Buffy in the City Episode Two
Episode Two: Big Bad... Backache
by SoulVamp
Disclaimer: No characters are mine, situations not quite mine, either.
Buffy and Caroline are the brainchilds of people who get paid to be
creative.
Notes: Feedback is thoroughly encouraged. Again, not sure how many of
these I'll wind up doing or how often, but they're quick and relatively
painless. Plots in future may deviate more wholly from Caroline in the
City, but for now I'm having tons of fun, particularly with Spike, of
course. Romance will pick up, but this one's kind of more pure rampant
silliness. Enjoy.
***
Buffy and Xander's reconciliation was abrupt but still tentative. For the
past month, she'd decided to take him back on a "trial basis only," yet
still felt guilty about having a basically hormonal weakness for the boy.
He was somebody she could fall into bed with and not worry that he was
some unsafe hellion, but having this nebulous, is-this-going-anywhere
relationship did perturb her when she thought about it too much.
They'd spent a relaxing evening together, woke up, and headed for a
friendly tennis match. When they returned to Buffy's loft, Spike was
already busily at work.
"Oh, Spike, sorry, our game ran long," Buffy said when she saw him perched
at the desk.
"Quite all right, blondie, I've been entertaining myself by rummaging
through your CDs and smashing the crummy ones to bits." He looked up.
Xander stood behind Buffy in the doorway. A tiny pang hit Spike, but he
tried not to let on. "Honestly, Enya? Summers, what the hell were you
thinking?"
"Ha ha," Buffy said. "Funny not."
"Oo, I didn't please the crowd. How shall I ever get over not achieving my
dreams of comedic stardom," Spike said, turning his attention back to
Buffy's latest comic book. "Steffi Graff, can you manage to pull yourself
away from Andre Agassi there and join me in the fun-filled world of actual
productivity?"
Buffy pouted and turned to Xander. "Mr. Williams says I have to finish my
homework," she said. "Can I meet you after school?"
Xander smiled. "Sure thing. Damn, I'm gonna have naughty schoolgirl
fantasies all day now."
"Mmm, will you give me detention, Principal Harris?" Buffy asked with a
giggle.
They kissed, a little too long for Spike's comfort. He picked up his
pencil sharpener and set it down with a deliberately loud thud. "I...
am... feeling... so... sexually harrassed!" he said with a mocking whine.
"I don't think my virgin eyes can handle seeing so much sinfully-displayed
affection!"
Buffy and Xander broke their kiss. Buffy shot Spike a mildly annoyed look.
"Sorry, Spike, just can't keep my hands off your boss," Xander said
affably. "Must get back to work myself anyway. Buff, I'm sure you'll beat
me next time." He started to leave, but Buffy, mouth agape, stopped him.
"Hey, tough guy, what's that supposed to mean? We didn't finish that last
set!"
Xander smiled pityingly at her. "That's so cute, you're competitive! I
never knew that. It's okay to admit defeat."
"An unfinished set does NOT count!" she insisted. "Ask Spike."
"Swizerland here, neutrality in effect," Spike said in a singsong voice.
"Ha! So it's a tie!" Buffy announced triumphantly.
"No, more like a rematch!" Xander retorted.
"Pardon the help, but don't you have to get this issue to press tonight?"
Spike asked. "Not fair if you lot get to play, while I'm missing my soaps
to come slave in your sweatshop."
Buffy grinned at him. "I'm the boss, I make the rules."
"This place feels very oppressive. I think I'll become a Marxist and hold
an uprising," Spike said.
"Listen, Mr. Deadline no fun poppyhead, it'll just take a little while,
I'll be right back, 'cause Xander's going to get beaten quite quickly this
time."
Behind her back, Xander silently gasped in mock horror.
"Fine, go, enjoy the... fresh air and sunshine," Spike said, shuddering.
The couple left, and once he heard the door safely click behind them, he
ambled to the sofa, got comfy, and flipped on the television. "Lovely," he
said with a smile. "Rafe's come back for Allison, bring on obligatory the
romp in the sack, kids."
***
Several hours later, Spike's early afternoon of soap opera watching over,
he suddenly realized Buffy had yet to return. Growing a bit worried, he
tried to focus on getting as much work done as he could without her, but,
unable to concentrate, finally called the health club. "Yeah, trying to
get hold of Buffy Summers. She's out on one of your tennis courts, been
there a dreadful long time," he said into the phone. "She's, ah, rather
vertically challenged, little sprig of a thing, a dishwater blonde, and
she's there with a bloke, rather vacant-in-the-head look about him."
The door swung open abruptly, Xander entering with Buffy cradled in his
arms. Spike hung up the phone.
"Please be gentle!" Buffy whined at Xander. "Quick, on the floor!" Xander
carefully put her down.
"If you two simply must have it off right now, I'm going to lunch," Spike
said. Which I'll quickly lose if I think too much about them together, he
thought.
"No, no, Spike, I threw my back out." Buffy said with a whimper of pain.
"We've been in the ER," Xander added.
"Didn't you tell the doctors you were on a deadline?" Spike asked,
annoyed... but a little concerned about the tiny figure on the floor,
wincing and grimacing.
"Yeah, but the lady with the barbeque fork in her head had a wedding."
Buffy looked up at her assistant, noticing even through her pain that this
little attempt at humor was ignored in favor of a look of worry. Probably
just wants to get work done, she thought. "Don't worry, I never miss
deadlines," she assured him.
"Buffy, I'm sorry, I've so got an important meeting, totally gotta get
back," Xander said. "Will you be okay? I'll call you later." He patted her
on the head and left.
"No kiss?" Buffy said sadly at the closed door.
"All right, if you insist," Spike smirked.
"Boy, if this were the Gong Show, you'd so be offstage by now, buster,"
Buffy said, then winced again. "Ee, pain, bad."
"You sure you're up to work today, pet? I could ring the printer and see
if --"
"I can do it!" Buffy insisted. "Just help me over to the desk."
