Disclaimer: The characters of 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer'are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant EnemyProductions Inc. No copy infringement is intended and no profits are being derived from the creation of this work of fanfiction.

Rating: PG

Editor's Note: This story is the fourth in a series of short stories that takes place in the period following the events of "Shades of Gray." Reading that story is not required for enjoying this one. It is however, recommended.

Girl's Night Out

An SOGverse Fic

Written by Merrin

"Xander's so cute when he's jealous. He thinks I'm going to go wild tonight," Anya said, "Me! Can you believe it?" She was lounging on a chair in Buffy's bedroom, briskly flipping through the pages of a fashion magazine. "You should probably have a doctor look at that grotesque little mole," she said, gesturing.

"Huh?" Buffy twisted around, first one way, then another, trying to see. "I think it's a birthmark." She grabbed a hand mirror off the bureau, and tried to angle it... "We're just having a girls' night out. Why should he worry?"

Anya grabbed a stuffed toy off of Buffy's bed. "Oh, I don't mind if he worries. Worry is good for Xander. Or any man, really."

"Yeah, uh huh," Buffy said as she tried to reach behind her, feeling for something hideously mole-like. "Anya, please don't swing Mr. Gordo around by his tail."

The front doorbell rang.

"Dawn, can you get that?" Buffy shouted, then mumbled to herself as she slid a black beaded dress off its hanger. "Tara must've forgotten her key. Or maybe the limo's here." After waiting a couple of minutes, Buffy shouted, "Dawn!"

"I'm not invited to Anya's bachelorette party, but I'm expected to answer the door like a flunkey?" Dawn called out from her room.

"Dawn," Buffy yelled through satiny fabric, "Stop pouting, get off your bed, and get the door." She wriggled, trying to get the form-fitting dress to slide down over her hips. "Please."

There was the sound of two feet energetically hitting the floor. A deep, prolonged sigh traveled past Buffy's open bedroom door, then trailed down the stairs.

Willow, Amy, and Tara were waiting with expectant expressions when Dawn finally swung the door open.

"Buffy!" she yelled upstairs, "It's the charmed ones."

"Dawn," Willow pulled her coat off as she walked past Dawn into the front hall, "I really, really hate that."

"Hey, Dawnie."

"Hi, Dawn."

"Can you guys be on my side? If I put on enough make-up, I can pass for a lot older. And you don't have to worry about corrupting a minor, because I won't even look, I swear. I'm not the least bit interested in male strippers." Dawn pressed her lips primly together. "A naked man could sit in my lap, and I wouldn't even blink."

There was a rattle, followed by a solid thump: the sound of the kitchen door banging open and shut.

Willow patted Dawn's shoulder. "Sweetie, in the first place, there's not gonna be any strippers. And, hey, the bridal shower's coming up; you'll be an honored guest."

Dawn huffed indignantly, "Bridal shower. Boring." She slouched against the arm of the sofa. "Why should I expect anything different? That is so my life right now."

"When are you birds gonna remember to lock the bloody back door?" Spike said as he came through the kitchen into the living room. He looked at the assorted evening apparel: sea green, black, and burgundy. "Lovely, ladies. Quite lovely. It's a downright privilege."

The three witches smiled in response.

Spike turned to Dawn, "Ready, bit?"

"See how boring?" Dawn said petulantly as she waved her hand in Spike's direction."

"Hey!" said Spike, with a deeply wounded tone.

"Spike's gonna make me watch really old movies. By the time you see me again, I could be rigor mortized from the boredom."

"You liked Sunset Boulevard. And All About Eve," he protested, then muttered to himself, "Kept the one and only Drusilla amused for over a century, and this little chit is complainin' about the entertainment."

Buffy came down from upstairs. She was dressed in a calf-length, sequin-y black dress with a plunging neckline.

"Va va voom, lady," Willow said admiringly, as Buffy pulled on her black leather coat.

"Buffy, you look wonderful," Tara smiled.

"Thanks, guys. So do you. Stunningly gorgeous."

Spike's expression was serious. "One minute of your time, Slayer. Business."

Buffy nodded, pointing toward the kitchen. He followed her around the corner.

