[Reviews - 115]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Microsoft Word Chapter or Story | ePub eBook Chapter or Story | Printer Chapter or Story

Has been viewed 1887 times

- Text Size +




Author's Chapter Notes:
Please give this story a chance, I think you'll all enjoy it?
Chapter 15: ‘It Had To Be You’


Summary: Spike gets drunk and gets a late night visitor in the guise of the White Knight, Xander Harris.

Spike goes to battle for Buffy with a real formidable force.

Buffy pouts and pisses about at Heaven’s Haven, but then, she receives a ‘truce’ offering from her beloved.



Spike paced, make that stumbled, about his apartment nervously smoking cigarette after cigarette. He had reached his place, quickly, after being thrown out by Buffy herself from her own apartment. After that it was even more downhill for Spike.

He had opened a bottle of Jack; lit up smoke after smoke and drank himself into an immediate drunken stupor.

‘I’ve fucked up this time, royally,’ he admonished himself as he continued to pace back and forth in his living room. Johnathan had long since gone home to his family, so Spike was completely alone in his loft.

“Never should have agreed to the horse scheme,” Spike blubbered into his whiskey glass. “I could have had Buffy, head on and back again, if I’d never…..”

A knock at his door drew Spike out of his pity party for a brief moment. ‘It might be Buffy, come to forgive me!’ This thought brightened Spike up, briefly, until he remembered how stubborn his girl could be. ‘Just like me,’ he reasoned sourly.

“Who’s there,” he slurred angrily at the front door, just as he reached it.

“Harris,” Xander’s jovial voice sounded through the oaken door. “Let me in, Spike,” he ordered quietly.

“Why not?” Spike spat as he stumbled to his door and threw it open. “Welcome to hell,” he muttered at his taller, dark-haired friend.

“You look like shit,” Xander spat in disgust at his boss. “You need a bath and to get to bed,” he added in a now surly tone.

“Hey, I’m the boss here,” Spike muttered drunkenly. “I’m supposed to give the orders and all,” he finished with a growl. Later, Spike would think that his whole tough guy act would have looked more impressive if he hadn’t of stumbled and fell at Xander’s big feet.

“Why are you here, anyways?” Spike questioned his employee, even as he lay at his feet.

“Because,” Xander began with a sigh, “Buffy called Willow, crying. Then, Willow called Anya and I was at Anya’s house at the time. My girlfriend basically forced me to come over here and straighten you out. Actually,” the brunette scowled, “Anya threatened me by withholding sex from me. If I didn’t come over here, ASAP, and kick some sense into your thick head? I’d be without for a…..”

“Never mind,” Spike grumbled, reaching for another cigarette.
“You know, Harris, maybe you blokes and your girls should start your own telephone cartel. The way you all ‘get the word out’ via the telly is….” Spike shook his head and flopped down on his couch.

“You can go home and get some, okay,” he spat at Xander. “You’ve showed up, seen how pathetic I am and now you can…..”

“No can do boss,” Xander said evenly with a shake of his head. “You’re a mess, Buffy’s a mess and all because of this fucked up scheme of Angel’s. You are, however, pretty pathetic, you’re right about that. Tell me something; if that damned horse hadn’t come between you and Buffy? Would you still be over there, holed up in bed with Buffy? Where you belong?”

“Too right,” Spike groaned into his hands, “if it wasn’t for this fucking horse scheme? I’d be with Buffy, right now and……”

“Well, then,” Xander snorted, “sit there; shut the fuck up and listen to my advice, boss man. Let Alexander Harris, white knight extraordinaire, help you to get your girl back.”


Spike woke up the next morning, a little worse for wear, but at least he was sober. Xander had stayed for an hour or more, forcing coffee down his employer’s constricted throat. Once Spike was wide awake, if not completely sober, Harris had pushed him into a full bathtub of water.

“Sober up,” Xander barked as he turned his head when Spike pulled his shorts off. “You’re no good pissed as a sailor on shore leave,” Harris added with a chuckle.

“I’m gone,” Xander mumbled as he strode out of the bathroom. “Get some sleep, boss, and in the morning? Call your Buffy, every five minutes if you have to until she talks to you. If she won’t talk to you on the phone? Go over there and tell her that you’re threw with Angel O’Connor and his half-baked ideas.”