Spike held out an arm to Buffy, who grasped it. He began to pull her up as
gently as he could. "Pain!" she squeaked. He let go of her arm, studied
the predicament, approached from the other side and tried to prop her up
by her shoulderblades. "Worse pain!" she said, frustrated with her
weakness. Spike tsked in annoyance, took one edge of the throw rug she was
lying on, and pulled it toward the drawing table, Buffy riding along
comfortably on the makeshift sled.
***
Spike watched uneasily as Buffy pulled herself up from the rug, one hand
supporting her lower back, her whole body bent like a troll, heading for
the refrigerator.
"Buffy, no, back down, girl," Spike instructed her. "You'll just hurt
yourself worse. What's so important?" He got up and helped her ease
herself to the floor again, where her drawing pad was laid out, precious
little actually drawn.
"Ice," she whimpered.
"Ice, yes, m'lady." Spike saluted. "Anything else?"
"A giant hammer applied liberally to head 'til coma is induced would be
nice," she said, at this point the pain so bad she was only half-kidding.
Spike stuck his head in the freezer. Ice, ice, no ice... how hard was it
to fill the little trays back up? Spike thought. Something else would have
to do for Her Majesty.
Spike returned to Buffy and propped something bulky but pleasingly frozen
behind the small of her back.
"What on earth?"
"It's a leg of lamb," Spike explained. "Out of ice, bad housekeeper."
Buffy giggled in dizzy, disconnected little chokes. "How kind of you.
Nobody ever set me on top of a leg of lamb."
"Yeah, well, in some cultures this would mean we're married," Spike said.
The joke was out before he had a chance to think, and when he did...
"Right, back to grindstone with the nose I go," he said. He avoided
looking at her for a while as he worked.
Not ten minutes later, Buffy was struggling back up again. "What did I
tell you about the getting up, bit? God, you're worse than my infirm
grandmum!" Spike said, crouching down to be on eye level with his
employer.
"You have a family? Funny, I thought you were grown in a petrie dish
somewhere."
Spike looked slightly injured. "Don't mock the Gran," he said. "She may be
a hundred, but she could take your whingey self on in a heartbeat. What is
it this time, anyway?"
"A soda," she said guiltily.
"That's it?"
"Yeah..."
"Don't cause permanent tendon damage just for a fizzy drink, little one."
Spike returned to the fridge. "No soda."
"No soda?!" she cried.
"You got some green floaty stuff in a jar, flat beer, and..." Spike picked
up a soggy carton of milk and examined it. "Sodden nasties, blondie, they
found this kid three months ago!" he gasped.
Buffy was deeply entrenched in petulant mode. "I want soda, damnit."
"Your uncanny ability to beautifully express your needs even in a time of
crisis is overwhelmingly poetic."
"Cut me some slack, and limit the sarcasm, Spike. I'm sure you lose
maturity points when you're injured or otherwise incapacitated," Buffy
said.
Spike cocked his head. "Can't say as I recall ever gettin' banged up."
"Didn't they have schoolyard bullies back in London?" Buffy asked, trying
to picture Spike as a gangly teenager.
Spike grinned mischeviously. "Yeah. Me."
A brief, flurrying knock at the door, and Faith was inside, pulling a
hesistant Anya along. "Does THIS have a right to be here, B?" Faith asked,
pointing to the cringing Anya.
Buffy frowned. "To what do I owe this grand surprise?"
"Our messanger was off today, so I had the good luck to be the one to
bring you your monthly fan mail," Anya explained with a mild scowl. "Why
are you on the floor? That cannot be good for your back, you know."
Buffy rolled her eyes. "I'll try to remember that, thank you ever so
much." Anya handed her a small pile of envelopes. "Wow! This is more than
usual."
"Don't get too excited, superheroine. It's all from the same person. But
if he gets paroled, I'm sure he'll write more often." Anya roughly removed
her arm from Faith's grip and skipped out with a flourish.
"Why are you lying on a frozen hunk of meat?" Faith asked.
"Oh, that's where your New Year's Eve date went!" Buffy smirked. "Ice.
None. Lamb cold. Good."
"Did you hurt yourself, hon?" Faith knelt down next to her friend. "Go up
and get some rest. Give Morbid the Magnificent here a day off."
"Morbid the Magnificent is trying to keep Princess Annoying on deadline,"
Spike explained.
"Faith, do you have any soda?" Buffy asked pleadingly.
"Dunno. You got any?"
"No," she answered sadly.
"Then I'm soda-free as well," Faith replied. She scrounged around in her
purse for a second. "I think I got something that'll help get the kinks
out, though."
"Oh, it'll make you disappear, then?" Spike asked hopefully.
Faith sighed. "Just because a girl has an innocent little set of
handcuffs, everybody thinks she's a perv."
"Everybody would be right," Spike said.
Faith looked up at him with a glint in her eye. "You'll never find out,
punk boy."
"Oh, I am crushed," Spike said flatly. "How shall I ever live without
knowing the joys of your overused flesh."
"Play nice, kids, please," Buffy urged. "Invalid here. Snarky banter not
good for healing process."
"But these are," Faith said, shaking a tiny prescription bottle at Buffy.
"These beauties'll do the trick. Just don't mix 'em with alcohol unless
you feel like waking up thinking you're Sid Vicious."
Spike looked worried. "What are those things, anyway?" he asked, joining
Buffy and Faith by the throw rug. "Gads, I think I knew a bloke at uni who
used these as roofies."
"You would be in with the druggie crowd, wouldn't you, freak?" Faith
accused.
"Pot and kettle both seem pretty damn black to me, right now," Spike
replied. "You a pusher in your spare time?"
Faith ignored him, turning back to Buffy. "Take four every two hours."
"O Blind One, the notes say two every four hours," Spike said, reading the
label.
"Look, Billy Idol, it still multiplies to eight either way."
An hour later, Buffy was passed out into dreamland at her desk.
"Non-drowsy, my skinny white bum," Spike muttered. He put down his pencil
and watched the slow rise and fall of her breath for a moment, then, very
gingerly, scooped her up in his arms and carried her upstairs.
***
Buffy was sprawled out in a semi-conscious stupor on her bed. Spike
entered, completely harried, his hair askew and an apron tied around his
waist. He knocked lightly on Buffy's head. "Found the parsley flakes,
brain dead," he told her, plopping a spice jar onto the comfortor.