Once they had passed out of sight of the others, but just barely, he pulled her against him.

"Buffy." His mouth was close, as close as you can be without kissing. She could feel the energy of his words breathing against her lips as he whispered, "I just needed to..."

Spike rested his forehead against hers, and took a deep breath. She knew he was breathing in her scent. He slid his index finger underneath the neckline of her dress, brushing her nipple with casual familiarity. Inside, she felt a tingling warmth that was painful.

The moment his lips touched hers, and as she started to meet the urgent searching of his mouth with her own hunger, he pulled away from her.

She felt... bereft.

"Just a reminder of what's waiting for you after your little shindig. No need to go looking for trouble." His gaze was intense, but she could see a sparkle of amusement in them.

Irritated, she pulled back, turning toward the dining room. Before she had gone two steps, he reached out, grabbed her by the waist and pulled her back.

"No need at all," he said in a low, uneven voice, and kissed her, hard.

His mouth against hers, insistent at first. Then, soft and pleading. It was like, well... him. One minute, arrogantly assuming that she would fall into bed with him if he so much as glanced in her direction (never mind how often that actually happened), the next minute, almost heartbreakingly uncertain...

She pulled away from him, taking a shivery breath. "Not here. Not... now."

Buffy headed into the front hall to fetch her evening bag off of the table. Spike followed; Buffy knew his eyes were fixed on her. She glanced nervously at the others, who were chatting in the living room.

"Stop with the staring already," she whispered.

"Not staring," he said softly, "It's just that you look..."

She felt rising panic. It was that weird phenomenon where she could control lots of things in her life, but never him. And never the feelings she had when he looked at her like that. It must be obvious to anyone watching, which meant that everyone would know.

She turned to face him and her words came out in a harsh whisper: "Someone will notice your moony-eyed face, and get suspicious, OK?" she bit down on the words, "I don't need it."

Spike's expression hardened. He looked her over again, this time with a derisive tilt of his head.

"I can see the wheels turning, Slayer. How to keep the best shag of your life, and keep the filthy serving boy locked in the cellar where he belongs." His eyes were hooded, his mouth twisted in a scornful expression. "See you around." He started to walk past her. "Have a grand time."

She was stung by his dismissal of her. "Not that I needed your permission, but I think I will."

He stopped, and leaned close to her ear. "You're gonna think about me all night long," he whispered.

He brushed past her into the living room. "Let's go, Dawn," he said loudly.

Buffy watched, frowning, as Dawn grabbed her coat and followed Spike to the back door.

"Is even one of these movies in color? I bet there's all those dead people from the 1930's in 'em." Spike opened the door as Dawn continued without taking a breath, "That's probably why you like old movies. It makes you feel right at home, like with all the corpses in the cemetery and stuff."

"It's true what they say about you, bit. You really are a brat." He banged the back door closed behind them.

Buffy stood like a statue for a few seconds, until the sound of the doorbell brought her back to life.

Buffy opened the door to find a tall young man in a gray chauffeur's uniform, with an official-looking cap pulled over his dark hair. He was broad-shouldered, handsome, in a rather supercilious way: impeccably groomed, looking down at her over a very Patrician nose.

"Miss Summers? I'll be your driver for the evening." He spoke with a crisp, British accent.

"We're almost ready."

He held his wrist out just far enough to glance at his watch.

"Sorry." Buffy smiled apologetically.

Yes, well…" he said, with a pinched frown.

"I'll get everyone together." Buffy quelled her rebellious streak, the one that came out when disapproval was in the air. She just didn't feel like fighting with anyone, not after her encounter with Spike. The infuriating vampire had somehow walked off with her peace of mind.

In the meantime, she placated the driver. "We'll be there in just a moment."

"At your service, miss." He turned around, back ramrod straight, and marched toward the black limousine parked in front of the house.

Buffy sighed, trying to let the tension out. And the fun is already beginning.

Anya came tripping down the stairs, shimmering midnight blue fabric rustling underneath her coat. "Ooh, is he the stripper?" she whispered to Buffy approvingly as she watched the driver's retreating form.

Willow joined them in the front hall.

