Satin is supposed to feel smooth, soft against your skin, like the gentle caress of a lover.
The satin of Buffy Summers’ wedding gown, however, felt like burlap, scratching her, smothering her, binding her too tight.
“I can’t breathe, Will. I feel like I can’t breathe,” she sobbed as she laid her head onto the knee of her maid of honor, Willow Rosenberg, and succumbed to the onslaught of grief.
“Oh, honey,” her friend sighed, tears in her own eyes, rubbing comforting circles on the hysterical girl’s back. “I’m so sorry!”
“Why couldn’t I have found this out yesterday? Or last week? Or any time but right the hell now?” Buffy sat up and wiped away the tears messing up her perfectly applied makeup.
“I can’t believe Harmony!” Willow burst out angrily. “That she would show up, first of all. But that she would tell you…that.”
“Better than tomorrow. Better than tomorrow when I’m already married.”
The redhead’s eyes widened and she opened her mouth and closed it a few times before she could speak. “Are you saying…Buffy, this is bad, so bad. I know that. And Angel is a jerkface, and he should pay, and pay, and pay and pay---“
“Get to the point, Will.”
“He loves you. I know what he did was so, so wrong, but…you do still want to marry him, don’t you?”
The bride let out a bitter laugh. “He fucked my cousin. More than once, apparently. It doesn’t get much more wrong than that.”
“I know, but…it was a year ago,” Willow bit her lip. “I’m not trying to defend him, and I’m going to give him a swift kick…somewhere, when I see him. But it’s your wedding day, Buffy. We’re in the church, you’re in the dress, your family…everyone’s already here. Are you going to just walk away? I mean, if you do, I’m all for it. I’ll run interference and get you in a taxi and you and I will take the honeymoon together, because really, I’ve always wanted to see Anguilla and the dolphins—“
Buffy laughed weakly, but sobered up in the blink of an eye as she heard a knock.
“Girls? Ten minutes!” The voice of her mother came through the heavy, carved wooden door.
“Don’t worry, I’ll handle it,” Willow said. She scurried over and opened the door a crack. “Hi, Mrs. Summers! Just putting the finishing touches on, you can come back in a bit!”
“Okay, dear, just tell her to hurry up. Now is not the day for her trademark tardiness.”
“I’m keeping her on schedule, don’t worry.” Willow shut the door and ran back to Buffy, who was sitting in the middle of the expensive Oriental rug in the fancy country club lounge, her gown spread out around her, fiddling with the veil in her hands.
“I just don’t know what to do.”
“Um. Pros and cons?”
“Pros? I love him. Cons? He has sex with my cousin, they took pictures together which I got to see, and it seems more than likely he’s been with other women too.”
“Do you think?”
“What am I supposed to think?” Buffy began to cry harder. “That it was just a one time thing? He does work late a lot, and I know his secretary has always flirted with him…”
“Eve flirts with anyone!”
“And has sex with anyone! Do you think Angel would turn her down, but not Harmony?”
“I don’t know,” Willow frowned, clearly overwhelmed with having to deal with the situation. Her pale face was flushed to match the pink of her bridesmaid’s gown, and her eyes were wide with panic. “This is so not my area of expertise. Too bad Cordelia’s out hitting on the ushers. I could get her, but we don’t really have time…”
“What do I do? I don’t know what…what can I do?”
Willow took a deep breath. “I mean, really, Buffy, only you can know. I love you and whatever you decide, I’m behind you one hundred thousand million percent. But I can’t tell you what to do. You have to decide.”
Buffy nodded, and took a shuddering breath. “I think…I think I need fresh air.”
The maid of honor bobbed her head up and down. “Yes. Yes, air is good. I’ll tell your mom there was a wardrobe malfunction, that’ll buy you an extra few minutes to…to think.”
“To think? Great. I get an extra five minutes to decide the rest of my life.”
Spike Pratt took a drag on his cigarette, staring out at the rolling green lawns of the ritzy country club, leaning on the stone wall of the main building’s faux castle facade.