"What? Parsley... huh?" Buffy asked, her face buried in a pillow.
"You pleaded for it ten minutes ago."
"Did not."
"Did, too."
"Did not."
"Sod it, grand, fine. You didn't. I'm the space cadet, not Courtney Love
here," Spike sighed. "Come on, trooper, remember that whole deadline thing
you're so bent on?" He put a marker in her hand, which was limp and barely
able to grasp it. Buffy proceeded to miss the sketchpad he held out, and
instead traced a wavy line onto Spike's arm. "Lovely, always wanted a nice
black mark there." He smudged it out as best he could.
"Could you get me a soda, sweetie?" Buffy mumbled.
"Sweetie?! I'm quite certainly not your sweetie," Spike huffed. "At least
not -- " He cleared his throat and started over. "There's no soda, Buffy.
The soda ship has sailed, and you're still at the dock."
"Muffin?"
"I'm not your muffin, either, silly bird."
"I want a muffin."
"Oh, right." Spike's alabaster skin turned a pale shade of pink. "Of
course you'd want a muffin, not that I'm... yes, muffin, coming right up."
He ran a hand through his hair as he made his way back downstairs, only
succeeding in mussing it up even more.
"While you're down there, do we have any parsley?" Buffy called after him.
Spike paused halfway down the stairs. "It was this or flipping burgers,"
he said to himself. "I clearly need a career counselor."
***
Xander came in with a small grocery sack as Spike was pulling a
freshly-baked batch of blueberry muffins out of the oven. "I am here, and
I have sustenance for the patient," Xander announced, joining Spike in the
kitchenette.
"It's about bleedin' time, Harris. Couldn't find a phone?" he said
bitterly. "I'm gettin' blisters from the oven all afternoon while you're
at some damnable meeting?"
Xander's eyes got puppy-dog sad. "That was uncalled for. I'm here now,
aren't I?"
"Oh, right-o, hi, honey, you're home!" Spike countered sarcastically. He
ripped the groceries out of Xander's grasp and dug through them. "Where
the hell is the stinking soda?!"
"Crap, I knew I forget something," Xander said, stomping his foot in
irritation at himself.
"The soda, you nobbing git, is all she's been asking for all day!"
"Hey, take it down a notch, man, just give her some O.J. She's not picky,"
Xander said.
"Not picky?" Spike said menacingly. He took a step closer to Xander, who
backed up, a little afraid. "Not bloody picky?! I'll show you not picky."
He picked up a plate from the counter. "These muffins were too crumbly."
He picked up another. "These muffins were too bland. And these," he said
picking up a final plate, "she determined were simply 'icky.'" He flashed
Xander an insane grin.
Xander examined the platefuls of muffins. "That's so cute," he said.
"Gotta love that Buff."
Spike watched in rising -- jealous? -- anger as Xander broke off part of a
muffin top and popped it into his mouth. He breathed heavily, trying to
calm himself down. "No," he said, "you gotta love her. I'm just the stable
boy."
"Well, hey," Xander said, his mouth still full, "take a break. I'll help
her now."
"I can't take a break, I've got to get the muffins right!" Spike yelled.
He tried to compose himself again. "'Sides, her issue is due in an hour,
and she's not drawn a single line, 'cept for on me!" He held out the
squiggly mark still faintly visible on his right forearm.
"Don't sweat it," Xander said, laying a hand on Spike's shoulder, which
was immediately shrugged off. "What's the worst the printers will do,
anyway?"
"Fire her. And me. And I'm quite adept at revenge." Spike held up a
clenched fist to Xander.
"Oooh-kayyy, point taken." Xander ran upstairs.
***
"Buffy?" Xander called, entering the bedroom. "Buff?"
Buffy was still out for the count, but made a small inquisitive grunt at
the sound of Xander's voice.
"Buff, you gotta wake up, honey."
"I do?" she murmured. "But I've got to save the bunnies."
"What? No, no bunnies, Buffy, get up." He plucked her off the bed and
slung her arm around his shoulders. "Let's walk, okay? Walking, walking."
"Mommy, are we there yet?" Buffy said weakly, her head lolling back onto
Xander's shoulder.
"Buff, you have to get an idea for your comic book," Xander said, spacing
his words out slowly to ingrain them into her foggy head. He put her back
down on the bed, holding her hands to keep her upright.
"Yeah, um..." Buffy blinked hard, trying to focus. "Buffy's fighting a guy
in a mask who plays the organ."
"That's Phantom of the Opera," Xander said.
"No, it's not."
"Yes, it is."
"No, it's not."
Exasperated, Xander picked up the blank sketchpad from the floor. "Fine,
it's not, roll with it." He started to draw little pathetic stick figures,
then Buffy proceeded to plop her head into his lap.
Spike set his latest batch of muffins on the nightstand. "This really
ain't the time for a quick one," he said.
"Stuff it, Spike, I'm just trying to wake her up."
"Used that line m'self a few times."
Buffy fell completely over and began to snore.
"What the hell did you give her?!" Xander asked furiously.
"You'd have to ask Faith," Spike told him. "It was either a painkiller or
one helluva party drug."
Xander looked at his girlfriend, who by now had curled up into a comfy
little ball, clutching a throw pillow like a teddy bear. He turned back to
Spike, who, he briefly noticed, had also been looking at Buffy...
What was up with that look? he wondered. But there were other problems at
hand.
"Okay," he decided, "new plan. We do the issue for her."
"Come again?"
"C'mon, Spike, you're an artist, and I'm... well, I can, like, watch and
stuff," Xander said lamely.
***
Back downstairs, Spike and Xander approached the drawing table. Xander
started to pull out the desk chair, then felt an iron grip on his wrist.
"Don't think so," Spike said coldly. "If you're gonna make me do this with
you, I sit there."
"Well, excuuse me, fine. You captain the Enterprise, me pace around
nervously."
"Good plan." Spike sat down, got a fresh pencil, and looked at Xander.
"Any time you're ready with the brilliant concepts, Harris."
"Okay, okay." Xander thought for a moment. "What's this comic book really
all about... a female heroine. Hmm, maybe we just need to tap into our
feminine sides."