"What? God, no," Buffy said, frowning. "Anya, please don't tease the stuffy British man. You have Giles for that. And, also? There is no stripper."

"Yeah, right," Anya laughed knowingly, "No male stripper for my bachelorette party. Tell me another one, Buffy." Anya hurried out the door and down the sidewalk.

Amy and Tara, deep in conversation, walked around Buffy and Willow standing perfectly still in the front hall.

"Did you hire a stripper? I didn't hire a stripper." Buffy watched Anya chattering away at the stoically silent driver standing by the open car door.

"Not me. Uh uh." Willow stared dumbly as the others climbed into the limousine.

"We are so dead."

"Uh huh."

A little while later, the women were seated at a round table spread with a heavily starched white tablecloth. The restaurant's atmosphere was formal and intimate, with the ambient light coming from candles on the tables and softly glowing chandeliers.

The headwaiter was fastidiously placing the second course in front of each of them. He fussed over the place settings, straightening errant silverware.

The five young women watched with their hands demurely folded in their laps.

"It reminds me of church," Amy whispered to Willow, "I used to have fantasies about jumping up and screaming nasty words at the top of my lungs."

Willow looked sharply at her, then smiled in response to Amy's impish grin.

As he left their table, the waiter noticed a small speck of lint on his jacket. He removed it carefully, then proceeded across the room, stopping to tidy a flower arrangement.

"Is he the stripper?" Anya asked eagerly.

Willow looked sideways at Buffy, who just shrugged and dipped her spoon into her soup bowl.

"Just look at him. He'd be perfect." Anya sighed as she worried her lower lip with her teeth. "He's probably got a build like Spike's." Buffy choked on her vichyssoise as Anya continued dreamily, "Strong arms, lean torso, slim hips, with strong, sinewy thighs. Abs nicely cut, but not overly-developed."

Willow was suddenly alert. "You've seen Spike naked?"

"Do tell," Amy said, eyes neon-bright with curiosity.

There were loud coughing noises coming from Buffy's direction. Tara offered her a glass of water and patted her on the back sympathetically.

"Oh no," Anya said, "I'm just really good at picturing men naked."

"You know," Amy said, as she swirled the wine in her wine glass, "We could be sisters. It's uncanny."

"I wonder if Xander could learn some dance moves, if I describe them to him," Anya mused. "When he dances naked, he just looks silly. Like Big Bird. Without the feathers, of course."

A desperate, gasping squeal came from Willow, and she flopped over against Buffy, who was chugging a long, desperate drink of water.

Tara shook her head, and tapped her knife against the crystal wine glass in front of her:

"I'd like to propose a toast," she said, shooting a small disapproving look in the direction of Willow's giggles. "To Anya and Xander. May they have long life, and love, and conjugal bliss."

'I'll drink to that.' Anya clinked her glass against Tara's.

"Definitely. Me too," Amy said, just a little too loudly, "Here's to sex." She raised her glass high, then brought it to her lips and gulped the contents in one swallow.

The limo pulled up in front of a dance club with a hyperkinetic electric sign over the entrance. The music coming from inside was a thrumming vibration which became a loud booming when the driver opened the car door.

As Anya climbed out, she stumbled. The limo driver steadied her with a firm grasp on her arm.

She looked up into his eyes with a slightly tipsy smile. "Thank you. You're very tall."

He nodded curtly, then articulated his disdain with a barely audible sniff.

"Care to dance?" Amy lilted, as the driver offered his arm to steady her as well.

When they entered the club, the music was amazingly loud, and they had to shout.

"Look at all the cute guys. I'm gonna ask that one to dance," Amy said, pointing at a short, stylishly dressed blond leaning against the bar.

"Trollop." Willow winked at her friend. "You don't sit around and wait, do you?"

"Nuh uh. You never know when you might find yourself stuck in a rat cage, eating cheesy rat food, and running the endless treadmill of life on a little rat wheel."

"Guess I can't argue with that," Willow acknowledged with a thoughtful frown, as she reached up to tuck a strand of Amy's dark blonde hair behind her ear. "Go get 'em, chica," she said, "But don't forget to check in."

Amy set off without a backward glance.