“Yeah,” Spike grumbled as he slipped into the tub full of very warm water. “I’d rather have Buffy then a pocketful of dough. Oh, and Xander,” he mumbled almost shyly, “thanks, mate.”

True to his word, Spike called Buffy’s place every five to ten minutes. Buffy did not answer the phone for the first hundred calls and Spike lost count of his attempts to talk to her.

Finally, on about the nine-hundred and ninety-nine of the calls, Margaret, the housekeeper, picked up the phone. “Miss Summers residence,” came the nasally, monotone voice of the old battle axe that Spike detested.

“I need to speak with Buffy,” Spike stated evenly, trying to be civil at least with the old biddy on the other end of the line.

“She is not here, Mr. Jameson,” Margaret replied in her usual disdainful tone.

“Where is she?” Spike asked impatiently, even though he tried to maintain some control over his emotions. Bloody hell but he detested this pompous old bint.

“I do not believe that it is any of your business, Mr. Jameson, but since I have been left in charge of Miss Dawn and Miss Summers’ household today? I will inform you that Miss Summers has gone down to the Club to her engagement for this evening. She…..”

“Buffy said she took time off from that dump to be with the Bit and me,” Spike finished weakly. He began to see red at the thought that Buffy had called Margaret back in to watch over Dawn and all.

‘How could Buffy do this?’ Spike asked himself in shock. ‘Buffy knows how much Margaret disapproves of Dawn and how much the Bit dislikes the old crone.’

“Miss Summers is a professional, through and through, Mr. Jameson,” Margaret wheezed. “It is her job and duty to perform at the Club. I’m sure that…..”

“Never mind,” Spike spat in exasperation. “I’ll be over to Buffy’s place, within an hour, to collect the Bit.”

“Mr. Jameson,” Margaret snorted, “I will not hand over a six-year-old child to you. Especially not when Miss Summers has made it clear that I am to take charge of her.”

“Margaret, if Dawn is not ready to leave with me and my man, Johnathan, by the time I get there? I’ll kick Buffy’s door down and throw you out in the street. Dawn cannot stand the sight of you, you bloody old biddy. Believe me, the Bit is in the majority on this one. You’re a hard-hearted, mean spirited old hag who by the grace of God himself keeps your job with my Buffy out of the kindness of ‘her’ heart.”

When Spike heard nothing but silence on the other end of the phone, he took courage.

“I’ll be there in an hour, with Johnathan. Dawn will be spending the evening with my valet and his family. Johnny and his wife, Amy, have three wonderful tots to keep Dawnie happy and occupied while I go and fetch Buffy home where she belongs. Have a bag packed for the Bit and I’d advise you, Margaret Walsh, not to make any of your famous telly calls to anyone. Including that Neanderthal, Angel, who I know you're so bloody fond of.”

Spike slammed the phone down and called out to Johnathan who was puttering around in his kitchen. “Johnny boy, get your arse out here! We’ve got two ladies to rescue. One’s my future wife and one’s a little half-pint of a chit.”


After knocking on Buffy’s front door for what seemed like five minutes, Margaret finally answered.

“About bloody time,” Spike spat angrily at the bitter woman.

“I do not like this, Mr. Jameson,” Margaret began in her superior tone. “Miss Summers made it clear that I was to…..”

“Go home to your mother?” Spike finished the sentence for his girl’s housekeeper. “Where’s the Bit?” He asked impatiently, glancing about Buffy’s living room.

“I’m here, Mr. Spike,” Dawn gushed as she scurried from the guest room door. The little girl carried a small bag in her hand, Spike noted with relief.

“I am so glad you came to pick me up, Mr. Spike,” Dawn squealed in delight when Spike swept her up into his arms. “Is Johnathan downstairs, in your car?” She asked hopefully.

“Yup, Bit, Johnathan is in the car, ready to take you to his house for supper and to play with his children. You’ll like Amy, his wife, and the three little ones.” Spike tousled Dawn’s hair and glared at Margaret who glared back at him with her usual pinched expression.

“Oh goody!” Dawn exclaimed gleefully. “Are you going to go get Buffy now, Mr. Spike? Are you going to bring her home from Angel’s club?”