"You do that, I'm going to get in touch with my slightly-pissed side."
Spike got up and retrieved a bottle of flat champagne from the fridge.
***
Upstairs, Buffy was in the sweet grasp of Dreamland. On a rolling green
field in the English countryside, she sat beneath a tree, drawing flowers.
A middle-aged, modestly handsome man in a natty brown suit appeared, a
pair of round wire-rimmed spectacles perched on his nose.
"Feeling better, Buffy?" he asked. "Ready to slay some vampires?"
"Totally all good, thanks," she replied. "What's this yummy potion stuff
you gave me, anyhow? It got rid of all the achies."
"Ah, local blend," the man said. "Magical elixer. Goes by the name of
'soda.'"
Buffy held up a crystal goblet filled with sparkling brown liquid. "Mm,
soda." She looked back up and the first man had vanished, but Spike stood
above her smirking. He sat down next to her on the ground.
"What's the matter, luv? Got a touch of the old writer's block?" he asked.
She frowned. "Guess so. I just can't seem to think in a straight line
today. Dunno why."
"You do well with wavy ones." He raised a finger and moved it in a wavy
line, which appeared in the air before them as a series of little glowing
stars. Suddenly the blue sky turned darker, and stars popped out in a
shimmering display all around them.
"Wow, how'd you do that?" she asked in awe.
Spike snapped his fingers. "Bit more of the local magic," he said. "I've
got more ways to help inspire you."
He leaned in closer to her, kissed her softly.
"I had no idea you could inspire me like that," she said quietly.
He smiled back at her. "Lotta things you don't know about me yet."
"Tell me... Spike..." Buffy started to raise her head. "Spike?" She looked
around her groggily, saw that she was alone in her bedroom.
"Spike?!" she called, suddenly fearful. She glanced at the alarm clock.
"Oh, god, the deadline!"
Wide awake now, she raced out of the bedroom.
***
Spike was on the phone in Buffy's living room. "So you got the package?
And it made it before press time? Bangers, thanks." He hung up. "We did
it, mate!" he told Xander, holding up his hand to him waiting for a
high-five.
Xander shrank back. "Please don't hit me!"
Spike laughed. "Wasn't gonna hit you, but now that you mention it..."
Buffy's sock-padded feet pounded down the stairs. "Oh, my god, oh, my god,
what day is it?!" she asked.
"Tuesday," Xander answered.
"Whew, cool, I still have ten minutes to get the issue done." She rushed
to the drawing table.
"Calm down, speedy, the issue's in the can," Spike said, taking away her
pencil.
"Huh?"
"We finished it for you," Xander said proudly.
Buffy's eyes widened. She shook her head a little, then smiled weakly. "I
still must be pretty out of it, because I thought you said --"
"Yup," Xander said, puffing out his chest a little. "Men to the rescue of
the damsel in distress."
"You guys just... did my whole issue for me? And sent it in?" Buffy's jaw
dropped. "Boys, boys, boys! That was, like, completely thoughtful and
stuff, but I mean, come on! People are going to be able to tell it wasn't
my work!" She thrust out her bottom lip a little, wistfully picked up her
pile of fan mail. "I have fans counting on me."
"Fan," Spike corrected.
"I'm still..." Buffy sighed. "I'm not replaceable that easily."
"Calm down, kiddo, just look at the thing before you break out the holy
water on us, will you?" Spike urged, while Xander steered her onto the
sofa.
***
Fifteen minutes later, she'd finished reading the issue... the godawful,
sloppy, shoddy, pathetic excuse for an issue. I am so gonna rip those two
a new one, she thought as she looked up into their...
Hopeful little faces.
"So?!" both men asked at the same time, then immediately looked at each
other with great irritation.
"Well... it's... very... neatly-drawn..." Buffy managed. "Considering you
were under the gun, it's... kind of..." She stopped and smiled at them
warmly. "Thank you."
"Another disaster thwarted by the crime fighting duo!" Xander said
triumphantly. He turned to Spike. "Celebratory male bonding over alcoholic
beverages?"
Spike looked at Buffy, whose pain seemed to have caught back up with her a
little after the temporary endorphin rush. "Raincheck, Harris, it's
still... working hours."
Xander shrugged. "See you tomorrow, hon!" he called to Buffy as he left.
Spike began to collect his things, then approached Buffy, who still sat
dazedly on the sofa. He chucked her lightly under the chin. "You need any
more nursing services, eh?" he asked.
She looked up at him. Standing over her like that, her dream suddenly
flashed back to her, and she felt a huge warm fuzzy.
"I warned you not to get laid where you get paid," Faith's voice echoed in
her head. Yeah, Buffy thought, but what would Faith actually do in this
situation?
Spike stood there, his expression expectant and downright sweet. Buffy
stood up, the ache in her back less acute than the ache of her emotions.
"You did most of this, didn't you?" she asked him.
"Aw, no, Xander was quite the --"
"You did most of this, didn't you?" she repeated, cutting him off. She
took a step closer. "Thank you." She stood up on tiptoe and pecked him
lightly on the cheek.
Spike looked positively flummoxed. "Just doin' my job, ma'am," he said in
a silly Southern accent, tipping an imaginary cowboy hat. "Ah, right,
then, if you don't need me..." He pulled on his coat. "I guess I'll see
you in the morning."
Buffy waved meekly at his departing form. "In the morning," she whispered.
***
Willow Rosenberg was lying on her stomach in an upstairs room of Giles's
rambling old house outside of London. She was flipping through the latest
issue of her friend Buffy's comic book and frowning in confusion. She
spotted Giles passing outside her open door.
"Hey, Giles!" she called.
The middle-aged, modestly handsome man popped his head into Willow's room.
"Yes?" he asked.
"Did you read the new issue of Buffy the Vampire Slayer? I left a copy in
the kitchen for you."
"Yes, actually, I did. Your friend is very talented."
"Yeah, usually," Willow replied. "But this issue... it's like..."
"Actually, I found it to have really captured the, ah, female psyche."
Giles paused. "Or so I assume it to be."
"Really? I thought this thing plays like Buffy had some third-grade boys
invade her studio." Willow tossed the comic book aside. "Maybe next
month's will be better."
