“Here we are.  Mabel’s Tavern in all her glory,” said Dave, pushing the door open.

Buffy felt Spike hesitate as the smell of beer and the sound of chatter reached them. 

“Are you sure about this?” she whispered.

He took a deep breath, drew himself up to his full height and nodded.  “As I’ll ever be.”  He allowed her to lead him inside. 

“Er…do you want to find a table and I’ll get the drinks?” Dave asked.

Spike found himself agreeing although he’d rather have stood at the bar for a while.  He wondered if the others were there yet.  Were they all staring at him?  Was Dave talking to them already? 

Buffy chose a table in a corner where there was a bench seat against the wall and several stools.  Once Spike was seated, she slid along the leather bench to settle beside him.  She could tell he was trying his best to appear nonchalant, but he fairly hummed with tension.  His left hand was on the table, rubbing across its surface.

“What are you doing?” she said.

“Uh…trying to find a beer mat.”

She pushed one across the dark wood surface until it touched his fingers.

“There you go.”

“Thanks.”  His right hand joined his left and he proceeded to tear it up into ever smaller pieces.

“If I’d know you were going to murder it, I wouldn’t have let you have the poor thing.”

He smiled tightly.  “Habit of mine.  Used to drive everyone nuts.”  Turning his head towards where he knew the bar would be, he added, “Dave’s taking a long time.”

“There’s a big line,” said Buffy, glancing over at Spike’s friend.  “He’s talking to a couple who’ve just walked in.”

“Tall thin girl with long brown hair, and a stocky bloke with a ponytail?”

“Um…well, her hair is cut into a bob, but the guy has got his hair in a band.  Who are they?”

“Rick and Janice.  They worked with me in the shop.  Janice did the invoices and the like.  Me and Rick used to take turns in going round the markets trying to find rare vinyl records or serving in the shop.”  He shrugged.  “Sounds pretty crap, doesn’t it?  But it was fun.”

“Nothing crappy about doing something you enjoy.  They’re all coming over.”

“’Kay.”

The hand nearest Buffy stopped shredding the beer mat and found her thigh.  She covered it with her own and squeezed.

“Spike, mate.  I can’t believe you’re back.  It’s good to se—er catch up,” the man said, sitting on a stool opposite him.

Janice touched Spike’s shoulder before bending down to kiss his cheek. “It’s just not the same without you.” 

Spike murmured, “Hi, Jan. Rick.” 

Dave sat on the stool closest to Buffy and put down the tray of drinks. 

“Buffy, these two are Rick and Janice.  We’ve all known each other for years.  Rick, Janice, this is Buffy, Spike’s girlfriend.

They exchanged hellos.

Dave began handing out the drinks, hesitating when he had Spike’s in his hand.  “Er…”

At first Buffy thought he was worried about how Spike would be able to find it, but then Dave chuckled.  “Hell, you haven’t been in here for five minutes and you’ve trashed a bloody beer mat.  Rick, pass me that spare one near you.” He waited until the mat was situated next to the remains of the first one, before setting down a pint of beer on it.  “There you are.  A pint of Bishop’s Finger.  I doubt you’ve drunk any of this in a while.”

Spike shook his head.  “That’s one thing about California…the weather’s great, but the beer’s shite.”  He found the glass, brought it to his lips and drank deeply.  He sighed with pleasure as he put it back down.  “God, that is good.”

“You’re teasing.  That beer isn’t really called that,” said Buffy, sipping on her glass of white wine.

“It is,” said Rick.  “Some have even weirder names than this.”

“How long have you been together?” Janice asked.

“A few months now,” Spike said.

“Months?  Hell, that’s a new one,” Rick said, grinning broadly.

Frowning, Buffy said, “What do you mean?”

“He thought he was risking marriage if he dated the same girl more than three times, so he made sure it was only ever once or twice.”

“Rick!”  Spike and Janice yelled in unison.

Buffy laughed.  “It’s okay, Rick.  I’ve gotten an idea of what he was like when he lived here.”

“What?”  Spike turned his face towards her.  “Has Oz been talking? I’ll bloody kill him!”

“No… but thanks for the heads up.  I’ll have to quiz him when we get home.”

“So, Spike,” said Dave, “You said you’d tell me how you two met.”

“Spike…don’t please…”  Buffy begged.