"Where'd Tara and Anya go?" Willow yelled into Buffy's ear.

Buffy pointed to the dance floor, where Tara, (relaxed) and Anya (bouncy) were dancing together to a song with indecipherable lyrics, and an adrenalin-fed bass line.

"Let's find a table," Buffy shouted.

Willow nodded.

For a while, they just sat and listened to the music. Or vibrated to it, really. Willow mostly watched Tara, but she kept Amy in view as well, which was a bit of a job, since Amy was changing partners so feverishly.

After a little while, a young man walked up to the small table where Willow and Buffy were sitting. He was tall, with sandy hair and an easy smile.

"You look like a person who likes to dance," he said to Buffy. "I decided to brave it and ask you if you'd like to dance with me. My name's Chad."

Yup, Willow thought, definitely cute. Rich, baritone voice. Cool clothes, but not too flashy.

Buffy looked down at her hands, glancing at her watch. "No, thanks. I think I'll just sit here with my friend."

"Are you sure?" He looked over at Willow, who gave him a tiny, encouraging smile. "Everyone who knows me says I'm a perfect gentleman."

Buffy said apologetically, "Thanks, but no."

"OK. Have a nice night." He nodded regretfully, and walked away.

Willow looked at Buffy with a raised eyebrow. "Buffy? You love to dance. And he was really cute."

"I didn't notice." Buffy checked her watch for the third or fourth time since they sat down. "I guess I'm just not in the mood."

"Some place you gotta be?" Willow asked.

"What? No." Buffy quickly tucked her arm behind her. "Of course not."

Willow's attention was pulled back to the action on the dance floor. It didn't take her long to find Tara's graceful form; once she found her, her eyes didn't leave her. Serenity and calm were in Tara's mien, her features. Like an undisturbed pool of deep water. Willow could almost feel it, could remember: cool on her skin, and flowing through her being.

"You OK, Will?"

"Yeah," Willow said, breaking out of her ruminations with a melancholy smile. "I just wish things could be the way they were, you know? Before I messed it all up. She's so... distant. And kind. Like I'm some random girl that she's being all kindly to."

"She'll get past it. You just have to let her tell you when she's ready."

"I know," Willow said, thinking, I hope...

When the song shifted, Tara came and sat across from Willow. She was a little breathless, her cheeks a shiny pink. Willow looked at that face, remembering the flush that always dusted Tara's cheeks whenever there were soft kisses falling over her eyes, the tip of her nose, the hollow between her breasts...

"Where's Anya?" Buffy asked.

"Look," Tara said, pointing.

A crowd of guys and girls were clustered together in the middle of the dance floor. It was hard to tell who was dancing with who, or if anybody was dancing with anybody. A recognizable blonde head bobbed energetically in the center of the group.

A few moments of silence followed, with Buffy, Tara and Willow watching the dance floor. Anya be-bopped. Amy had her hands linked around a new guy's neck; this one was a tall, dark-haired hottie.

Anya danced her way over to the table, "Anybody else need to pee like a racehorse?" she shouted over the music.

"Umm, no," Buffy said, wincing, "But I'll go with you and powder my nose."

A slow ballad started. A female voice, singing words that were so familiar to Willow. The melody pierced her heart.

"I can't take my eyes off you..."

Willow couldn't help it, she was mesmerized by Tara's profile: the gently rounded tip of her nose, full lips meant for kissing, and delicate nibbling, the soft chin that could be so surprisingly firm and strong.

"...you..."

Tara turned toward her, and their eyes met. Willow was just about to attempt to say something that wasn't hopelessly lame, or typically asinine, when a woman's voice interrupted:

"I saw you out there, and I decided I wanted to meet you." An attractive, shapely blonde was standing next to Tara's chair, smiling down at her. "Maybe we could go get a drink at the bar? And talk? Or just dance, if you'd rather."

"Thanks very much, but..."

"I'm sorry. Are you here with someone?" The woman glanced over at Willow, who was wishing that she had studied up on that cloak of invisibility idea.

"N.. no," Tara said, as Willow wished she had that teleportation thing perfected. "I'm just... there's... stuff, you know, unfinished. With... someone." Tara shrugged helplessly. "You know?"