“Of course, Bit,” Spike chuckled in reply. “Margaret,” he straightened up and glared again at the older woman. “It’s time for you to head on home yourself. If Miss Summers needs you? She’ll give you a ring, right? Otherwise, if I were you, I’d seek other employment.”

“Hmmph,” Margaret snorted. “I hope Miss Summers knows what she’s getting into.”

“She does,” Spike and Dawn responded in unison.


Buffy sat in her dressing room and stared into the full length mirror of the vanity. She wore a black silk evening gown that had tiny spangles on it. Her hair was up, in a loose bun and wisps of tendrils dangled about her cheeks.

“I look like death warmed over,” Buffy hissed at her reflection in the mirror. “Black is so not my shade,” she sighed in resignation, “makes me look like I’m ready for the graveyard.”

There was a quick, short knock at her dressing room door and Buffy sighed again. “Who is it,” she asked wearily.

“It’s Andrew Miss Summers,” the Heaven’s Haven doorman and all around gofer called softly from the other side of the door.

“Come in,” Buffy ordered the young, genteel man. She liked Andrew, Buffy did, even if he was Angel’s little squealer.

“You look lovely,” Andrew gushed sincerely enough as he perused Buffy’s gown and look.

“Thanks, Andy,” Buffy sighed, “is Daniel ready with the first number?”

“Well, yeah, but…..” Andrew paused, apparently deep in thought. “Miss Summers?” The pixie-faced man stammered, “I’ve brought a special delivery for you, Miss. Roses, three dozen of them, at least,” he continued with a warm grin.

“Roses?” Buffy turned to face Andrew with a raised brow. “What color are the roses,” she asked shyly, almost afraid of the young man’s answer.

“Blood red, Miss,” Andrew gushed proudly. “Blood red roses; at least three dozen of them, if not more. There’s a card, too, Miss Summers. Shall I bring them in here?” He asked carefully.

“Yes, absolutely,” Buffy murmured with a slight smile. “Please bring them in here, Andrew,” she finished wistfully.

Andrew returned quickly, carrying a huge bouquet of beautiful blood red roses. He set them on the coffee table and quickly arranged them, pulling the tiny white card from the center of the bouquets.

“Here’s the card, Miss Summers,” Andrew quipped smugly. “I’ll just take my leave now, Miss.”

After he had left, Buffy opened the little white card, delicately, and read the few lines that had been lovingly jotted down on it.


My Beloved Princess,

I would rather live like a pauper in Heaven, with you; then a rich prince in hell without you.

I love you beyond worlds, sweet Buffy. Please forgive me and grant me another chance.

Love forever and always, William.


Buffy swallowed hard and reread the words on the card. They were simple words, really. However, to Buffy, they were prose on the level of the great William Shakespeare himself.

“Buffy, it’s Willow. Can I come in?” Willow’s sweet voice echoed from the other side of the dressing room door.

“Yeah, Wills,” Buffy chirped happily, tucking the beautiful little card into her vanity drawer.

“Guess who’s at the front most tables; in the club?” Willow exclaimed excitedly.

“William?” Buffy replied, trying to sound as non-chalet as possible. Since her heart was racing like a horse (okay, she should not go there, right?).

“Yes!” Willow cried in surprise. “He’s at the front most tables and I should know. I sat him there myself! Oh, Buffy, honey, he’s come to make amends. I just know it!”

“Perhaps,” Buffy purred, sniffing one of the beautiful red roses. She quickly clipped the thorn less flower from its stem and placed it over her left ear.

“Should I wear my hair down, Wills?” Buffy asked her best friend coyly. “William loves my hair down you know,” she finished with a wink at Willow.

“Yes,” Willow whispered, reaching out and loosening Buffy’s bun so that her golden hair fell about her shoulders. “You should wear your hair down and loose. Perhaps you should wear that rose in it?”

“I shall,” Buffy giggled, clipping the lovely bud over her left ear. “And,” she continued, “Please tell your Daniel that I need a few more moments, before we start the first set. I need to change my dress,” Buffy murmured as she eyed the red evening gown that hung in her opened closet.

“I’ll tell Danny to hold off your set,” Willow chirped happily. “I was wondering,” the red-headed woman stammered through pursed lips. “What do you think about starting with the new number? Instead of the ‘Someone To Watch Over Me’ tune?”