Home
Episode Two: Big Bad... Backache
by SoulVamp
Disclaimer: No characters are mine, situations not quite mine, either.
Buffy and Caroline are the brainchilds of people who get paid to be
creative.
Notes: Feedback is thoroughly encouraged. Again, not sure how many of
these I'll wind up doing or how often, but they're quick and relatively
painless. Plots in future may deviate more wholly from Caroline in the
City, but for now I'm having tons of fun, particularly with Spike, of
course. Romance will pick up, but this one's kind of more pure rampant
silliness. Enjoy.
***
Buffy and Xander's reconciliation was abrupt but still tentative. For the
past month, she'd decided to take him back on a "trial basis only," yet
still felt guilty about having a basically hormonal weakness for the boy.
He was somebody she could fall into bed with and not worry that he was
some unsafe hellion, but having this nebulous, is-this-going-anywhere
relationship did perturb her when she thought about it too much.
They'd spent a relaxing evening together, woke up, and headed for a
friendly tennis match. When they returned to Buffy's loft, Spike was
already busily at work.
"Oh, Spike, sorry, our game ran long," Buffy said when she saw him perched
at the desk.
"Quite all right, blondie, I've been entertaining myself by rummaging
through your CDs and smashing the crummy ones to bits." He looked up.
Xander stood behind Buffy in the doorway. A tiny pang hit Spike, but he
tried not to let on. "Honestly, Enya? Summers, what the hell were you
thinking?"
"Ha ha," Buffy said. "Funny not."
"Oo, I didn't please the crowd. How shall I ever get over not achieving my
dreams of comedic stardom," Spike said, turning his attention back to
Buffy's latest comic book. "Steffi Graff, can you manage to pull yourself
away from Andre Agassi there and join me in the fun-filled world of actual
productivity?"
Buffy pouted and turned to Xander. "Mr. Williams says I have to finish my
homework," she said. "Can I meet you after school?"
Xander smiled. "Sure thing. Damn, I'm gonna have naughty schoolgirl
fantasies all day now."
"Mmm, will you give me detention, Principal Harris?" Buffy asked with a
giggle.
They kissed, a little too long for Spike's comfort. He picked up his
pencil sharpener and set it down with a deliberately loud thud. "I...
am... feeling... so... sexually harrassed!" he said with a mocking whine.
"I don't think my virgin eyes can handle seeing so much sinfully-displayed
affection!"
Buffy and Xander broke their kiss. Buffy shot Spike a mildly annoyed look.
"Sorry, Spike, just can't keep my hands off your boss," Xander said
affably. "Must get back to work myself anyway. Buff, I'm sure you'll beat
me next time." He started to leave, but Buffy, mouth agape, stopped him.
"Hey, tough guy, what's that supposed to mean? We didn't finish that last
set!"
Xander smiled pityingly at her. "That's so cute, you're competitive! I
never knew that. It's okay to admit defeat."
"An unfinished set does NOT count!" she insisted. "Ask Spike."
"Swizerland here, neutrality in effect," Spike said in a singsong voice.
"Ha! So it's a tie!" Buffy announced triumphantly.
"No, more like a rematch!" Xander retorted.
"Pardon the help, but don't you have to get this issue to press tonight?"
Spike asked. "Not fair if you lot get to play, while I'm missing my soaps
to come slave in your sweatshop."
Buffy grinned at him. "I'm the boss, I make the rules."
"This place feels very oppressive. I think I'll become a Marxist and hold
an uprising," Spike said.
"Listen, Mr. Deadline no fun poppyhead, it'll just take a little while,
I'll be right back, 'cause Xander's going to get beaten quite quickly this
time."
Behind her back, Xander silently gasped in mock horror.
"Fine, go, enjoy the... fresh air and sunshine," Spike said, shuddering.
The couple left, and once he heard the door safely click behind them, he
ambled to the sofa, got comfy, and flipped on the television. "Lovely," he
said with a smile. "Rafe's come back for Allison, bring on obligatory the
romp in the sack, kids."
***
Several hours later, Spike's early afternoon of soap opera watching over,
he suddenly realized Buffy had yet to return. Growing a bit worried, he
tried to focus on getting as much work done as he could without her, but,
unable to concentrate, finally called the health club. "Yeah, trying to
get hold of Buffy Summers. She's out on one of your tennis courts, been
there a dreadful long time," he said into the phone. "She's, ah, rather
vertically challenged, little sprig of a thing, a dishwater blonde, and
she's there with a bloke, rather vacant-in-the-head look about him."
The door swung open abruptly, Xander entering with Buffy cradled in his
arms. Spike hung up the phone.
"Please be gentle!" Buffy whined at Xander. "Quick, on the floor!" Xander
carefully put her down.
"If you two simply must have it off right now, I'm going to lunch," Spike
said. Which I'll quickly lose if I think too much about them together, he
thought.
"No, no, Spike, I threw my back out." Buffy said with a whimper of pain.
"We've been in the ER," Xander added.
"Didn't you tell the doctors you were on a deadline?" Spike asked,
annoyed... but a little concerned about the tiny figure on the floor,
wincing and grimacing.
"Yeah, but the lady with the barbeque fork in her head had a wedding."
Buffy looked up at her assistant, noticing even through her pain that this
little attempt at humor was ignored in favor of a look of worry. Probably
just wants to get work done, she thought. "Don't worry, I never miss
deadlines," she assured him.
"Buffy, I'm sorry, I've so got an important meeting, totally gotta get
back," Xander said. "Will you be okay? I'll call you later." He patted her
on the head and left.
"No kiss?" Buffy said sadly at the closed door.
"All right, if you insist," Spike smirked.
"Boy, if this were the Gong Show, you'd so be offstage by now, buster,"
Buffy said, then winced again. "Ee, pain, bad."
"You sure you're up to work today, pet? I could ring the printer and see
if --"
"I can do it!" Buffy insisted. "Just help me over to the desk."
Spike held out an arm to Buffy, who grasped it. He began to pull her up as
gently as he could. "Pain!" she squeaked. He let go of her arm, studied
the predicament, approached from the other side and tried to prop her up
by her shoulderblades. "Worse pain!" she said, frustrated with her
weakness. Spike tsked in annoyance, took one edge of the throw rug she was
lying on, and pulled it toward the drawing table, Buffy riding along
comfortably on the makeshift sled.
