Buffy had kept her eyes closed the entire ride, afraid of the high speeds, feeling vulnerable and open, and wanting to block out anything that might cause her to change her mind. The vibrations of the motorcycle’s engine between her legs was strange, and new, and add to that the fact that she was tightly hugging an unfamiliar man, someone who was not the person she was supposed to be currently marrying, and she had to concentrate hard on her breathing to keep from hyperventilating.
Suddenly, the motorcycle slowed and stopped. Buffy pulled off her helmet, opened her eyes and blinked, finding that the sun had gone behind a heavy, dark cloud, and she was in the parking lot of what looked like a bar.
“Where are we?” she asked as Spike dismounted, removed his helmet, and took hers from her.
“A bar.”
“Okay, but why?”
Spike lifted her from the bike and set her down gently. “Figured a night of drinking your sorrows away could be in order. It was that, or a lot of chocolate, but I don’t particularly like chocolate.”
“You don’t like chocolate? That’s like, sacrilege or something.”
“I think the Pope would disagree.”
He grabbed her hand and started to pull her towards the front door. “I can’t…I’m in my wedding dress,” she protested sadly.
“So?”
“So? I’ll look like a huge freak! I’m all white and poofy and you said my makeup was all messed up and I bet my hair---“
Spike sighed, and licked his thumb to wipe under her eyes. Shocked at the almost intimate act, Buffy didn’t stop him, just watched him intently as he cleaned off her face, and began to run his hands through her hair until the curls were managed. For the first time, she took in his face in its entirety. High, sculpted, cheekbones, those gentle, clear blue eyes, bleached blonde hair. Almost the exact opposite of Angel, physically, she realized. “Okay, two out of three,” he said once he was done. “You really don’t want to go in there in the dress?”
“Well, I mean, won’t people laugh at me?” She said softly, kicking at a rock on the ground. “The stupid girl who ran away on her wedding day.”
“No one will laugh, pet. And if they do, I’ll kick their ass. Besides, I know the bloke who owns this bar, and his girlfriend would have some clothes lying around, yeah? If you want. But we have to go inside first.” He didn’t know why he cared so much that this girl came with him. He should just call her a cab. But instead he squeezed her hand gently, trying to reassure her, feeling a deep rooted need to help her heal.
“Okay,” she acquiesced reluctantly, and let him pull her towards the door. But, abruptly, she stopped again and yanked him back to face her, biting her lip worriedly.
“What now?” Spike said, slightly irritated.
Buffy blurted out, “Why are you being so nice to me? You don’t even know me.”
“Do I really need a reason?” When she was quiet, he sighed, and tried to explain the feeling he couldn’t quite identify. “Look, I would say your day, that I am now a part of whether you meant for me to be or not, probably ranks in the top ten of worst days I’ve seen. You needed someone to take care of you, so I am. Is that a problem?”
The first smile he’d seen spread across her face, and he felt his heart stop as he realized how truly beautiful she was. “Not a problem at all.”
Again, they headed towards the front door of the bar. Spike lightly stroked her palm with one finger as they stepped in the door, and adjusted their eyes to the dim light. The bar was nearly empty, as it was only around five on a Saturday night, but those who were in the room turned to look curiously at the girl in the big white gown. But after their initial once over, they all turned back to what they were doing, and Buffy let out a sigh of relief.
“See? No problem,” he leaned in and said directly into her ear, allowing himself a moment to linger in her personal space.
“Spike! My man, how goes it?” The bartender waved them over, a happy smile on his face. “Looking sharp.”
“It goes good, mate. Xander, Buffy, Buffy, Xander. He owns the place.”
“Nice to meet you,” the dark haired man reached out a hand and brought hers to his lips. Buffy blushed. “Nice dress, by the way.”
“Um, thanks,” she said awkwardly, glancing down at the yards of beaded satin that wrapped around her body.
“Tell me the story after a few drinks?”
“Sure,” she instantly relaxed when he didn’t push her for an explanation.
“What’ll you have?”
Buffy paused, thought carefully for a moment and finally decided, “Um, just a beer?” Spike glanced at her, slightly surprised.
“No problem. Spike?”
“What do you think?”
“Whiskey it is.”
“Your girl around?” Spike inquired as he loosened his bow tie and dropped it on the bar.
“She’ll be here later,” Xander replied, then moved to grab their drinks.
Buffy lifted her skirt and awkwardly tried to sit on a bar stool, but got tangled in the layers of fabric on her body. Chuckling, Spike took a surreptitious look at the expanse of thigh revealed as she gathered up the silk and teetered on her high heels, then assisted her. He then moved to sit down next to her, unbuttoning the top of his shirt and shedding his jacket.
They sat in an awkward silence for a moment, as the spontaneity of their afternoon and adrenaline it caused faded, and they just became two strangers in a dark bar, knowing nothing but first names.
“So, um, kind of late to be asking you this, but were you a guest?” Buffy asked, wondering if she’d just escaped her wedding with Angel’s cousin or something.
“No. Work for the catering company.”
