Series: Mortal Allies

Story Title: Episode 3, Postcards From the Edge

Chapter 8: Dates With Disaster, Part 2 (Sunnydale)

By: Passion4Spike

Author's Notes:

Posting a little early because these two parts were originally one chapter, so thought it only fair to post a bit early. Someone will show up in here that you may not expect; don't let it throw you. I'll explain my logic at the end.

Reminder that the 'Spike' who is in Sunnydale in this episode is the doggie, even if people talk to him like he's a person.

Warning! There is a date-rape scenario in here toward the end. It doesn't get far at all, but I thought I should warn in case that is a trigger for you.

Thanks to everyone who is reading and extra slobbery doggie-Spike kisses to everyone who has left a comment or a 'like'/'kudos'. It seriously means so much to me, like cheese fries for my muse!

As always, my everlasting gratitude to Holi117 and PaganBaby for their betaing, encouragement, idea-bouncing, banner-making, and for all their efforts to keep me from wandering too far off the plot.

Chapter 8: Dates With Disaster, Part 2 (Sunnydale)

Sunnydale.

Buffy leaned in near the dressing mirror and applied her lip gloss, dabbing away a bit of excess that gathered at the corner of her mouth. She stood back and examined herself in the full-length closet mirror, toe to head. Kicky black boots? Check. Cute red skater's skirt? Check. Lacy, sleeveless white top? Check. Red jacket that matched the skirt? Check. Teeth fresh and clean? Check. Make-up? Check. Hair…? She'd left it down, but maybe she should put it up? She lifted it off her shoulders and studied the effect, then let it fall again, twisting her glossy lips in thought.

"What do you think?" she asked her companion, lifting it back up again and turning to face him. "Up?" She dropped it again. "Or down?"

Spike looked at her, tilting his head, considering carefully.

"Up," she said again, lifting it into a ponytail, waiting.

Spike shook his head, rattling his tags.

"Down it is," she agreed, fluffing it out around her shoulders as she checked the time. Percy was late. Of course, she was late too, but that was fashionable. The guy being late to pick you up? Sooo not fashionable.

"How do I look?" she asked her friend.

"Whoof!" he replied, standing up with a grunt of effort. His tail began wagging as he padded slowly over and licked her hand.

"I think you're biased since I feed you," she observed. "But I'm willing to ignore that if you are."

"Whoof!" he agreed, fanning his tail so hard the curtains began to billow.

Buffy laughed and gave him a well-deserved ear scratching. "Remind me to up your rations… I think you've earned it."

Spike leaned against her legs, his mouth dropping open joyfully as his tail began tapping out a double-time military march on the foot of the bed. Buffy was about to warn him about the frailness of the bedstead when the doorbell rang. "Well, look who decided to show up," she complained, checking the clock again. What good is it being fashionably late when your date isn't there to appreciate it?

Buffy hadn't even picked up her purse yet when Spike rushed away, but she caught up with him on the stairs only a moment later as he made his way slowly down them.

"What's the matter?" she asked him teasingly. "Afraid of a teenaged boy? Need me to protect you?"

Spike whined and started to go a bit faster, trying to beat her to the door, but he stumbled and nearly fell.

"Whoa! Looks like someone needs to cut back on biting drunken vampires," she joked, helping to steady him.

Spike huffed indignantly, cutting her off to get to the door first, where he let out a warning bark, as was his sacred duty. The big dog's muzzle and enormous head were the first things Percy saw when Buffy opened the door. "Holy shit!" he exclaimed, jumping back and nearly falling down the porch steps. "What the hell is that?"

Buffy arched a brow. "My puppy," she replied flatly. "Spike, this is Percy. Percy, this is Spike," she introduced them.

Spike took a step forward and sniffed the boy, giving him the once-over. He sneezed disdainfully, then pointedly walked past the jock and carefully down the steps to urinate on the front tire of his car.

"Hey! Call your stupid dog off!" Percy complained. "Those are custom wheels!"

"He didn't mean anything by it," Buffy lied. "Spike! Come on back in," she called to him. Spike looked conflicted. There were still three more tires to mark, after all. "Spiiike," she said warningly, holding the door open.

Spike huffed, but obeyed, giving Percy a narrow-eyed, warning look on his way by. Buffy whispered an admonishment to, "Be good," before closing the door on the dog. She turned back to Percy, plastering on her best Colgate-smile. "Sorry about that," she apologized meekly. "He has a weak bladder."

"You should do something about it. I just polished that chrome," he grumbled.