“I think that’s a great idea,” Buffy turned and placed her tiny hand on Willow’s arm. “Please tell Daniel to prepare the new tune; the ‘It Had To Be You’ piece will be perfect,” she grinned up at her best friend. “Here,” Buffy offered Willow a cleaned rose for her own hair piece. Oh, and have Daniel wear this one on his lapel, please Willow?” Buffy handed Willow another sweet little rose bud.

“Sure thing,” Willow smiled down at her best friend. “Oh, Buffy,” she gushed gleefully, “I’m so happy for you!”

“Me too!” Buffy replied with a hearty laugh. “I’m quite happy for all of us!”


Buffy strode out onto the stage of Heaven’s Haven. She was wearing the blood red dress that she knew William would just love beyond reason on her. Her hair was down, about her shoulders and she had clipped the red rose above her left ear.


Before she had set foot on the stage that evening, Buffy insisted that the lighting crew darken the stage completely. Then, she ordered just one, golden spot light to shine on her as she sang the first song of the set. Hopefully, the first song would be her last song for the evening!


“Ladies and gentlemen,” Daniel Osbourne announced from his seat at the baby grand piano he had mastered years before. “I give you Miss Buffy Summers and a lovely ballad, ‘It Had To Be You.’


Buffy stood in the middle of the spot light, her head hung down; her eyes focused on her stiletto heels.


‘It had to be you, it had to be you,
I wandered around an’ finally found
Somebody who
Could make me be true
Could make me be blue
And even be glad, just to be sad,
Thinkin’ of you.’


Spike watched as Buffy began her song; his eyes trained on her beautiful face. She was even lovelier in the spot light and it made his heart sing that she was wearing a rose in her left ear. His rose, one he’d sent her.

Buffy lifted her eyes up, slowly, and focused on William who sat in the front most table of the club. She was ecstatic, of course, when she noted that his beautiful blue eyes were trained on her, completely.


‘Some others I’ve seen
Might never be mean
Might never be cross, or try to be boss,
But they wouldn’t do
For nobody else gave me a thrill.
With all of your faults, I love you still,
It had to be you, wonderful you,
It had to be you!’


Spike forced himself to sit still in his seat as he lit up another smoke and sipped his champagne. His Buffy; his golden goddess was singing this song for him and him alone. He kept his eyes trained on hers, as she did his.

‘Some others I’ve seen
Might never be mean
Might never be cross, or try to be boss,
But they wouldn’t do…..
Nobody else gave me a thrill,
With all of your faults, I love you still,
It had to be you, wonderful you, it had to be you!
It just had to be you!’


When Buffy finished her song, the whole club audience broke out in excited applause. She was frozen, however, on the stage, her green eyes trained on William’s blue ones.

Spike stood up from his table and rushed over to the stage. He practically leapt onto it and swept Buffy up in his arms without a second thought.

“We’re making a scene, you know that, right?” Buffy murmured with a giggle.

“Who gives a fuck?” Spike rasped as he carried Buffy from the stage, to her dressing room.


“I have an announcement to make,” Daniel Osbourne stated evenly, like the professional he truly was.

“Miss Buffy Summers will not be able to finish the show tonight. Something has come up,” he stammered, shooting his Willow a mischievous grin. “Instead,” he continued bravely, “the next set will be delivered by the lovely Miss Tara McClay.”


Buffy felt herself being carried into her dressing room, by Will, no less. She’d never felt so free and happy in her entire life. It was for certain; her William had made his choice and it was ‘her’ with a capitol ‘B’ for Buffy.

Spike kicked the dressing room door shut and spun Buffy around, slamming her up against it. He pressed his body into hers and gazed into her green eyes.

“I am done with Angel O’Connor, Princess,” he mumbled between the hot, passionate kisses he lathered on Buffy’s face and mouth. “I’m finished with being his lackey and his minion, sweetheart,” he rasped.

“Me too!” Buffy squealed as William pushed her dress bottom up and ripped her knickers off.

Before she could gather her thoughts, Will had pulled his pants down and thrust his cock into her. That was okay though, since she had been wet for him the moment she’d seen him sitting at the front most table of the club.


A/N: Okay, not one of my best, I’ll admit. I hope people will continue to read this and review.

Thanks, spufette.





You must login (register) to review.