A wave of irrational guilt crashed over her that she’d somehow ruined the day of someone who’d been so extraordinarily kind to her. “Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry, I made you leave work!”
“Made me?” He raised one eyebrow.
“Well, I mean---“
“Relax, love. It was my last day anyway, not like they can fire me.”
“Oh. So you got a different job?”
He chose to lie by omission, figuring the night needed to be about her and her problems, not his. “Sick of the penguin suit, thought I’d find something that didn’t involve shiny shoes.”
Buffy giggled. It was the sweetest sound Spike thought he had ever heard. “I think you look snazzy.”
Xander set down their drinks in front of them with a flourish. “Want something to eat, Buffy?”
As if on cue, her stomach rumbled loudly, and she realized she hadn’t eaten since that morning’s bagel. “Oh, this is a restaurant too?” She said hopefully.
“Nope. But I live right upstairs, can make you…well, eggs of some kind, or grilled cheese. Or macaroni. Or pancakes.” Her eyes lit up. “Pancakes it is.”
“No! No, I don’t want to put you out, I’m fine---“
“You looked more excited about pancakes than I’ve ever seen anyone look before. No arguing,” Xander said firmly he headed up the stairs to the left of the bar, whistling a jaunty tune.
“Wow, definitely full service!” Buffy said happily, clapping her hands together with glee. “Pancakes are my absolute favorite food in the world.”
“That so?” Spike smirked. “Can’t say I’ve ever met anyone with that favorite food before.”
“What can I say, I’m weird,” she shrugged, took a sip of her beer and made a slight face.
Spike tried to stifle his grin. “Surprised me that was your drink of choice.”
“I noticed. What’d you expect, a Cosmo? Apple-tini? Lemon drop?”
“Something like that.”
“Girly drinks and Buffy are like…unmixy things. Hangovers from the sugar, not of the good.”
“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”
“And it’s only five-thirty, I could surprise you a lot before the night is out.” She cringed at her words. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply you had to hang out with me all night, I’m sure you have plans and you’ve done so much for me already I wasn’t expecting—“
Spike put a finger to her lips and shushed her, definitively deciding how he wanted to spend his last night in Sunnydale, in the company of this beautiful woman. “Got no plans but spend the evening with you. And stop apologizing to me for no reason.”
Buffy grinned underneath his finger. Once he reluctantly stopped touching her, she nodded, “Okay then. No more sorries.” She took a deep gulp from her bottle.
“Pace yourself, it’s early,” Spike said kindly.
“Thought the point was to drown my sorrows!”
“It is, but you have to drown them carefully. Don’t fancy carrying you out of here when you pass out.”
“So you’re like, Mr. Responsible then?”
He barked an almost bitter laugh, then tried to smile to soften it. “Hardly.”
“Well, tell me about yourself, then,” She turned on the stool so she was facing him and leaned on one elbow, staring at him curiously. It was so easy to forget her life and her day, here in this slightly rundown bar, and she knew the reason she could even pretend to smile was this strange man beside her, offering her a chance to forget and laugh. And she wanted to know why.
Spike averted his gaze from the display of her cleavage, enhanced by her twisted torso and the tight bodice of her dress, and shrugged. “What do you want to know?”
“I don’t know. But if we’re going to hang out tonight, I’d kind of like to know some stuff about you. I mean, you know…things. About me. Only fair!”
“Not like I have a resume to read off, pet. Got to give me somewhere to start.”
Buffy stuck her lower lip out in a pout, then suddenly her entire face transformed, and she looked absolutely radiant. The kind of radiant a woman should look on her wedding day. “I have an idea! We’ll play twenty questions.”
“Like, I think of an object, and—“
“No, no, silly. We each get twenty questions to ask to get to know each other better. It’ll be fun!”
She looked so excited, there was nothing in the world that could make Spike reject her suggestion. “Does sound fun, kitten. You’re up first.”
“Okay. Let me think. They need to be good questions, you know. Not like, what’s your favorite color.”
“Right. No boring questions, then.”
Buffy snapped her fingers after a moment. “Got it! This is my question, and it has two parts. What’s your real name, and how’d you get your nickname?”
“What makes you think Spike is a nickname?”
“Um, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean---“
“Just teasing you. And you apologized again for nothing. Every time you do that from here on out, I get an extra question, so there.”
Buffy sighed as if that was the worst punishment in the world. “Okay, FINE. I’m sor—“ She slapped her hand over her mouth. “Didn’t say it,” she insisted through her fingers.
“I’ll let you off the hook. This time,” he laughed. “My real name is William Edward Pratt the third.”
“No kidding.”
“Nope. Spike’s a nickname I got in high school, used to wear a spiked dog collar, spiked my hair. Thought I was real tough.”
“Did you also wear safety pins and eyeliner?”
“That I did. Was that another question?’
Rolling her eyes, she said, “Of course not. It was a continuation of a topic brought up by my original question. Duh. So I’ve used up one. Your turn, William.”
She was the first person to call him William to his face in years. And, surprisingly, he didn’t mind.