"Sorry," Buffy repeated, starting down the steps toward the car, but Percy seemed to hesitate.

"Is that what you're wearing?" he asked, looking her up and down.

Buffy turned back, looked down at herself, then at him. He had on jeans and a blue, gold, and white UCLA football jersey. She certainly wasn't underdressed… or overdressed. He'd said casual. She was casual. "Yeah, why?"

He seemed to shake himself and shrug. "Nothing… free country, right?"

'Well, thanks. So glad I spent an hour debating what to wear,' she grumbled mentally. 'My dog has better manners!' Buffy then congratulated herself on not thinking about Spike… or not the vampire one, at least. See? Progress already!

Aloud, she mock-cheered, "Yay for the constitution." When Percy didn't say or do anything more, she suggested, "Should we, you know, make like a tree and motor?"

Percy blinked, looked at the trees in the yard, then back at Buffy, who just raised her brows. "Yeah, totally… uh, motoring," he agreed, still watching the trees suspiciously, being sure to give them a wide berth as he headed for the car.

Buffy snorted. Percy had clearly been in Sunnydale too long. As he came even with her on the walkway, she headed for the closer passenger door while he walked around the car to the driver's side. She was fastening her seatbelt just as Percy was sliding in the car and pulling his door shut. A memory of Spike opening the door for Dru, of him taking her hand and helping her into and out of the car flashed in Buffy's mind. She remembered him leaning in very close to Dru's ear and saying something that made the vampiress laugh. It had been sweet.

'No! It was stupid!' Buffy didn't need help opening doors or getting in or out of cars. So why did she feel somehow cheated as she closed her own door with no charming, clever quip whispered in her ear to make her laugh? 'Stupid vampire and his stupid old-fashioned shit. He needs to get with the times – it's not the fourteenth century anymore. Probably never even heard of equal rights or feminism or Amelia Earhart, Gloria Steinem, Margaret Thatcher, Oprah Winfrey, or—or Betty White.'

Buffy turned and looked at Percy. "Do you know who Amelia Earhart is?" she asked out of the blue.

He stopped and looked at her just before turning the key and starting the car. "Uh, the blonde in third period Biology, right?"

Buffy rolled her eyes but couldn't reply because the next moment her eardrums were being bludgeoned into submission by something she supposed would be considered music in some of the more unpleasant hell dimensions. She winced, scrunching up her shoulders, and covered her ears with her hands.

"Great stuff, huh!?" Percy shouted over what Buffy assumed was a cat being strangled by an out-of-tune electric guitar.

She couldn't quite stop grimacing, but she nodded. "Great," she agreed as Percy put the car in reverse and shot out of the driveway at something approaching highway speeds. She thought for a moment that he would outrun the noise, but no such luck. "Where's the fire?" she tried to ask as he screeched to a halt in the road then changed directions, the car roaring forward, tires squealing.

"Totally on fire!" he agreed, grinning and bobbing his head to the pounding of what felt like cannons going off in the backseat.

Buffy gave him another forced smile. On the plus side, she wouldn't be able to hear anyone bitch at her about anything for at least a month.

** X-X-X-X-X **

Giles watched the car pull away, wincing at the god-awful racket emerging from it as it passed. He really needed to be more careful; Buffy could've seen him. Of course, he thought they would be long gone by now – stupid boy was late. Luckily, she'd been ducking for cover from the blaring music herself, not paying attention to cars parked along her street.

When the car with the teens was out of sight, but not yet out of earshot, Giles slipped from his Citroën and up the walk to 1630. Trying the front door, he found it open, as usual. He supposed Buffy thought it perfectly safe given the gigantic guard dog on duty within. Giles called out as he opened the door, "Hello! Buffy? Joyce?"

He only got the door open about a foot before it met something solid and heavy. He sighed. "Spike, do please move," he requested, pushing his shoulder against the door. He slid the dog across the wood of the foyer several inches before the hound managed to make it to his feet.

"Joyce?!" Giles tried again, waiting a moment before deciding the house was empty but for the enormous dog.

"And how are we doing today?" he asked Spike, leaning down a bit to look at the animal's brown eyes. The Watcher pulled back the dog's eyelids and examined him closely for a few moments, then stood back up, apparently satisfied.

"I've some treats for you," he announced, brandishing a bag of what looked like bits of beef jerky. "Let's go out back, shall we?" he asked, waving the bag in front of the dog's nose.

"Whoof!" Spike agreed, pushing past the man and heading for the kitchen.

