast members and so on and so forth. Not a clear outline, so suggestions welcome. Criticism welcomed, always looking to improve right? Enjoy

TITLE SUBJECT TO CHANGE
Three boys, not men for a very long while yet, sat in a basement. It smelled of cheetos and mildew, and the décor was little more, or less rather, than Lego and Star Wars replicas with blow up furniture scattered about. “So… Mi Amigos, we’re taking over Sunnydale!” Andrew squealed in excitement.

“I guess so.” Jonathan nodded, staring off into the depths of plastic furniture. “There’s something in our way though. Warren said as he stood up for dramatic effect, and whipped off a white cloth that had been draped over a whiteboard. ‘SLAYER’ was scrawled onto in multiple colors. It looked like he took a handful of markers and wrote the word in one go.

“Buffy?” Jonathan chirped.

“No, blockhead, her puppy.”
Andrew and Jonathan simultaneously looked at one another with worry. No way were they going to take out a puppy. “Of course it’s Buffy.” Warren spat. Jonathan stood up abruptly, but didn’t get to say anything as a woman’s cheery voice rang down. “Warren! It’s time for your friends to go, we’ve got to get you to your study group!” Warred breathed a sigh of relief and began to hurry the two towards the door. “You heard the woman! Out! I gotta go!”

As they approached to door, Warren grabbed Andrew’s shoulder. “Hey, you forgot your thing upstairs.” He muttered.
“I’ve got everything muchacho.” Andrew smiled good-heartedly.
“No, you don’t. It’s your uh, Enterprise replica. Go on.” Warren was fighting to keep the smile plastered on his face. Jonathan wasn’t oblivious, but what would he do anyways? It’s not like this was a new thing. Warren just didn’t accept him. Too short, too many allergies, too everything.

“Oh!” Andrew yelped. “For my birthday last month! I knew you wouldn’t forget!” He opened his arms wide for a hug but was narrowly dodged by Warren slamming the door.

“Bye guys.” Jonathan said through his teeth to the closed door. What he needed was an edge.

“Warren! I can’t find it.” He called from upstairs. “It’s not there! No get down here.” Warren bellowed. The stairs groaned as Andrew’s heavy and sullen steps bore down on them. He met Warren at the bottom, who had a crooked smile across his face.

“Check this out.” He held up a little black remote, just like a television remote, and pressed number 2. His mother’s voice once more rang down, telling his friends to leave. Number 3 told him ‘Yes, of course you may, dear.’

“That was a fake? We have to show Jonathan!” Andrew skipped toward the door, but Warren spun him backward. “No. Johnny’s not a part of the plan. He’ll squeal, he’s not cut out for us. Yeah… It’s just me and you for this one.” Warren muttered, eyes shifty.

Air conditioning crackled to life, startling them and in turn shaking off a moment of over-zealous dramatics and tension. “Ok then.’ Warren breathed. “Right, so what’s the master plan?”

Warren started pacing around the room, hands clasped in front of him. “Ok, we’ve got to learn her weaknesses- the entire group’s weaknesses. We’ll plant cameras everywhere they go.”

“In the bedroom?”

“Everywhere.”

“Cool…”


End Prologue.
Chapter 1.


Andrew and Warren huddled close to a cluster of television screens, each hooked up to surveillance cameras scattered around the Summer’s residence and around the yard. “Good morning Summers’.” Andrew whispered. They were in a black van down the street, and in 35 degree California weather… yikes. But they were prepared. The van was stocked with a cooler, filled with ice and sodas, with cheesies scattered wherever they would fit in the van.


Dawn sat in the kitchen shoveling cereal into the black hole that was her mouth until there was but a puddle of milk in the bowl. She craned her neck over her shoulder where her mouth moved soundlessly.


“Andrew! Where’s the sound?” Warren kicked his partner’s spinny-chair, effectively moving his own spinny chair in the opposite direction. It was a messy ballet of chaotic nerds in spinny chairs, searching desperately for an audio cable. “Got it!”


“No!” Buffy called.

“Come on!” Dawn pined.

“It’s my day off, you are NOT ruining it. I might wear it today, you’re not getting it.”

“Fine! I’m going to school then, looking like a loser. I hope you’re happy!” She smiled on her way out the door.

Buffy lay in a heap of pillows with a rumpled blanket, which may or may not have been upside down, or sideways, no one could tell. None the less, it was doing what she wanted it to do, which was cover her eyes from any sign that it might be daylight, and pretend it was still a sensible time to be asleep.


She stirred an hour later to a presence in her room. She had to wipe an ocean of drool off her chin before looking at her intruder.

Spike stood just inside the doorway, chuckling. Her eyes narrowed, and quick as nothing else, threw a pillow at the intruder. It ripped with the force of the impact, so Spike stood still, dumbstruck, in a flurry of feathers. His lips curled into a sly smirk, and soon broke into a grin as he pounced on the slayer.

She squealed and laughed, as she hadn’t for long. She slapped Spike’s shoulders as he buried his face in the nape of her neck, lightly grazing his teeth over her skin. Everything fell together, it was like perfection personified as their energy danced together, harmoniously.

He lifted her from under him to in front of him. She was still catching her breath and laughing airily with her face lolled on his shoulder. “What do you want Spike?” She looked up at him, trying to keep a smile from her lips and failing.

“Just a quickie.” He smiled. “No, no. At least not originally. Anyways, I found you mystery demon, and since you had the day off, I thought I’d tell you now. Funny story actually. You see,”

“It’s day Spike. You couldn’t wait?”

Spike continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “I was sittin in the bar, and next to me there’s this ugly greasy fellow. He says ‘Man! There’s nothing better than kippered nuns.’ And then I knew it was him. He even had that twisty chin thing and the tattoo you were talking about. I get bored, by the way. Just to answer your question.” He smiled.

His smile made her smile and place a hand atop his, rubbing her thumb across his knuckles. The smiles didn’t falter, nor did her thumb cease its soothing circles, but her eyes lost their glossy affection.

“This isn’t right. Definitely a wrong thing.” The same look infected Spike’s demeanor now. The air felt thicker, as if someone dumped molasses into the air.
“I dunno slayer, but um,” He chuckled. “I kinda like it.”

The slayer’s smile faltered slightly, for a second, but slowly it started pulling back. “I should be kicking you. I should have started the moment you barged into my room. But I didn’t want to. I should go. No wait you should go. We should go. Different ways though, like different countries.” Buffy rambled, but she stopped with his cool fingers touched her lips. She couldn’t help but give in, her head lolled to the side, which put his palm on her cheek. She could smell him when his wrist was that close, and her immediate reaction was ‘mmm Spike’, but she forced ‘ew’ into her thoughts as she focused on the smell of nicotine, salt, cheap liquor; instead of the smell of Spike, fresh, like a lake on a cloudy day. His smell. ‘Mmmm, Spike’ She thought.

‘Damn.’


“I’ll go, you sit tight and… I’ll track down the baddie that did this… and I’ll steal him the best scotch on the shelf because this is bloody brilliant. Maybe I’ll hug him.” He planted a chaste kiss of the slayer’s lips and sprung off the bed and out the door before she could slap him again.

Anger boiled inside her, rising and burning her core. But like a wave rushing up the shore, it rinsed the rage and replaced it with infatuation. Something was wrong.

“Who woulda thought the slayer was into Spike.” Andrew said. He and Warren sat, captivated and confused at the edge of their spinny-seats.





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