Xander came back to them, brandishing a tray with a plate piled high with fluffy flapjacks, syrup, and a rose in a vase.
“Oh my!” Buffy giggled. “I feel so pampered.”
Spike smiled at his friend gratefully, always shocked at the fact that the guy, without fail, could figure out exactly what someone needed without even asking. Probably why he was a bartender. “Looks delicious.”
“My own special recipe, right off the Bisquick box,” Xander said proudly.
“So freaking good!” Buffy said, mouth already full.
Spike observed her thoughtfully for a moment, realized he was staring, and chugged down the rest of his drink. “Another, barman!” He turned to Buffy. “Ready for more?”
She nodded and swallowed. “What kind of drink can I drink with pancakes?”
“White Russian?” Xander suggested, pouring more whiskey into the empty glass. “It’s got cream in it.”
“Plus, pet. Almost tastes like chocolate,” Spike said, eyes twinkling.
“Sign me up!” She squealed, digging back into her meal.
“So you… you’re doing okay? With…everything?” Spike asked quietly as Xander moved away, hoping to turn the conversation back to the events of the day so he didn’t get distracted by the urge to turn on his patented charm.
“Pancakes cure all. And well, I’m being repressy. Let me repress. Repression is of the good. I don’t even want to think about it.”
“Got it. No deep questions yet.”
She offered him her fork and wiggled it enticingly. “Want a bite? Come on, you know you want it.”
“No, thanks, wouldn’t want to take away even a little bit of something that makes you so bloody happy.”
The incredibly sweet sentiment made Buffy freeze for a minute. Spike chugged down his new drink, ignoring her reaction. “Okay,” she said softly.
Xander returned and placed a drink on the counter. “Here you go, milady. Let me know what you think.”
Buffy took a sip, and her eyes widened. “Oh my God. That’s like, heaven in a glass! Xander, you’re like a god.”
He puffed out his chest proudly. “I’m quite the talented drink-maker, what can I say.”
“Mmm…” Buffy sighed happily as she sipped on the drink. “Too tasty.”
“Figured out my question.” Spike announced when Xander was torn away by a thirsty patron. “How old are you?”
“Boring question!”
“Come on, I want to know.”
She wrinkled her nose a bit, and her answer was almost like a confession. “Just turned twenty one. Xander probably should have carded me.”
Spike gawked at her, the wheels in his mind spinning quickly. “You were getting married at twenty one?”
“Apparently.”
“You go to school?’
“Yup. UC Sunnydale junior, art history major, dance minor.”
“Dance, really? Ballet?”
“Ballet, jazz, hip-hop, whole kit and caboodle.”
“What’re you going to do? When you graduate?”
A cloud settled over her face, and she suddenly realized she had no plan for any future past this evening, and the thought made her heart feel heavy with lead. “I was going to be married. Didn’t really think about much after that.”
“Ah,” he sipped his drink and inspected her carefully. “Well, at least now you can decide what you really want to do.”
“I guess. I’m not…there’s never really been anything I’m good at. Picked art because it was easy, picked dance because I love it, but neither are things I can really, like, make a career out of. I didn’t really ever plan a career, I know that’s so stupid and shallow.” Buffy blushed a bit.
“Not shallow at all. You’re young---“
“I’m not that young, how old are you?”
“Twenty eight.”
“Okay, fine, old man,” Buffy teased. “Maybe you could teach me a thing or two.”
“That I could, pet,” he leered back, before reining in the comment he almost made about just what he would like to teach her. “Anyway, as I was saying, you’re young, you’ve got a lot of years to find your passion.”
“Well, have you found yours?”
“Is that your question?” She nodded, and Spike said, “I’m a writer, or at least, an aspiring writer. That’s my passion.”
“That’s very cool. What do you write?”
“Everything. Short stories, poetry, songs. Almost wrote a novel once, got sidetracked.”
“By what?” She asked curiously.
“That, pet, would definitely be another question, and it’s my turn,” Spike winked at her, then again had to suppress any further flirtation, and glanced down at the white dress to remind himself of the circumstances.
“No, no, back to previous topic. Did you go to school for writing? Totally a follow-up question.”
“Oxford.” He said shyly.
“Seriously?” Her eyes widened, impressed. “That’s a really good school.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“So a punk kid named Spike ended up going to Oxford?”
“Oi! Just because I was punk doesn’t mean I didn’t study.”
“Right, right, okay.” Buffy absentmindedly stuck one finger in the syrup on her plate, swirled it around, then slid her finger in between her lips to suck it off. She didn’t register Spike’s intake of breath, or the way his eyes watched her finger slide in and out of her mouth.
He coughed and tore his eyes away. “Okay. My question.”
Everyone still enjoying? Please oh please, let me know, and there is much fun to come!
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Oh. My. Lord. I am completely and totally, wonderfully shocked at the amazing response this fic has received so far. I would never in my wildest dreams have guessed! A thousand thank yous to every person who read, and reviewed. Unfortunately this fic won't be updated every single day, but I'll be as quick as I can! Your feedback will probably speed up the creative process. ;)