Giles followed, then led him into the backyard where he and Buffy had set up an obstacle course for the dog some time ago. They'd created it to aid in his training before they knew his demon-hunting was an inbred instinct.

"Let's see you walk across the teeter-totter, then… for a treat," Giles instructed, walking over to the end of the tilting board that rested on the ground.

Spike followed, knowing all these little games by heart, and mounted the board, walking up until he was nearly at the apex, then slowing to let the board change angles, one end lifting as the other lowered. As the board began to move, he faltered, his balance wavering, and his feet went out from under him. He tumbled to the ground with a thud and a surprised bark of expelled breath.

Giles was at his side the next moment. "Are you hurt?" he inquired worriedly, looking the dog over.

Spike rattled his tags with a hard shake of his head and pushed up to his feet, looking up at the teeter-totter accusingly.

"It's quite alright, I assure you. Everyone falters now and then," Giles said, handing the dog one of the treats from his bag. "Now then, how about the tombstone leap?"

Giles tested the Guardian dog on several of the obstacles, none of which went well. Spike wasn't as fast, couldn't jump as high, grip with his jaws as hard, or keep his balance as well as he normally could. After each failure, Giles assured him it was something that would pass, that everyone went through these spells, and gave him another treat.

"We'll just keep this between us, shall we?" the Watcher suggested as he and Spike went back in the house. "No need to alarm Buffy… I'm sure you'll be fine again in a few days."

Spike whined a dejected-sounding agreement, feeling unsteady on his feet.

"Fine then," Giles concluded, giving him the last of the treats he'd brought. "I'll check in on you again soon. No need to worry."

Spike let out a pathetic sigh and slid down onto the floor of the kitchen, exhausted from the effort on the obstacle course.

"Just get some rest. I'll let myself out," the man told him, as he slipped away, unseen by anyone but the dog.

** X-X-X-X-X **

When Percy's "music" cut off with the motor, Buffy's ears were ringing. They were in the parking lot of a restaurant she'd never been to before called 'Glory Days Grill', near the UC Sunnydale campus. From the look of the parking lot, it was a popular spot. From the look of the huge TVs that lined the wall of the patio dining area, it was a sports bar. Oh joy.

Buffy kept her fake smile glued on as she got out of the car and they walked up to the doors. "Do you come here a lot?" she asked Percy.

"Every game day," he enthused. "They save us a table."

"Us?" Buffy questioned.

"The team," he replied cryptically.

Buffy rolled her eyes. "The chess team?"

Percy looked at her like she'd grown a second head. "No, the Sunnydale High football team."

Buffy formed an 'O' with her lips and nodded. "Gotcha."

As they got closer to the restaurant, she began to notice a distinct theme in the attire of the patrons. "Uh, why's everyone in blue and yellow?" she wondered.

"It's blue and gold," he corrected. "Told you – it's game day! UCLA! GOOOO BRUINS!" he cheered as they reached the door.

Buffy groaned, looking through the windows. Literally every single person was in blue and yellow … errr gold, or some variation of those colors. Every. Single. Person. Except her. 'Might've been helpful to know the color-scheme earlier.'

Percy pulled the door open and nearly knocked Buffy down when she started to step through in front of him. Her smile turned caustic. 'I don't need anyone to open doors for me,' she reminded herself, jerking to a stop to let him enter before following the jock into a world of football fanaticism.

Buffy followed the brunette to a table in one corner where several other boys and a few girls, also wearing UCLA t-shirts and jerseys, were already seated. The boys greeted Percy with enthusiastic high-fives and fist-bumps and bruising backslaps as Buffy waited patiently to be introduced.

She wasn't. Percy immersed himself immediately into a discussion of the game that was on the multitude of televisions as they all sat down. Buffy sighed, pulled a chair out, ('I don't need anyone to pull a chair out for me.') and took the seat next to her so-called date.

Buffy gave a couple of the other girls at the table friendly smiles, but all she got were raised eyebrows and derisive snorts directed at her outfit. The Slayer looked around the place, noting that she was garnering the same contemptuous looks from other diners. It wasn't until she noticed that the team playing against the blue and gold one on the TV was wearing – you guessed it – red and white. 'What else can possibly go wrong?' she wondered.

As the evening wore on, Buffy tried to interject herself into the conversation whenever there was a lull. "Why did that stripey-guy throw that yellow hankie?" she asked Percy at one break, pointing at the TV.

Percy spared her a glance, then looked back at one of the screens. "Roughing the passer," he replied matter-of-factly.

