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Chapter Two –Not all Fairy Godmothers are Jolly

Somewhere in the back of her admittedly somewhat kiss-addled brain, she thought she heard a satisfied, “Ahh” from somewhere behind her. When she felt Spike stiffen and glance up, she turned her head to see a small, plump woman wearing what appeared to be wings on her back. The woman’s satisfied smile turned to a frown as Buffy immediately rolled away from the vampire in embarrassment, pushing him off when he tried to put his arms around her again. “Stop it,” she hissed, jumping to her feet. “There’s somebody watching us.”

“We weren’t doin’ anything to be ashamed of, Slayer,” he growled, standing up and shaking out his coat. “You were just snogging me.”

“I was NOT ‘snogging’ you! YOU were kissing ME! I was just letting you do it… in case you were a prince or something.”

“So, you didn’t want to be kissing me?” His voice was uncharacteristically soft, his expression unreadable.

“What?” Buffy’s expression said clearly that she had not been expecting the questions and had no idea what to do with it. She looked around, frantically seeking a distraction so that she wouldn’t have to answer the question honestly. “Look!” she said with relief, “She has wings! Wings, Spike! Like a fairy or something.”

“Don’t change the subject,” the irritated fairy godmother said, surprising them both. “Answer his question. Tell him you wanted to be kissing him. Tell him that you are just too stubborn to admit it.”

“What?” Anger flashed across the Slayer’s face. “Who the hell are you and what business do you have telling me who I want to kiss?”

“I’m your fairy godmother, and I am trying to give you a happily ever after, but it’s not been easy, let me tell you!” The petite fairy got right up in the Slayer’s face, totally unintimidated by the lethal glare she was being given. “You can’t see what’s right under your nose. Your taste in men is appalling.”

“I don’t need your help finding a man,” Buffy growled, ignoring the smirking vampire beside her. “I know who the love of my life is, and we can’t be together. There are issues…”

The fairy godmother rolled her eyes. “Oh, puhleeze! That pompous ass? The love of your life? Get over yourself. You aren’t sixteen anymore. I didn’t even have to do anything to get him out of your life; he did it all by himself. And I’m not even going to discuss the whole now-you-see-it, now-you-don’t soul nonsense!”

“I have a boyfriend,” Buffy continued stubbornly. “A perfectly nice, normal, non-vampire, non-evil boyfriend. Who loves me,” she finished triumphantly.

“You don’t know what love is, you silly little twit,” the fairy responded, her face rapidly darkening with anger. “You have someone who could make you happy for the rest of your life and you are too--“

“That’s enough,” Spike interrupted, afraid he knew where she was going with that train of thought. “Leave the chit alone. Like she told you, she has a boyfriend.”

(Bugger this. I don’t need some busybody fairy telling the Slayer I love her before I’ve even sussed it all out for myself.)

Buffy stared at Spike in surprise; after all, there was no love lost between the chipped vampire and Riley and she was amazed that Spike would be so quick to shut down any attempts to discourage her from dating the former soldier--even if the attempts were coming from a plump fairy with an urge to meddle.

The fairy godmother’s face was almost purple with rage. “You two…” She struggled to speak. “I try to…and then you…Well, that is it! No one is leaving here until at least one of you shows some common sense!”

At the angry flick of the fairy’s wand, the warm sun vanished and lightning flashed in the suddenly dark sky. Black clouds soon emptied themselves onto the two blonds, soaking them to the skin instantly. Spike whipped off his coat and put it around Buffy’s shoulders, though not quickly enough to keep her from being drenched. Without so much as a “Thank you,” she pulled the coat around her body and started down the path again, hoping it would lead somewhere dry. The dirt track was now straight and narrow, leading them directly away from the pond and toward a small stand of woods. As they trudged through the pouring rain, a brisk wind blew up and by the time they reached the shelter of the trees Buffy was shaking with cold and the vampire looked as dead as she’d ever seen him.

There was little let-up under the trees; what they spared the two wet travelers from the still-emptying clouds, they more than made up for by spilling at regular intervals the large amounts of water that had accumulated on their leaves. Eventually, the path led them to a small cottage into which a barely-conscious Buffy shoved her way without so much as knocking. Left outside, Spike put his hand up to the doorway in what he assumed was a futile gesture, only to find there was no magical barrier there. With a shrug, he followed Buffy inside, finding there a cozy little room with two chairs and a fireplace in which a fire was already burning warmly.

While Buffy huddled silently in front of the fire, Spike explored the small building, finding a pile of fluffy towels in the surprisingly modern bathroom. In addition to the bathroom, there was a softly lit bedroom with two beds – one a queen-sized, comfortable-looking four-poster, the other a small, hard cot. In the tiny kitchen he found a teakettle, tea bags, hot chocolate mix, and, to his amazement, a small refrigerator containing bags of blood.