"Yeah, I do," The blonde said sympathetically.

"I'm sorry."

"So am I," she said, smiling. She turned and threaded her way back through the crowd.

Willow looked down at her lap, where her hands were tightly clenched, then up at Tara. Tara's expression was serious, with just the slightest bit of a shine in her eyes. Maybe a tiny smile was there, as well.

Willow could finally breathe. She stared down at her hands again, afraid she was going to do something really icky, like cry, or something. But even though the tears were right there, ready to spill over at any moment, she couldn't stop smiling.

"Home, Jeeves," Anya said sleepily, her head lolling back against the seat.

By the time the limousine pulled away from the club and around the corner, Amy was slumped next to Anya, snoring noisily.

"Does feeling like a dead fish on a hook mean you had a good time?" Anya wondered out loud.

Buffy was too tired to do more than raise an eyebrow in answer. She gazed out the window at the passing cars, the buildings and lights.

After a couple of minutes, the driver pulled over on a quiet street. He took his chauffeur's cap off, and left it on the seat. Brisk and businesslike, he got out of the car, and went around to the back.

"I was right. He is the stripper."

"Might be something wrong with the car."

There was the sound of the key being inserted into the trunk lock.

Buffy frowned. "I'll go see what's going on."

Anya looked down at Amy's blonde head resting on her shoulder. "Wake up, sleepyhead!"

"Completely out of it," Willow said. "You know, when she was a rat, in the beginning, I gave her too many food pellets, and she would eat all of it, and then be sick after."

Tara and Anya just looked at her.

"You don't want to know," Willow added grimly.

Buffy walked around the side of the car. "Hey, listen, is there a problem?

"No problem at all, miss," the driver said politely, smiling for the first time that evening, wickedly sharp teeth gleaming inside a frightening visage. "Merely time for my gratuity." In the shadow of the shuttered buildings behind him, three dark figures climbed out of the trunk.

"Vamps!" Buffy shouted, "Willow, lock the doors!"

Buffy smashed her fist into the limo driver's face, and then shoved her knee into his groin, which sent him to the ground, painfully, but only temporarily, incapacitated.

Tara pulled the rear door shut, and Willow dove into the front seat, activating the locks on all the doors.

"Crap. I really liked this one, too." Using both hands, Buffy grabbed the hem of her dress and ripped it up the side, almost to the hip. She leaped on top of the roof, fending off the three vamps with kicks as they tried to climb up after her.

Tara, Willow and Anya were listening to the pounding of high heels on the metal roof, when one of the vamps smashed a window, and dove halfway in. Tara and Anya beat on him with their fists, and then Anya pulled off one stiletto-heeled shoe and aimed for his eyes.

Buffy somersaulted off the roof; she grabbed the legs of the vamp struggling in the car window, and pulled him out. Another vamp dove off the top of the car, knocking her to the ground.

"Stake!" Buffy shouted as she banged two vampire heads together, and dropped their insensate bodies to the ground. Another one grabbed her from behind.

"Where?" someone shouted.

"Evening bag!" The vamp had Buffy's arms pinned, and was trying to position himself for a juicy clampdown on her throat.

A split second later, a small black beaded purse came flying out of the broken window and landed at Buffy's feet. She shoved an elbow hard into the vamp's belly, then swung around. She aimed a powerful kick at his mid-section that sent him reeling backwards, and he crashed into a boarded-up newsstand.

Buffy snatched up the black bag. "Geez," she growled as she fumbled with the clasp, "You let 'em have a few drinks, and they become completely useless." She tore the handbag open, and her fingers slid smoothly around a well-worn wooden stake, as the vamps she had given a head banging to pulled themselves unsteadily to their feet.

With a quick forehand-backhand combination, she dusted the vamps on either side of her. The third roared up from behind her; she whirled around and rammed the stake home, straight into his heart.

A sudden blow on the side of Buffy's face knocked her onto the pavement.

'As you Americans say, 'It's time to par-ty.'

"You say that so badly,' Buffy growled, "Never, ever do it again," she said to the fully recovered limo driver, who grinned as he leaned over her.