"Ahhh," Buffy droned, as if that explained everything. Wasn't this football? Wasn't the point to rough the other guy up? Geez, they had on fifty pounds of pads and a helmet – how roughed-up could they get? They should try fighting vampires or Fyarl demons or hyena-possessed teenagers with zero padding. Her brows furrowed. Maybe she should consider wearing a helmet. Buffy rolled her eyes. 'Helmet hair… no thanks.'

"Why did that guy catch the ball and then just stand there?" she wondered after a bit. "And no one roughed him?"

"He called a fair catch," Percy explained over his shoulder.

"Oh… why don't they just do that all the time and stop getting bashed up?"

"You can only call a fair catch on a kick," the brunette clarified.

"Oh… But… sometimes they kick it through those yellow post-thingies… how do you fair catch that?"

Percy turned and looked at her in disbelief. "I thought you were a cheerleader."

"I-I was… which meant I had my back to the field most of the time, you know… doing cheers?" Buffy pointed out.

Percy rolled his eyes. "Those yellow things are 'goal posts' and that's a 'field goal', which is a completely different kind of kick," he huffed impatiently, turning back to his friends, who started jibing him, mocking Buffy by asking Percy what Buffy assumed were inane questions, though they seemed reasonable to her.

Buffy's mouth twisted into a scowl. 'I thought you were a cheerleader,' she sneered, mocking Percy silently. "And I thought you had half a brain,"she muttered under her breath.

She looked around the place, wishing for some escape, when a flash of platinum blond hair caught her attention. 'He wouldn't dare come back,' she seethed silently, though her heart started doing that backflip, cartwheel-y thing again, and her pulse started to race. Her eyes were glued on the beacon of bleach at the bar, her hands reaching for her purse and the stake she had stowed there. 'No way he'd come back. He's in Mexico, heading for Brazil. With Dru. The love of his life. His destiny. He wouldn't just leave her and come back for you. Would he? No… no… he…' Buffy's scrambling thoughts came to a screeching halt when the bleach-blond man turned around, revealing a wide, goofy smile, a goatee, and a tan that would've made a beach bum proud.

Buffy drew in a breath and forced herself to hold it a few seconds before letting it out. Her gymnastically-inclined heart fell off the balance beam and sank into the soft padding beneath it, deflated, as she got her breathing back under control. 'Not Spike. Of course it's not Spike. Why are you even thinking about Spike? Geez, Summers, get it together! This is supposed to be about not thinking about the bleached menace!'

With another deep breath that sounded a lot like a sigh, the Slayer decided food might help salvage this night. She picked up the menu the waitress had brought and began to peruse the offerings. Now this looked promising. Mozzarella Cheese Sticks, Cheese Fries, Bacon & Cheddar Burger, Bleu Cheese & Grilled Onion Burger, Mom's Mac & Cheese, Onion rings, Oreo Sliders!

Hmmm, this absolutely had possibilities. Decisions, decisions…

"Decide what you want?" Percy asked after a few minutes, making Buffy look up in surprise.

"Are you talking to me?" she wondered, confused.

"Yeah... halftime," he explained, waving a hand at one of the TVs.

Buffy looked up at the screen to find a bunch of people talking about the stuff they just watched… which they had talked about the whole time they were watching it. Oh! And now they're watching it again… only with lots of squiggly lines and super-slow-mo.

Ooo-kay then – apparently it was her turn with her date now. "I was thinking either the Cheeseburger Trifecta or the Bacon & Cheddar Burger with either cheese fries or mac & cheese and…"

"You aren't serious," Percy cut her off, his face awash with shock. "Coach says all that fat is bad for you. Clogs your arteries and stuff, cuts off blood circulation, ya know?"

Buffy raised her brows.

"And commercially produced cheese? That's the worst! Dairy? It has all these proteins, beta-casein A1, in it that totally mess you up. Plus, the hormones and antibiotics they give the cows! You should never eat cheese!" he advised. "And the gluten in the bun! Coach says that's, like, the worst!"

"I thought cheese was the worst…" Buffy interjected.

"They're both the worst!" the brunette declared.

"Pretty sure only one thing can be 'the worst'," Buffy pointed out, but he ignored her.

"If you're gonna eat bread, it needs to be from whole-grain, organic, non-GMO bulgur wheat. We aren't gonna be seventeen forever, ya know! You have to think of your future," the jock offered sagely. "Coach says, take care of your body, and it'll take care of you."

Buffy closed her menu and gave him a saccharine smile. "What are you getting?" she wondered.

"Oh! The pan-seared Redfish with broccoli… I might splurge and get an order of Buffalo cauliflower," he revealed.