“Aw come on,” Rick said, leaning forward slightly.  “You’ve definitely got to tell us now.  Buffy’s turned beetroot!”

As Spike told them, they all laughed and began to relax.  Spike’s friends no longer worried about saying the wrong thing, and Spike stopped worrying what they’d think of him.

When the time finally came for them to leave, Dave called them a cab, and then as they were getting in, amidst promises to keep in touch, Dave slipped an envelope into Spike’s hands.

“What’s this?”  Spike said.

“Wait until you get to your hotel, and then Buffy’ll read it for you,” said Dave.  “But trust me, I think you’ll like it.” 

“Okay…but it better not be a practical joke.  I know what you’re like.”

It wasn’t until they were halfway to the hotel, that Spike realised he hadn’t asked Dave about a reference, or if he had any contacts that wanted reviews of live bands written.

“Damn it.”

“It’s okay. You can call him in the morning,” said Buffy.  “Tonight was social, not business.”

“I wonder what’s in the envelope.”

“We’ll soon find out.”

Back in their hotel suite, Buffy had barely toed off her shoes when Spike asked her to open it. 

“Impatient, much?”  She tore open the envelope.  “There’s a letter inside and a pair of tickets.”

“Tickets?   What for?”  He held his breath, though he just knew what name would be printed on them.

“It says Stiff Little Fingers.”

Spike exhaled, squeezing his eyes shut.  “I guessed as much.  What’s the letter say?”

“Says if we go to the side door of the venue a half hour before doors open, Dave’s arranged for us to go inside.  That’s nice of him…”  She took in Spike’s expression.  “Or not.”  She crossed the room to him, putting her hand on his arm.

He sat on the bed with a thump.

“You’re trembling.  What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.  I’m being stupid.  I’m fine.”

Sitting next to him, she said, “Come on, Spike.  You can tell me.”

He pulled the dark glasses from his face, leaning over to put them on the bedside cabinet before he spoke.

“They were my favourite band.  I was on the way to one of their gigs when I crashed the car.”  He pinched the bridge of his nose.  “I haven’t been able to listen to any of their songs since.”

“That’s understandable.  It’s okay.  Just forget about it.  We don’t have to go.”  When he didn’t say anything, she stood up.  “I’ll throw them in the trash.” 

“Don’t.”

“Why not?”

“’Cause.”

Buffy laughed.  “That clears it up nicely.”

Despite himself Spike chuckled.  “Sorry, babe.”  He patted the bed.  “Don’t stay all the way over there.” 

She sat beside him and took his hand in hers.  “So?”

“So, it’s daft, isn’t it?  Getting the shakes when I think of them.  I’ve seen them in concert more times than I’ve had hot dinners.  So I reckon we should go.”

“But—”

“No buts, Buff.  I knew parts of this trip might be tough, but I’ve got to get through it.  For my own peace of mind.”  He smiled.  “I guess that was one but.”

“If you’re sure?”

“I am.”  He hoped she wouldn’t notice his crossed fingers. 

“I’m so proud of you, Spike.  God, I love you so much.”  Buffy threw her arms around him with such force that they ended up on their backs on the mattress.

Tears pricked at Spike’s eyes.  How could he continue to mourn the loss of his sight when it brought Buffy into his life?  They would never have met, of that he was certain.  Before the accident, wild horses wouldn’t have been able to drag him to his mother’s house.

His voice thick with emotion, he managed to mumble.  “Want to show me just how much?”

“Oh, yeah!”

*~*~*~*

It was with much trepidation that Spike got out of the taxi at the side door of the Brixton Academy.  Light drizzle misted over him, threatening to make his hair curl, which Buffy adored and he hated.  Once the fare had been paid, the cab rolled away from the kerb. 

“I’m not too sure you’ll like the music,” Spike said as they walked to the door. 

“I might.”  Buffy’s tone was defensive.

“No, love.  I’ve listened to your iPod.  I know you won’t.  Bloody boy bands.”  He shook his head sadly.  “Seriously though.  Thanks for coming.”

Buffy kissed his cheek by way of an answer and rapped on the door.  Soon afterwards it swung open with a creak worthy of a horror movie.

“You must be Spike and Buffy.  I’m Rob.  Come inside.”

“Thanks, mate,” Spike said.

Buffy peered around the interior as they followed Rob.  A stocky man with unruly brown hair strode towards then, but he spoke before she could warn Spike.