***
Spike watched uneasily as Buffy pulled herself up from the rug, one hand
supporting her lower back, her whole body bent like a troll, heading for
the refrigerator.
"Buffy, no, back down, girl," Spike instructed her. "You'll just hurt
yourself worse. What's so important?" He got up and helped her ease
herself to the floor again, where her drawing pad was laid out, precious
little actually drawn.
"Ice," she whimpered.
"Ice, yes, m'lady." Spike saluted. "Anything else?"
"A giant hammer applied liberally to head 'til coma is induced would be
nice," she said, at this point the pain so bad she was only half-kidding.
Spike stuck his head in the freezer. Ice, ice, no ice... how hard was it
to fill the little trays back up? Spike thought. Something else would have
to do for Her Majesty.
Spike returned to Buffy and propped something bulky but pleasingly frozen
behind the small of her back.
"What on earth?"
"It's a leg of lamb," Spike explained. "Out of ice, bad housekeeper."
Buffy giggled in dizzy, disconnected little chokes. "How kind of you.
Nobody ever set me on top of a leg of lamb."
"Yeah, well, in some cultures this would mean we're married," Spike said.
The joke was out before he had a chance to think, and when he did...
"Right, back to grindstone with the nose I go," he said. He avoided
looking at her for a while as he worked.
Not ten minutes later, Buffy was struggling back up again. "What did I
tell you about the getting up, bit? God, you're worse than my infirm
grandmum!" Spike said, crouching down to be on eye level with his
employer.
"You have a family? Funny, I thought you were grown in a petrie dish
somewhere."
Spike looked slightly injured. "Don't mock the Gran," he said. "She may be
a hundred, but she could take your whingey self on in a heartbeat. What is
it this time, anyway?"
"A soda," she said guiltily.
"That's it?"
"Yeah..."
"Don't cause permanent tendon damage just for a fizzy drink, little one."
Spike returned to the fridge. "No soda."
"No soda?!" she cried.
"You got some green floaty stuff in a jar, flat beer, and..." Spike picked
up a soggy carton of milk and examined it. "Sodden nasties, blondie, they
found this kid three months ago!" he gasped.
Buffy was deeply entrenched in petulant mode. "I want soda, damnit."
"Your uncanny ability to beautifully express your needs even in a time of
crisis is overwhelmingly poetic."
"Cut me some slack, and limit the sarcasm, Spike. I'm sure you lose
maturity points when you're injured or otherwise incapacitated," Buffy
said.
Spike cocked his head. "Can't say as I recall ever gettin' banged up."
"Didn't they have schoolyard bullies back in London?" Buffy asked, trying
to picture Spike as a gangly teenager.
Spike grinned mischeviously. "Yeah. Me."
A brief, flurrying knock at the door, and Faith was inside, pulling a
hesistant Anya along. "Does THIS have a right to be here, B?" Faith asked,
pointing to the cringing Anya.
Buffy frowned. "To what do I owe this grand surprise?"
"Our messanger was off today, so I had the good luck to be the one to
bring you your monthly fan mail," Anya explained with a mild scowl. "Why
are you on the floor? That cannot be good for your back, you know."
Buffy rolled her eyes. "I'll try to remember that, thank you ever so
much." Anya handed her a small pile of envelopes. "Wow! This is more than
usual."
"Don't get too excited, superheroine. It's all from the same person. But
if he gets paroled, I'm sure he'll write more often." Anya roughly removed
her arm from Faith's grip and skipped out with a flourish.
"Why are you lying on a frozen hunk of meat?" Faith asked.
"Oh, that's where your New Year's Eve date went!" Buffy smirked. "Ice.
None. Lamb cold. Good."
"Did you hurt yourself, hon?" Faith knelt down next to her friend. "Go up
and get some rest. Give Morbid the Magnificent here a day off."
"Morbid the Magnificent is trying to keep Princess Annoying on deadline,"
Spike explained.
"Faith, do you have any soda?" Buffy asked pleadingly.
"Dunno. You got any?"
"No," she answered sadly.
"Then I'm soda-free as well," Faith replied. She scrounged around in her
purse for a second. "I think I got something that'll help get the kinks
out, though."
"Oh, it'll make you disappear, then?" Spike asked hopefully.
Faith sighed. "Just because a girl has an innocent little set of
handcuffs, everybody thinks she's a perv."
"Everybody would be right," Spike said.
Faith looked up at him with a glint in her eye. "You'll never find out,
punk boy."
"Oh, I am crushed," Spike said flatly. "How shall I ever live without
knowing the joys of your overused flesh."
"Play nice, kids, please," Buffy urged. "Invalid here. Snarky banter not
good for healing process."
"But these are," Faith said, shaking a tiny prescription bottle at Buffy.
"These beauties'll do the trick. Just don't mix 'em with alcohol unless
you feel like waking up thinking you're Sid Vicious."
Spike looked worried. "What are those things, anyway?" he asked, joining
Buffy and Faith by the throw rug. "Gads, I think I knew a bloke at uni who
used these as roofies."
"You would be in with the druggie crowd, wouldn't you, freak?" Faith
accused.
"Pot and kettle both seem pretty damn black to me, right now," Spike
replied. "You a pusher in your spare time?"
Faith ignored him, turning back to Buffy. "Take four every two hours."
"O Blind One, the notes say two every four hours," Spike said, reading the
label.
"Look, Billy Idol, it still multiplies to eight either way."
An hour later, Buffy was passed out into dreamland at her desk.
"Non-drowsy, my skinny white bum," Spike muttered. He put down his pencil
and watched the slow rise and fall of her breath for a moment, then, very
gingerly, scooped her up in his arms and carried her upstairs.
***
Buffy was sprawled out in a semi-conscious stupor on her bed. Spike
entered, completely harried, his hair askew and an apron tied around his
waist. He knocked lightly on Buffy's head. "Found the parsley flakes,
brain dead," he told her, plopping a spice jar onto the comfortor.