“Dude, you can’t smoke, you’ll stink,” his co-worker Charles Gunn scolded him as he came around the corner and caught sight of the bleached blond. “If Walsh smells you, you are so dead.”
“Fuck Walsh,” Spike growled, kicking his shoe at a pebble on the ground. “It’s my last day anyway.”
“Oh yeah, I heard you quit, man. Where you off to?”
“Anywhere but sodding Sunnydale.”
“Nice plan.”
“Yeah. Just me, my bike, and the open road.”
“Aren’t you the twenty first century’s answer to Jack Kerouac.” At the other man’s surprised look, Gunn laughed loudly. “What? I read.”
“Apparently.” Spike dropped his cigarette and crushed it under his shoe. “How long do we have?”
“Ceremony hasn’t even started yet, bride’s called a time out. Something about the dress? Fuck if I know.”
“How much do you think this bloody wedding cost?”
Gunn shrugged. “Upwards of sixty thou, I’d say. Probably more. Groom’s some sort of American royalty or whatever, bride’s parents are both members of the club. Read an article about it in the paper this morning.”
“Saw the groom. Ponce.”
“I’d go with dick, but sure, use one of your British words.”
“Charles?” Gunn’s girlfriend came rushing around the corner excitedly, stopping short when she saw Spike. “Oh…hi!” She smiled nervously, smoothing the front of her black cocktail dress.
“Hey, Fred. Wanting to drag Gunn away for a bit of alone time before the reception starts?” He grinned devilishly at the blush that crept over the girl’s cheeks.
“Asshole,” Gunn smacked him roughly. “See you later.” He grabbed Fred’s hand and they walked off, leaving Spike to contemplate smoking another cigarette before he had to head back inside to serve tiny hors d’oeuvres and expensive champagne to rich society people intent on making his life a living hell.
He frowned when he suddenly heard the faint sound of crying. Giving into his curiosity, he went to investigate, tracing the sound to the beautiful terrace outside one of the club’s many lounges. Sitting on the steps up to the door was a petite blonde, dressed in a huge white silk ball gown, crying into her hands, entire body shaking with the force of her sobs.
Spike intended to leave her be, not wanting to interrupt was what was clearly a personal moment, and was starting to slowly back up when he accidentally kicked a flowerpot and knocked it over. The sound of shattering ceramic caused the woman to gasp, and look up at him.
Her face was tearstained, her mascara smudged, her cheeks flushed. Green eyes shined brightly with yet unshed tears, and her soft looking pink lips quivered.
“Are you…are you alright?” Spike asked awkwardly, pulling at the hem of his black tuxedo jacket as he tried not to stare too hard at her distraught face.
She let out a laugh, but a bitter one, her features not remotely shifting from misery to mirth. “I’m supposed to be getting married and I’m crying outside. What do you think?”
He hesitated for a moment, wanting nothing more in this world than to flee, but knowing he couldn’t do it. “I think you may need to talk about it.” He moved forward before he could change his mind, and sat down next to her on the steps, looking at her questioningly.
For no reason, but trusting the sincerity she heard in this unfamiliar man’s voice and the compassion in his blue eyes, Buffy rushed out, “I just found out my fiancé had sex with my cousin last year and now I don’t know what to do.”
“Don’t marry him.” The response was immediate.
Her eyes widened. “It’s not that simple, he loves me and I told him—“
“If he loved you, he wouldn’t have fucked another woman. Pardon my language and my bluntness.”
“You’ve never cheated on anyone?”
“Not once,” he said vehemently.
“But…but there could be extenuating circumstances. There could be—“
“Is he the one who told you? What happened?”
“Well, no, she did. With picture aids.”
Spike sighed, and chose to continue with the brutal honesty. “Again, I say, don’t marry him. If he hadn’t told you by now, he wasn’t going to, and who knows what else he was hiding.”
Buffy was quiet for a moment. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It is.”
“It’s not, though!” Her voice wavered and broke, and Spike was surprised at how much it hurt him to see her cry. “Our whole families are here, we spent all this money, he’s waiting out there for me. How can I just break his heart like that?”