“Spike!”  His voice held the unmistakable burr of Northern Irish.  “Man, I’m glad you came.”

“Jake.  I’m glad to be here.” 

Spike realised it was true.  He’d missed this so much.  Buffy smiled as they did one of those awkward man hugs.

“Who’s this?”  Jake asked, grinning at Buffy.

“Sorry.  Jake, this is my girlfriend, Buffy.  Buff, this is Jake Burns, lead singer of the best punk band in the world.”

Jake laughed.  “Still got a way with words then.”  He sobered.  “We were all really sorry to hear what had happened.” 

As ever when people mentioned it, Spike squirmed a little.  “Yeah…well…”

“Hey, Rob, how about getting us a drink, before the doors open?” 

“No worries.  What do you all want?”  Rob took the orders and disappeared to get the drinks.

“It’s going to get pretty crowded in here.  I thought maybe you’d prefer to be backstage?” Jake said.

Nodding, Spike agreed.  By the time Rob reappeared with the drinks, Spike and Buffy were settled in a couple of not very comfortable chairs, just to the side of where the band would walk on stage.  The rest of the band came by to say hello.

“Still trying to play that guitar?” asked Ali McMordie, the bassist.

Spike grinned.  “I play it better than you could, you git.  You only have four strings to worry about.”

“That so?” Ali said.  “Want to prove it?  Come on stage and play for a song or two?”

“No way.  Getting up on stage?  It’s not for me.  I know we’ve jammed at sound checks, but a gig…”

Buffy up to now enjoying listening to the banter, decided to chip in, “He plays in a band in the States.  Most times they come to a local club.”

Ali straightened up in his seat.  “That so?”

“Jeez, Buffy.  Whose side are you on?  This is not going to be like playing with the Dingoes.”

“Do it, Spike.  For me.” 

She knew she was being underhanded by saying that, but equally, she knew she was right to push him.  The band was being amazing, and if playing with them helped Spike lay some of his ghosts, then she was all for it.

“Alright, alright, but please make sure I don’t bloody trip up over the wires or anything.”

Ali clapped him on the shoulder and strode away to tell the others.

“That,” said Spike turning his head towards Buffy, “was sneaky.”

“I know.  But you’ll thank me for it in the morning.  You know you would have regretted saying no.”

“Might still regret it, if I cock it up.”

“You won’t.” 

Ali and Jake returned.

“We’ve still got time for you to have a quick practice,” said Jake.  “You don’t mind, do you, Buffy?”

“Not at all.”  She stood when Spike did, ready to guide him to the stage.

“It’s okay, Buff.”  Spike flicked out his cane.  “I’ll be alright.  They won’t let me fall arse over tit.”

“They’d better not.”  She fixed Ali and Jake with a stern look.

Jake clapped his palm over his heart, “We’ll look after him, I promise.”

Buffy was still chuckling, as she sat back down and watched Spike pick his way onto the stage.

It was decided that Spike would join Stiff Little Fingers on stage for the final encore, when they would play two of their best liked and oldest songs, Alternative Ulster and Johnny Was.

Buffy’s heart was in her mouth when the time came for him to go on.  The music and crowd were loud and raucous, and she just prayed that he’d be all right.  She needn’t have worried. 

Jake introduced Spike as an old friend, not mentioning why he’d guided Spike on, much to her relief, and the drummer counted the band into the song.  Spike’s worry about playing an electric guitar instead of his trusty acoustic proved unfounded, for to Buffy’s ears anyway, he seemed note perfect.

She ran to greet him as he put down the guitar.

“Baby, you are awesome!”

Throwing her arms around him, she kissed him until a cough from Ali reminded her that they were blocking the narrow exit.  Like the aftermath of a Dingoes gig, everyone involved was on a high, laughing and joking, with copious amounts of beer being drunk.  Seeing Spike at the centre of it all, she caught a glimpse of how he’d been before fate robbed him of his sight and consequently of most of his confidence.  She loved him dearly now, but knew she’d love him even more in the future when he had really laid all his demons to rest.

Several fans had been allowed backstage, and Buffy watched as one man in walked up behind where Spike was standing.

“Spike?” 

That one word had a galvanising effect on Spike.  He whirled round so quickly that Buffy feared he’d lose his balance, his lips drawn into a thin line.  When he spoke, his voice was ice.

“Martin.”