"What? Parsley... huh?" Buffy asked, her face buried in a pillow.
"You pleaded for it ten minutes ago."
"Did not."
"Did, too."
"Did not."
"Sod it, grand, fine. You didn't. I'm the space cadet, not Courtney Love
here," Spike sighed. "Come on, trooper, remember that whole deadline thing
you're so bent on?" He put a marker in her hand, which was limp and barely
able to grasp it. Buffy proceeded to miss the sketchpad he held out, and
instead traced a wavy line onto Spike's arm. "Lovely, always wanted a nice
black mark there." He smudged it out as best he could.
"Could you get me a soda, sweetie?" Buffy mumbled.
"Sweetie?! I'm quite certainly not your sweetie," Spike huffed. "At least
not -- " He cleared his throat and started over. "There's no soda, Buffy.
The soda ship has sailed, and you're still at the dock."
"Muffin?"
"I'm not your muffin, either, silly bird."
"I want a muffin."
"Oh, right." Spike's alabaster skin turned a pale shade of pink. "Of
course you'd want a muffin, not that I'm... yes, muffin, coming right up."
He ran a hand through his hair as he made his way back downstairs, only
succeeding in mussing it up even more.
"While you're down there, do we have any parsley?" Buffy called after him.
Spike paused halfway down the stairs. "It was this or flipping burgers,"
he said to himself. "I clearly need a career counselor."
***
Xander came in with a small grocery sack as Spike was pulling a
freshly-baked batch of blueberry muffins out of the oven. "I am here, and
I have sustenance for the patient," Xander announced, joining Spike in the
kitchenette.
"It's about bleedin' time, Harris. Couldn't find a phone?" he said
bitterly. "I'm gettin' blisters from the oven all afternoon while you're
at some damnable meeting?"
Xander's eyes got puppy-dog sad. "That was uncalled for. I'm here now,
aren't I?"
"Oh, right-o, hi, honey, you're home!" Spike countered sarcastically. He
ripped the groceries out of Xander's grasp and dug through them. "Where
the hell is the stinking soda?!"
"Crap, I knew I forget something," Xander said, stomping his foot in
irritation at himself.
"The soda, you nobbing git, is all she's been asking for all day!"
"Hey, take it down a notch, man, just give her some O.J. She's not picky,"
Xander said.
"Not picky?" Spike said menacingly. He took a step closer to Xander, who
backed up, a little afraid. "Not bloody picky?! I'll show you not picky."
He picked up a plate from the counter. "These muffins were too crumbly."
He picked up another. "These muffins were too bland. And these," he said
picking up a final plate, "she determined were simply 'icky.'" He flashed
Xander an insane grin.
Xander examined the platefuls of muffins. "That's so cute," he said.
"Gotta love that Buff."
Spike watched in rising -- jealous? -- anger as Xander broke off part of a
muffin top and popped it into his mouth. He breathed heavily, trying to
calm himself down. "No," he said, "you gotta love her. I'm just the stable
boy."
"Well, hey," Xander said, his mouth still full, "take a break. I'll help
her now."
"I can't take a break, I've got to get the muffins right!" Spike yelled.
He tried to compose himself again. "'Sides, her issue is due in an hour,
and she's not drawn a single line, 'cept for on me!" He held out the
squiggly mark still faintly visible on his right forearm.
"Don't sweat it," Xander said, laying a hand on Spike's shoulder, which
was immediately shrugged off. "What's the worst the printers will do,
anyway?"
"Fire her. And me. And I'm quite adept at revenge." Spike held up a
clenched fist to Xander.
"Oooh-kayyy, point taken." Xander ran upstairs.
***
"Buffy?" Xander called, entering the bedroom. "Buff?"
Buffy was still out for the count, but made a small inquisitive grunt at
the sound of Xander's voice.
"Buff, you gotta wake up, honey."
"I do?" she murmured. "But I've got to save the bunnies."
"What? No, no bunnies, Buffy, get up." He plucked her off the bed and
slung her arm around his shoulders. "Let's walk, okay? Walking, walking."
"Mommy, are we there yet?" Buffy said weakly, her head lolling back onto
Xander's shoulder.
"Buff, you have to get an idea for your comic book," Xander said, spacing
his words out slowly to ingrain them into her foggy head. He put her back
down on the bed, holding her hands to keep her upright.
"Yeah, um..." Buffy blinked hard, trying to focus. "Buffy's fighting a guy
in a mask who plays the organ."
"That's Phantom of the Opera," Xander said.
"No, it's not."
"Yes, it is."
"No, it's not."
Exasperated, Xander picked up the blank sketchpad from the floor. "Fine,
it's not, roll with it." He started to draw little pathetic stick figures,
then Buffy proceeded to plop her head into his lap.
Spike set his latest batch of muffins on the nightstand. "This really
ain't the time for a quick one," he said.
"Stuff it, Spike, I'm just trying to wake her up."
"Used that line m'self a few times."
Buffy fell completely over and began to snore.
"What the hell did you give her?!" Xander asked furiously.
"You'd have to ask Faith," Spike told him. "It was either a painkiller or
one helluva party drug."
Xander looked at his girlfriend, who by now had curled up into a comfy
little ball, clutching a throw pillow like a teddy bear. He turned back to
Spike, who, he briefly noticed, had also been looking at Buffy...
What was up with that look? he wondered. But there were other problems at
hand.
"Okay," he decided, "new plan. We do the issue for her."
"Come again?"
"C'mon, Spike, you're an artist, and I'm... well, I can, like, watch and
stuff," Xander said lamely.
***
Back downstairs, Spike and Xander approached the drawing table. Xander
started to pull out the desk chair, then felt an iron grip on his wrist.
"Don't think so," Spike said coldly. "If you're gonna make me do this with
you, I sit there."
"Well, excuuse me, fine. You captain the Enterprise, me pace around
nervously."
"Good plan." Spike sat down, got a fresh pencil, and looked at Xander.
"Any time you're ready with the brilliant concepts, Harris."
"Okay, okay." Xander thought for a moment. "What's this comic book really
all about... a female heroine. Hmm, maybe we just need to tap into our
feminine sides."