"Broccoli… and… cauliflower," Buffy stuttered incredulously.

"And Redfish," Percy agreed, nodding. "Coach says fish is brain food."

Buffy's smile never wavered. "Maybe you should get a double helping."

Percy didn't seem to hear her. "Coach says…" he continued, but Buffy stopped listening.

'What kinda sports-izoid, freaky-health-conscious hell dimension have I fallen into!? God, Spike showing up to kill me would be a blessing!'

** X-X-X-X-X **

Buffy washed and dried her hands, then checked her teeth in the mirror of the ladies' room to see if any lettuce from that horrible salad she'd eaten was stuck in them. Salads were okay, she supposed, if they had cheese and bacon and plenty of dressing full of fatty-goodness. Plain salads with things like tomatoes and cucumber, with dressing on the side? That was way down on the 'okay-ness' meter.

She sighed as she fiddled with her hair. She knew she was stalling, not wanting to back out into the sea of blue and yellow. Excuse me, gold. UCLA had apparently started losing, and she'd been getting more and more dirty looks from fellow patrons. Well, not her exactly, but her red and white outfit.

Her stomach rumbled and she frowned down at it. Rabbit food was probably fine for rabbits, not so much for Slayers. "Why did I order that? Why did I let Percy bully me into not getting a damn cheeseburger?" Buffy asked her reflection.

"If Spike had suggested I get a salad," she began warningly, then rolled her eyes and sighed. She'd been doing pretty good with the not-thinking-of-Spike plan. You know… mostly… except when her eardrums were being skewered by Percy's 'music' – at least Spike didn't do that – yay for vampire hearing, she supposed. Or when she was looking at the menu and thought how much Spike would like that Spicy Jalapeño burger. And when Percy basically turned his back on her and ignored her – Spike would never turn his back on her. 'Mostly cos he'd be afraid I'd put a stake through it, but still.' And the third or tenth time Percy said, 'Coach says,' she had a vivid image of Spike smirking just before sinking his fangs into Percy's neck – which was wrong! So, so wrong! But it made her smile, all the same. And she was fairly certain Spike would've called her outfit 'fetching' or said something piggy… or both. And she knew Spike would never have just forgotten to tell her about the color-scheme. He may have purposely told her the wrong colors to wear, but he wouldn't have just ignorantly forgotten to mention it.

"If Spike had suggested I get a salad," she said again, giving up on her no-thinking-about-Spike plan, at least for the moment. "I would've told him to do something anatomically unlikely and painful, to mind his own stupid business, and to get me the damn burger… extra cheese. So, why didn't I tell Percy that?"

Buffy looked at her reflection, meeting her own eyes, demanding it tell her the answer.

"Because Spike's a vampire and Percy's a human," her reflection suggested.

Buffy considered that. She'd been brought up to be respectful of other people, to not step on toes, not make waves, and several other idioms she couldn't recall at the moment. Percy was a human, so he got Buffy manners. Spike was a vampire, so he got Slayer manners. She shrugged, that was possible, but she sagged a little knowing that wasn't the real answer because the question itself was flawed.

"Spike would never suggest I get a salad," her reflection told herself. "He'd buy you all the cheeseburgers and cheese fries, and fried cheese sticks you wanted. He'd buy you a ginormous cheese volcano! With your own money, of course, but he'd order it without complaint and suggest more. Even if he knew or cared about clogging arteries, he knows one undeniable truth that Percy never will: I may very well be seventeen forever."

'I almost didn't make it past sixteen.'

Somehow that made it harder to care about football or clogging arteries, and it left no time for guys who turned their back on her and thought Amelia Earhart had been found in third period Bio. Although, it was the Hellmouth, so that couldn't be completely discounted.

"Spike gets you," her reflection told her. "Even better than Angel ever did."

"Yeah," Buffy replied sadly. Angel never wanted to talk about her dying. Of course, Angel didn't like to talk about much of anything. Mostly, Buffy talked and Angel listened, making appropriate noises now and then. Spike talked to her. No, Spike talked with her. He didn't treat her like a kid, he certainly didn't coddle her or pretend she was a regular girl whose biggest problem was what college to go to.

Spike acknowledged that her life had a short expiration date. Even after she'd died once, Angel didn't want to talk about her death. Spike was more than happy to discuss the prospect for hours on end – particularly how he'd kill her. "As if," she scoffed to herself, smirking. "But at least he was honest about it – didn't dance around the subject like everybody else does." That probably shouldn't have been as comforting as it was… or maybe not 'comforting' but… refreshing? There was plenty of dancing with Spike, but it was all honest and aboveboard, and she controlled the steps just as often as he did.