Leaving the question of what sort of blood-drinking demon might live in the house, he returned to the bathroom and proceeded to shed his sodden clothing, hanging his shirt and jeans over the shower rod to dry. He wiped the water off his body, then wrapped one towel around his hips and carried some more towels into the living room where Buffy was still huddled miserably in front of the fire.

He held out the dry towels and when she didn’t respond, gave an exasperated sigh, pulling the coat off her shoulders and ignoring her feeble attempts to keep it wrapped around her shivering body. He began to rub vigorously with one of the spare towels, not stopping until her hair was no longer dripping and he’d dried as much of her as possible.

“Slayer? Buffy? Luv?” He tried to get her attention, but she just continued to huddle in front of the fire and shake. “Come on, pet. You need to get out of those wet clothes and get wrapped up in something warm and dry. Buffy? Can you hear me?”

When she didn’t move or acknowledge him, he rolled his eyes heavenward as though asking for protection before grabbing her wet shirt and pulling it over her head. She made no protest when he knelt before her, tugging off her equally soaked shoes, socks and pants; she didn’t put up any of the struggle or arguments he’d expected, instead remaining still and allowing him to rub the fluffy towel over the newly exposed skin. Deciding that removing the two damp scraps of lace left on the Slayer would be pushing his luck, he wrapped her up in the remaining large towel and lifted her, considering his options. He cast a quick glance at the large tub in the bathroom, but concluded that trying to give the Slayer a hot bath would be to invite massive pain, if not a staking; instead, he continued into the bedroom, placing her in the middle of the big bed and covering her with the soft blankets.

When she curled up tightly under the covers, still shivering, he frowned with concern and went back to the kitchen, quickly putting the kettle on to boil and searching the cupboards for cups. He found two mugs, one large enough to hold a decent amount of blood and a smaller one that he thought would suit for the Slayer’s tea. While he waited for the water to boil, he took some of the blood from the refrigerator and sniffed it suspiciously.

“Smells fresh enough,” he muttered, pouring it into the larger mug and setting it in the microwave to warm. By the time he had fixed a mug of hot tea for Buffy, his blood was warm and he carried the two cups into the bedroom. Buffy was still shivering lightly, but seemed more lucid as he handed her the tea saying, “Come on, luv; sit up and have a cuppa. You’ll feel better for it.”

She took the cup from him and raised it to her lips, giving him a puzzled but grateful smile..

“Careful, pet. It’s really hot. Don’t want to burn those lips; never know when I might need ‘em again.”

With a bit of her usual spirit, Buffy snapped, “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not kiss any more frogs.”

“Who said I was talking about me as a frog?” he leered at her, earning himself a blush and a glare.

As the hot liquid got into her system, Buffy found herself relaxing and taking the time to look at her surroundings.

“Where are we?” she asked, taking in the two beds, the open bathroom door, and another that housed what appeared to be a small closet.

“Cozy little cottage for two? Bloody hell, Slayer, I don’t know where we are any more than you do, but I know one thing.” She raised a curious eyebrow at him and he responded as if she had asked the question, “I’m not brassing off any more fat little fairies. I don’t know when I’ve seen a rain like that before.”

“Didn’t she say she was my fairy godmother? Shouldn’t she be more…likable? Not all with the temper tantrums and the yelling at me?”

“Well, in all fairness, pet, you did yell at her, too.”

“Whose side are you on? She was telling me I have terrible taste in men. That was rude!”

“ ‘S not like she wasn’t right,” he grumbled, taking the empty cup from her hand. “Do you fancy another one?” he asked, starting back toward the kitchen.

“Yes, please.” As he left the room she whispered, “Did you forget I was engaged to you?”

Pretending he didn’t hear her, the vampire continued into the kitchen a big smile on his face. He quickly fixed her another cup of hot tea, returning to the bedroom to find that Buffy had ventured out from under the blankets and was looking through the closet, still wrapped in the fluffy towel he had given her. He set the cup down on the nightstand and sat on the bed, leaning against the headboard as he watched her going through the clothes in the closet. He was still wearing only a towel around his lean hips, and apparently Buffy’s first goal was to find him something to wear.

( It’s not fair that he looks like that. How am I supposed to concentrate on our situation when there’s a naked vampire sitting on my bed?)

Somehow, the fact that there were several pairs of black jeans, as well as some shelves with folded tee shirts, did not surprise her and she tossed one of each over her shoulder without looking around.

“Here, Spike. Put on some clothes. You’re making me cold just looking at you, all…almost naked, and not with the clothes on.”

“Are you sure it’s making you cold, luv?” he leered, standing up and tossing the towel away. Buffy had turned when he began to speak, and gasped as the only thing between her eyes and a completely naked Spike was removed.