"You do that, I'm going to get in touch with my slightly-pissed side."
Spike got up and retrieved a bottle of flat champagne from the fridge.
***
Upstairs, Buffy was in the sweet grasp of Dreamland. On a rolling green
field in the English countryside, she sat beneath a tree, drawing flowers.
A middle-aged, modestly handsome man in a natty brown suit appeared, a
pair of round wire-rimmed spectacles perched on his nose.
"Feeling better, Buffy?" he asked. "Ready to slay some vampires?"
"Totally all good, thanks," she replied. "What's this yummy potion stuff
you gave me, anyhow? It got rid of all the achies."
"Ah, local blend," the man said. "Magical elixer. Goes by the name of
'soda.'"
Buffy held up a crystal goblet filled with sparkling brown liquid. "Mm,
soda." She looked back up and the first man had vanished, but Spike stood
above her smirking. He sat down next to her on the ground.
"What's the matter, luv? Got a touch of the old writer's block?" he asked.
She frowned. "Guess so. I just can't seem to think in a straight line
today. Dunno why."
"You do well with wavy ones." He raised a finger and moved it in a wavy
line, which appeared in the air before them as a series of little glowing
stars. Suddenly the blue sky turned darker, and stars popped out in a
shimmering display all around them.
"Wow, how'd you do that?" she asked in awe.
Spike snapped his fingers. "Bit more of the local magic," he said. "I've
got more ways to help inspire you."
He leaned in closer to her, kissed her softly.
"I had no idea you could inspire me like that," she said quietly.
He smiled back at her. "Lotta things you don't know about me yet."
"Tell me... Spike..." Buffy started to raise her head. "Spike?" She looked
around her groggily, saw that she was alone in her bedroom.
"Spike?!" she called, suddenly fearful. She glanced at the alarm clock.
"Oh, god, the deadline!"
Wide awake now, she raced out of the bedroom.
***
Spike was on the phone in Buffy's living room. "So you got the package?
And it made it before press time? Bangers, thanks." He hung up. "We did
it, mate!" he told Xander, holding up his hand to him waiting for a
high-five.
Xander shrank back. "Please don't hit me!"
Spike laughed. "Wasn't gonna hit you, but now that you mention it..."
Buffy's sock-padded feet pounded down the stairs. "Oh, my god, oh, my god,
what day is it?!" she asked.
"Tuesday," Xander answered.
"Whew, cool, I still have ten minutes to get the issue done." She rushed
to the drawing table.
"Calm down, speedy, the issue's in the can," Spike said, taking away her
pencil.
"Huh?"
"We finished it for you," Xander said proudly.
Buffy's eyes widened. She shook her head a little, then smiled weakly. "I
still must be pretty out of it, because I thought you said --"
"Yup," Xander said, puffing out his chest a little. "Men to the rescue of
the damsel in distress."
"You guys just... did my whole issue for me? And sent it in?" Buffy's jaw
dropped. "Boys, boys, boys! That was, like, completely thoughtful and
stuff, but I mean, come on! People are going to be able to tell it wasn't
my work!" She thrust out her bottom lip a little, wistfully picked up her
pile of fan mail. "I have fans counting on me."
"Fan," Spike corrected.
"I'm still..." Buffy sighed. "I'm not replaceable that easily."
"Calm down, kiddo, just look at the thing before you break out the holy
water on us, will you?" Spike urged, while Xander steered her onto the
sofa.
***
Fifteen minutes later, she'd finished reading the issue... the godawful,
sloppy, shoddy, pathetic excuse for an issue. I am so gonna rip those two
a new one, she thought as she looked up into their...
Hopeful little faces.
"So?!" both men asked at the same time, then immediately looked at each
other with great irritation.
"Well... it's... very... neatly-drawn..." Buffy managed. "Considering you
were under the gun, it's... kind of..." She stopped and smiled at them
warmly. "Thank you."
"Another disaster thwarted by the crime fighting duo!" Xander said
triumphantly. He turned to Spike. "Celebratory male bonding over alcoholic
beverages?"
Spike looked at Buffy, whose pain seemed to have caught back up with her a
little after the temporary endorphin rush. "Raincheck, Harris, it's
still... working hours."
Xander shrugged. "See you tomorrow, hon!" he called to Buffy as he left.
Spike began to collect his things, then approached Buffy, who still sat
dazedly on the sofa. He chucked her lightly under the chin. "You need any
more nursing services, eh?" he asked.
She looked up at him. Standing over her like that, her dream suddenly
flashed back to her, and she felt a huge warm fuzzy.
"I warned you not to get laid where you get paid," Faith's voice echoed in
her head. Yeah, Buffy thought, but what would Faith actually do in this
situation?
Spike stood there, his expression expectant and downright sweet. Buffy
stood up, the ache in her back less acute than the ache of her emotions.
"You did most of this, didn't you?" she asked him.
"Aw, no, Xander was quite the --"
"You did most of this, didn't you?" she repeated, cutting him off. She
took a step closer. "Thank you." She stood up on tiptoe and pecked him
lightly on the cheek.
Spike looked positively flummoxed. "Just doin' my job, ma'am," he said in
a silly Southern accent, tipping an imaginary cowboy hat. "Ah, right,
then, if you don't need me..." He pulled on his coat. "I guess I'll see
you in the morning."
Buffy waved meekly at his departing form. "In the morning," she whispered.
***
Willow Rosenberg was lying on her stomach in an upstairs room of Giles's
rambling old house outside of London. She was flipping through the latest
issue of her friend Buffy's comic book and frowning in confusion. She
spotted Giles passing outside her open door.
"Hey, Giles!" she called.
The middle-aged, modestly handsome man popped his head into Willow's room.
"Yes?" he asked.
"Did you read the new issue of Buffy the Vampire Slayer? I left a copy in
the kitchen for you."
"Yes, actually, I did. Your friend is very talented."
"Yeah, usually," Willow replied. "But this issue... it's like..."
"Actually, I found it to have really captured the, ah, female psyche."
Giles paused. "Or so I assume it to be."
"Really? I thought this thing plays like Buffy had some third-grade boys
invade her studio." Willow tossed the comic book aside. "Maybe next
month's will be better."
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