"And Spike loves Drusilla," she reminded her reflection, a small stab of guilt and pain twisting in her gut. Or maybe that was the salad. "So, let it go. Frenemies, remember? Stop thinking about him. If he comes back and you're like this, he's gonna kill you.

"On the plus side," her reflection pointed out. "You won't have to go away to college then."

** X-X-X-X-X **

Buffy's eyes searched out the table where Percy and the others were sitting as she exited the restroom. As expected, it didn't seem he'd even missed her, though she'd been gone a while. She rolled her eyes and began digging in her purse for money – she'd pay for her pathetic salad and just go. She was pretty sure a bus ran by here somewhere… or she could just walk home. It was a ways, but she was used to walking.

With her attention on her purse, Buffy was brought up short when she bounced off a solid wall of flesh. She squeaked in surprise and looked up to find a large man with sandy-brown hair and all-American good looks in her path.

"Sorry!" she apologized and made to step around him.

"Uh, hi," he said tentatively, as he slid over and blocked her path.

She stopped and arched a brow at him. She was sooo not in the mood for this right now.

"Sorry, I just…" he continued, holding up his hands in surrender. "I saw you and…"

"I didn't get the color-scheme memo, okay? I didn't dress like this on purpose," she defended, crossing her arms over her chest. "It's not my fault your stupid team's losing."

"No, it's not that," he began to explain.

"Of course, it looks like you were left out of the school-pride loop, too," she pointed out, giving his attire a disdainful once-over. "So, don't go blaming me for lack of UCLA karma."

The man looked down at his army-green t-shirt and fatigue pants, then back at her. "I'm from Iowa."

Her brows furrowed. Was that like being Amish or something? "They only allow drab green in Iowa?" she wondered.

"What? Oh! No… I just… my friends kinda dragged me out and I have to work later and…" He waved a hand dismissively. "It's not important. I just… you're probably wondering why I'm lurking outside the ladies' room and blocking the aisle."

"It had breezed through my mind," Buffy admitted.

"Right. Well, like I said, I saw you come by and I just thought you were… Sorry, I'm not usually this forward but… well, you're really pretty and I wondered if maybe I'd see you around campus sometime…?" he stammered out as a kind of hopeful question.

'Really pretty?' Buffy's brows went up and she started taking in more details of the man. Very tall. Very broad. Nice arms. Handsome face. A little older than her, but not a lot… assuming he wasn't a vampire, of course. Sorta cute in a big teddy-bear kinda way. "Campus?" she asked.

"Yeah, you know… UC Sunnydale?" he explained, gesturing in the general direction of the school.

"Oh. No… I'm a senior at Sunnydale High," Buffy explained.

"Oh. Right." The Iowan seemed to slump. "So, maybe next year?" he asked hopefully.

Buffy shrugged. "My mom wants to send me 'back east' for college, like we're in some old western and nothing out here in the wild, wild west is good enough."

"You know, UC Sunnydale's a good school – really! I know it's small, but that makes it even better," he enthused. "Class sizes are manageable, so each student gets more one-on-one attention."

"Just what I wanted," Buffy muttered under her breath, louder she said, "You sound like a poster boy… although, do poster boys actually make any sound? Or do they just, you know, hang on a wall and be all two-dimensional and poster-y?"

The man opened his mouth to reply, then shut it again. "Uh, I'm not sure?" he admitted. "But I can assure you I have not been compensated in any way for my completely biased endorsement."

"Good to know," the Slayer replied, giving him a small smile. "Maybe I'll have you come give my mom a PowerPoint presentation."

"Just say the word! I'm there!" the brunette offered enthusiastically. "Oh! I'm Riley, by the way, Riley Finn," he said, sticking out his right hand.

Buffy took it. Warm, a little sweaty, big, strong… nice – not a vampire. Could that hand deliver a punch? Could that jaw take one? Were those still inappropriate qualities to consider when meeting someone new? "Buffy Summers."

"Nice to meet you, Buffy Summers. I'm at Lowell House if you ever, you know… need that PowerPoint thing. I don't actually know how to do one, but I could, you know, draw pictures or something. I got lots of gold stars for my Crayola masterpieces when I was five."

Buffy laughed in genuine amusement. "Thanks. I'll give it some thought," she agreed, pulling her hand back. "I've… uh…" she waved said hand toward the door and Riley quickly stepped to the side with an apologetic, "Sorry."