(Turn around! Must turn around now! Or shut eyes. Yes, shutting my eyes is the way to go. That will take less time than turning around and…oh my god, he’s turning around…)

I don’t see why I have to get dressed anyway,” the vampire grumbled, bending over to pick up the pants. “It’s time to go to bed.”

Buffy was speechless as she watched his tight buttocks flexing and tightening as he stepped into the pants. His words didn’t really penetrate her consciousness until he had zipped them up and turned around again. Then Buffy looked back and forth between the two beds.


“Bed?” was all she managed to squeak out.

“Yeah, Slayer. Bed. You know, that warm, comfy place you were all snuggled into a few minutes ago? “

Buffy looked back and forth between the vampire, whose zipped but not yet buttoned jeans still hung low on his hips, the dark fabric contrasting with his pale, smooth chest. “P…put your shirt on,” she ordered, her voice sounding much less authoritative than she had hoped. “We need to look around.”

“One,” the vampire said, holding up a finger, “I AM dressed. You’re the one wearin’ nothin’ but a towel and your pink underwear. Two,” he continued, ignoring her blushing peek under the towel to check the color of her bra, “I can look around just fine whether I’m dressed or not. Got you warmed up and back to your cranky self all right, didn’t I?”

Refusing to look at or answer him, she ducked into the closet and grabbed a sweatsuit that looked warm and that would cover her from neck to ankle. She hid behind the door and quickly pulled the pants up under the towel before dropping it and sliding the sweatshirt over her head. When she was sufficiently covered, she picked up the towel and stalked past the smirking vampire to hang it in the bathroom.

Spike followed Buffy as she prowled around the small house, testing the chairs, looking though the cupboards and refrigerator, and peering out the windows into the rain. She poured herself another cup of tea while in the kitchen and found a box of her favorite cookies in one cupboard. Opening the cookies eagerly, she began to eat while she strolled around.

“Well, what do you think, Goldilocks?” Spike asked, finally breaking his silence. She had looked into every nook and cranny in the house and tried every piece of furniture except the narrow cot.

“Don’t call me that,” she said absently as she pulled a book off a shelf.

“Have you been watching yourself?” he asked, gawking at her in genuine amazement. “All that’s missing are the bowls of porridge and a big bear!”

“Bear? You think this house belongs to a bear?”

The vampire rolled his eyes at her denseness. “I have no bleedin’ idea who or what this house belongs to. There was blood in the fridge, your favorite cookies in the pantry, clothes that fit us in the closet…”

Buffy’s face went pale. “Didn’t she say something about not letting us leave?” She ran to the door and tried to yank it open. When it didn’t budge, she didn’t even bother trying to exert more of her slayer strength; instead, she just groaned and walked back into the room.

“We’re stuck here. That’s why everything fits us – she’s going to make us stay until…what the hell does she mean, until we show some common sense? I have plenty of sense. I’m all about the sense – common or otherwise. She must have meant you.”

“Me? I’m not the one pining over a self-centered poof who worries more about his hair gel than he does you. Or dating a bloody soldier what can’t keep up with you without all his chemicals and chips!”

“I have one word for you,” Buffy said through tightly clenched teeth. She walked over until she was standing on her toes glaring into his eyes from mere inches away. “Crazy vamp ho.”

“That’s three words,” he snarled back at her, stepping close enough to feel her breasts pressing against his still-bare chest. Buffy’s chest was heaving as she took deep angry breaths and fought to keep her clenched fists at her side. When she grew uncomfortably aware of just how close to Spike she’d gotten, she broke the staring contest and flounced away without answering.

“I hate you!” she growled over her shoulder as she walked back to the bedroom and threw herself on the bed. She burrowed back under the blankets, facing the wall and it’s darkened window.

“I hate you, too,” he replied, following her into the room and unzipping his jeans. He pushed them to the floor and stepped out quickly, reaching for the blankets as he did so.

When Buffy felt the bed give under his weight, she flew from the bed and onto her feet, shrieking at the naked vampire, “What the HELL do you think you are doing? Get out of my bed!”

“I’m going to bed. Here. In the big comfy bed with pillows and blankets.”

“It’s MY bed! That’s yours over there!” She pointed at the narrow cot with its tiny pillow and threadbare blanket.

“I’m not sleeping in that thing,” he said firmly, sliding under the covers, but remaining well away from her.

“I am not going to sleep with you!”

“Your call, Slayer. There’s another bed in the room.” Without further conversation, he closed his eyes and ceased breathing, making it impossible for her to tell if he was awake or not.



‘Fine,” she snapped. “I’m a slayer. I can handle a cot. I’ve slept worse places.”





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