Buffy aimed a heel at his solar plexus; she was pleased when that backed him up a couple of yards. On her feet again, she was even more pleased when an uppercut and a right cross wiped the smile off his face.

'There's your gratuity, pal." She might let a snooty limo driver push her around, but a vamp? Hell, no!

He lunged for her, and she was able to grab hold of one arm and twist it behind his back. Buffy ran him around the back of the limo, and headfirst into the trunk. She slammed the trunk lid down on his neck, watched his headless body disintegrate, and then pulled the car key out of the lock.

"Let's get the hell out of here," Buffy said as she climbed into the limo. "Is she still out of it?" noticing Amy, slumped and snoring.

"Yup. Slept through the whole thing."

"Good grief," Buffy muttered, "Remind me never to need her after she's had a few."

"Shall I drive?" Tara asked.

"Would you mind?"

"Not at all, Miss." Tara set her features into an officious scowl.

"You'll do," Buffy said as she tossed her the keys.

Tara slid into the front seat and pulled on the chauffeur's hat. She turned and winked at Willow, whose mouth dropped open in surprise.

"Home it is."

"There's no place like home," Buffy said wearily.

"Wake me when it's time to get married," Anya mumbled.

The occupants of the limousine were quiet after that, and the ride home was accompanied only by the wheezy rhythm of Amy's snoring.

Tara pulled up in front of the Summers' house, and Buffy exhaled the anxious breath she had been holding for the last several blocks. Suddenly, there was a rapping on the driver's side window. A cop stood next to the car.

"Oh man, this night just keeps getting better and better," Buffy moaned.

Tara pressed the switch to activate the driver-side window.

"Sorry, officer. Was I speeding? I'm really sorry. It's just that we've had a hell of a night."

"Uh huh," he said disinterestedly. "Can I see your driver's license?"

"I ...I think I left it in the house."

A muffled groan issued from the back seat.

The cop, expressionless, arms folded in front of him, looked at Tara.

"We live right there, officer. I can go inside and get it."

He sighed and motioned for her to 'go ahead', then followed her up the walk.

"What'd I miss?" Amy was leaning on Anya as they made their way toward the house.

"We were almost horribly slaughtered by a vampire gang."

"No kidding," Amy yawned. "I hate it when I miss the good stuff."

Willow and Buffy followed behind the others.

"Why is it that every time I try to do normal-life things, demons always crash the party?" Buffy said, letting self-pity creep in. A bad habit, and she knew it.

"Aw, poor you," Willow's lower lip pouted, with real sympathy, and just a hint of the 'mock' kind. "It was mostly normal. And actually, I'd call it a great night." Willow was grinning all of a sudden.

Buffy looked at her closely. "Will? What's up? And don't say 'nothing', because you're a really bad liar."

"Actually, 'nothing' is exactly what happened." Willow beamed at a puzzled Buffy.

When they got inside, Amy and Anya were slumped on the couch. Tara was standing in front of the policeman, nodding, frowning a little.

The cop leaned over toward the foyer table and turned on a portable stereo that had somehow appeared there. Accompanied by loud, pulse-pounding music, he strutted over to the couch, took Anya's hand, and pulled her to her feet.

"Congratulations, darlin'. This here is a gift from your friends."

He backed away from Anya until he was in the center of the room. He whirled his baton, then started to unbutton his shirt, hips pumping seductively to the music.

Anya whistled as the 'cop' revealed a tanned, muscular chest. Amy was suddenly wide-awake, pawing through her purse, and pulling out crumpled one-dollar bills.

Buffy and Willow stood dumbstruck for a moment.

"Good thinking, Will," Buffy said, finally.

"I didn't hire him. Didn't you hire him?"

"Do I look like I know how to hire a stripper?"

"So if I didn't, and you didn't, then who...?"

Tara walked toward Buffy and Willow. She turned to watch the action, allowing Buffy and Willow to glimpse the smile twitching at the corner of her lips.

"You?" they said simultaneously, incredulously.

Keeping her eyes focused on the bare-chested dancer who was reaching for the fastening on his trousers, Tara murmured, "You guys don't know a damn thing about showing a straight girl a good time."