Buffy made to step past him, then paused. "What did you have for dinner?" she wondered, looking up at him.

Finn looked a little chagrined. "A plate of nachos and a beer," he admitted. "I know it's not the healthiest," he added hurriedly, shrugging.

"Well, you only live once, right?" Buffy placated. "Do you know who Amelia Earhart is?" she asked next.

"Yeah, sure," Finn replied, taken off-guard by that seemingly out-of-the-blue question.

Buffy arched an inquiring brow when he didn't continue.

"Oh, uh, first female aviator to fly solo across the Atlantic Ocean. Disappeared somewhere in the Pacific attempting to circumnavigate the globe in the '30s. No trace was ever found," he provided.

Buffy nodded and turned to keep walking.

"Did I pass?" he called after her.

"I'd give you a 'B-'," she replied, pausing to look back at him.

"How do I get an 'A'?"

"The nachos needed extra cheese and you should've had dessert."

A boyish grin spread over Riley's face. "I'll do better next time."

"See that you do," Buffy ordered gravely, before turning and continuing toward the door.

** X-X-X-X-X **

"Hey, Perc," one of his friends said, jabbing Percy in the ribs. "Your nightcap's leaving." He pointed at the door to the restaurant just as Buffy disappeared through it.

"Shit!" Percy swore, looking up at the TV. The game, for all intents and purposes, was over. UCLA was losing by too much to come back from in the time remaining. He made a quick decision, jumping up and dropping some cash on the table before rushing after Buffy.

"Hey!" he called as he ran after her through the parking lot. "Where you goin'?"

Buffy turned around, surprised, as he jogged up. "Home," she lied. She'd actually been going to find a pizza place or a burger joint and get some food first, but eventually, home.

"I'm really sorry. I thought you'd be into football," he apologized. "Let me make it up to you – you don't wanna be walking after dark in this town. It's kinda… unsafe. Plus, it's a long walk! I'll drive you."

Buffy wavered a moment, then shrugged. It was a long walk. And she was hungry. Home sooner meant she could order pizza sooner, and there was still some ice cream in the freezer. "Okay, thanks."

** X-X-X-X-X **

"So, I had a really good time tonight," Percy said as he parked in the street, cutting the engine and the blaring music, leaving the car in a dark shadow beneath one of the huge trees in Buffy's yard.

Buffy arched a brow. "That makes one of us," she muttered, reaching for the door handle.

Percy stopped her with a warm hand gripping her bare thigh, about halfway between her knee and her hip. "Where you goin'?"

"Uh… into my house?" Buffy suggested, covering Percy's hand with her own and stopping him from sliding it up beneath her short skirt. She restrained herself from breaking it… barely.

"Don't you want a nightcap?" he asked suggestively.

"A nightcap?" Buffy mimicked, turning back to look at him.

"Yeah, baby… that's how it works, ya know?" he continued. He pulled his trapped hand from beneath hers and began unfastening his belt. "End the night with a little taste of Percy."

"That's how what works?" she asked. Buffy's brows shot up as she watched him undo his belt and then slide his zipper down. What emerged from behind the zipper was, well… it didn't whet her appetite or even make her blush. She'd definitely seen better, even if the glimpse of the better-ness had only been for a second.

"You know? I take you out for a good time, buy you dinner, and you… show a little gratitude," he explained, stroking himself with one hand as he slipped the other behind her neck and began to pull her face down toward his lap.

Buffy pulled back, easily breaking his hold. "So, you buy girls crummy salads and they're so grateful for the honor they go down on you?" she asked incredulously.

Percy looked confused. "Well, yeah," he confirmed, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Well, I paid for my own salad… so, no thanks," Buffy declined, reaching for the door handle again.

"That's not how it works!" Percy insisted, wrapping his hand around the back of her neck again. "I take you out. You show your gratitude," he repeated as he tried to pull her head back down toward his waiting cock.

Buffy's elbow connected with Percy's solar plexus, driving all the air from his lungs in a painful gasp. He slumped forward over the steering wheel, trying to catch his breath. "Fuck, bitch," he panted out, grimacing.

Her hand blurred forward and closed around his quickly-slackening cock. "Do you want me to rip this off and feed it to you?" she growled, leaning in near his ear.

Percy froze, the rocking motion he'd been doing to ease the pain stopping mid-rock.

"DO YOU?" she demanded, squeezing a little harder.

"No!" he gasped, reaching down to try and prise her fingers from around his jewels with no success.

"No? Did you say 'no'?" Buffy wondered.

"Yes! I mean no! I mean… what was the question?"