“Seems like he’s the one who broke yours.” She dropped her head in her hands again, and Spike spontaneously reached out and brushed her hair back from her face. Buffy glanced up at him in surprise, but didn’t pull away. Spike cupped her cheek, and spoke from his heart. “You’re a beautiful woman, and he doesn’t deserve you. I’m not saying you have to break it off with him, although he sounds like a right wanker, but are you really going to be able to walk down that aisle, and say you love him till death do you part and all that rot, with this hanging over your head?”
He was silent, then, and let her think for a moment. “No,” she finally whispered. “I couldn’t.”
Loud voices suddenly came from inside the room, and Buffy’s eyes widened.
“Where is she? Everyone’s getting restless!”
“Sorry, Mrs. Summers, she just needed a bit of fresh air, can I offer you some champagne?”
“No, I’m…okay, yes, that sounds lovely, Willow.”
Spike took in the panicked look on the bride-not-to-be’s face, and impulsively offered, “Want to get out of here?” He stood, and offered her his hand.
She stared at it for a moment, then her eyes traveled up to his face. “What’s your name?”
“Spike.”
She took his hand and stood. “I’m Buffy. You have a car?”
“Motorcycle. Might be tough with the dress, but it’ll work.”
With a nod, she said firmly, “Let’s go.”
Still holding her hand, Spike turned and led Buffy towards the parking lot, pulling her gently every time she paused. They reached his bike, and he spun around to face her, resting his hands on her shoulders.
“You sure you want to do this?” He asked softly.
She took a deep breath. Her response was, “He’s going to be so embarrassed.”
“He deserves it,” Spike chuckled, grabbing a helmet and passing it to her. “Put this on quick, don’t have a lot of time before they notice you’re gone.”
“It’ll mess up my hair.”
“Well, your makeup is already all over your face, so at least it’ll be a theme.” At her horrified expression, he laughed, “Still look gorgeous, pet, don’t worry. Now put it on, I don’t let women on my bike without one.”
She reluctant slid it over her head, and he lifted the visor for a moment to wink at her, which seemed to ease her worried expression. “Climb on, try not to let that big skirt get all caught in the tires.”
Buffy nodded and gathered the fabric up in her arms before carefully swinging one leg over. She wobbled on her high silver heels, but Spike caught her and lifted her easily, settling her on the seat. Checking quickly to make sure the dress was secure, he pulled on his own helmet, climbed on the bike, and spun around to slide her visor back down.
“Still sure?” He checked again.
“Let’s blow this popsicle stand,” Buffy said seriously, her words muffled from within the helmet.
“You got it, pet. Hold on to me.” He started the bike and sped off, and Buffy tightened her grip around his waist.
When they cleared the gate to the country club grounds, she felt herself relax.
They’d made it. And, she’d done it. She’d made a decision quickly and stuck with it, something she hadn’t been able to handle her whole life. Other people made the decisions for her, smarter people. Her parents told her where to go to college, her friends told her what to think, and Angel told her to love him, to accept his proposal. When she did try to figure things out for herself, she’d waver back and forth between the choices for hours, weeks, days, struggling to figure out exactly what her mind was telling her it wanted.
This time, she followed her heart. Heart hurt, wanted gone, and so she took it with her on the back of this motorcycle, with this kind stranger who managed to say exactly what she was thinking and guide her towards what she knew, in her heart, if not her mind, was the right decision.
Buffy rested her cheek on Spike’s back, closed her eyes, and felt the wind rushing past her. She hadn’t thought to ask where they were going, but supposed it didn’t matter.
As long as it was somewhere that was away.
Let me know if you think this is a fic you'd be interested in, I'd love to know if anyone's intrigued!
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Author's Chapter Notes:
I literally got this idea, and could not sleep until I started writing it. A very different kind of story for me, but I hope you like it, and if you do or don't, I'd love some feedback! Thanks to shadowsbabe for coming up with the perfect title.