"Lesson the first," Buffy intoned gravely. "No means no," she snarled, gripping his junk a tiny bit harder before letting it go. "Even Spike knows that," she grumbled angrily as she flung the door open and scrambled out.

"Your dog?" Percy questioned, fumbling with his privates, trying to make sure everything was still where he'd left it.

Buffy snorted, slamming the door closed. "Yeah, him too."

** X-X-X-X-X **

"How was your date?" Joyce asked as Buffy dropped her purse by the door.

"I've had root canals that were more fun," the Slayer replied with a dejected sigh. Spike padded up and leaned his heavy body against her legs, his tail wagging languidly as he bummed an ear-scratch.

"You've never had a root canal," Joyce pointed out as she came down the stairs.

"Point still stands," the Slayer grumbled, digging her fingers into Spike's thick coat and massaging his neck.

"Well, sorry it sucked," her mom commiserated. "Does it warrant ice cream?"

"So much," Buffy agreed. "And pizza… with extra cheese and every meat-product they can pile on it."

"Wow, that bad, huh?" Joyce chuckled, heading for the kitchen. "I'll call it in – emergency portions!" She paused in the doorway and looked back at her daughter. "There's something in the mail for you, but… you might want to look at it tomorrow."

"That bad, huh?" she asked. "What happened, is Macy's going out of business?" Buffy wondered as she picked up the stack of mail from the table.

Joyce snorted a laugh. "Not quite that bad… I don't think."

Buffy shrugged. "Well, then, might as well add it to this crap-tasitic day," she decided as she uncovered the postcard. Puerto Vallarta. It was a picture of a church just at dusk with the ocean, sky, and mountains in the background the color of purple twilight. City lights twinkled behind the tall tower, which was lit with a soft glow and topped with looked like a pure gold crown. The words, 'Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe,' were printed near the bottom of the card.

'Spike sent me a postcard of a church?' It was a beautiful church, to be sure, and a beautiful picture, but still… a vampire sending a postcard of a church. "He's so strange," she muttered as she turned it over. Buffy wasn't sure what to make of the other side. First, it was splattered with drops of ink, as if a fountain pen had exploded. Did Spike still use fountain pens? In a couple of places, it was torn where the pen had dug into the thick cardboard. It was addressed to 'Slayer', rather than 'Buffy'.

"'Fuck you and your fucking cheese! Hope you sodding choke on it and die!'" Buffy read aloud, her voice confused, the tone rising on the end making it a question. "What's that supposed to mean?" she wondered, looking up at her mom.

Joyce shrugged. "Maybe he got attacked by cheese? Are there cheese monsters?"

Buffy's brows furrowed more as she turned the card over to the front again, looking for some clue. "None that I've found... yet," she admitted, shaking her head. Finding nothing on the front that gave her any ideas, she turned it over and looked at the back again carefully. His writing was normally elegant and smooth with a distinctive left-hand slant, but this was clearly angry, rough… almost like he was attacking the card with it. Probably how he broke the stupid pen. It was a wonder it had even gotten to her with part of her address obliterated by the spilled ink. At the bottom she looked for his normal signature of, 'HYYF –S'. Her heart twisted inexplicably when instead she found, 'Hate you!', which was scrawled, almost scratched, into the cardboard.

Buffy swallowed back the hurt. Hundreds of miles away and she'd somehow pissed Spike off. Or maybe he just remembered that they were mortal enemies, not friends, after all. Well, fine, be that way. Apparently, Spike was just as big an ass as Percy, so why should she be upset that he hated her and hoped she'd die? She absolutely didn't care! Not one little bit. She didn't need him and his dumb postcards anyway. She'd… well, she'd keep with her plan, she'd find someone to date. Someone who actually had half a brain and… and who liked cheese! So there!

"Hate you, too," she muttered, tossing the card back onto the table. "Jerk."

End Notes:

Regarding Riley showing up. I know it's 'early', but my theory is that he and some of the others would be there getting things set up for their operation to begin sometime in the summer or fall of this year (1999). They were in full swing by October. They would need to set up cover stories, enroll in college, get training for their mission, etc. Don't be too concerned by him... yet.

Glory Days is a real restaurant / sports bar, and the things Buffy was reading on their menu really are on the menu. They began operating in 1996, so it is plausible for there to be one in Sunnydale at this time.

Once again, thank you so much for reading! I know you want Spike back here, want him to explain what the hell that postcard meant, want him to do all sorts of things... hang in there! I warned you this would be SLOW! I wasn't exaggerating. Don't hate me!