Chapter 14: Happy Birthday Buffy

"Soooo!" Willow leaned over and gave Buffy an aggressive nudge with her shoulder.

Buffy gazed at her best friend, amused. "So . . . what?" she said, one eyebrow cocked.

"Day of birth. The big one-seven. A large stepping-stone in any adolescent's young life, the day you are officially allowed into R-rated movies. No sneaking past any hapless movie ushers for you! A day of celebration all around!" Willow was nearly bouncing off the bench with glowing excitement and for a moment, Buffy wondered who's birthday it actually was----hers or Willow's.

"Yeah, I guess it is."

Willow frowned, a disappointed little crinkle forming between her brows. "Buffy . . . aren't you excited? I-it's your birthday, a time of rejoicing, reminiscing, looking to the future . . . and cake."

Buffy laughed slightly but quickly looked down at her hands. "I am Willow, it's just . . . I've got some heavy stuff on my mind." Willow understood and her face fell into sympathetic-best-friend mode.

"Angel?"

Buffy glanced up again, breathing a long drawn-out sigh. "As usual. What other heaviness would I be thinking about? Saving the world and defeating the forces of darkness seem like small-talk fodder in comparison." She somberly picked at her school bag in discomfort. "It's been three weeks," she said, softer now.

"Three weeks since you've seen him? But isn't that what you wanted?"

"Well no----I mean yes----I mean no!" She threw up her hands in frustration. "I don't know what I want Willow. I mean, I thought it was for the best that I didn't see him and he didn't see me, especially with Spike around and everything but . . . it's so hard. You can't just turn off feelings like that." Guilt began coloring her face slightly, and again she ducked her head. "I went to see him the other night."

Willow's eyes widened. "You did? What happened?"

"Nothing happened. He wasn't there. His apartment was just . . . empty. Okay, it's always empty, his idea of minimalism décor but . . . it looked like he hadn't been there for days. And Willow---" her face was pinched with fear now. "The door was smashed in. What if he---"

"What if nothing. This is Angel we're talking about. Big bad vampire? No way would some low-life thief just break in and take on Angel. He can take care of himself---"

"Not a thief I was talking about, Will," Buffy said, looking at Willow meaningfully. She lit up with recognition.

"Oh . . . o-oh you mean Spike? O-or Giles?" She pondered this for a second, growing a little more understanding of Buffy's concerns. She shook her head uncertainly. "They wouldn't do that. Okay, Spike would. But Spike is . . . otherwise engaged." She made a face, indicating that 'otherwise engaged' was the term for Spike and Drusilla's relationship, which included abundant signs of public affection and thoroughly sickened all bystanders. "But Giles wouldn't," Willow continued hurriedly. "You know he wouldn't."

Buffy's stared at Willow seriously and cautiously, her eyes glittering. "I do? Face it Willow, Giles was put in a pretty . . . un-Gilesy situation. Who knows what he could have done out of anger?"

"Well you saw him a couple of days after! He seemed fine. Not a big walking ball of vampire staking rage. Besides, he wouldn't keep something like that from you, he knows how much Angel means to you."

Buffy sighed. "I feel like I should be talking in the past tense. Angel meant something to me." Her face was colored with faint tinges of sadness. "And now he's gone."

"Who's gone?" Xander approached them with Oz in his usual jovial manner, clapping his hands together briskly. Willow could see that Buffy wanted to change the subject, so she feigned a careless smile.

"Oh nobody. So hey guys, guess whose big day it is!" Willow leaped up, again alive with birthday cheer. Xander broke into a grin, sharing his friend's overexcited mood.

"That's right! I almost forgot, Ms. Summers turns seventeen today!" He straightened. "And you know what's the tradition, don't ya? The time-honored rite of birthday spanking! You don't want to break with tradition! And I can assist in the non-breaking!" Xander's face went comically expectant. Buffy grinned at her friend's buffoonery.

"Then I guess I can't break with my tradition of kicking ass of any attempt-ers of the aforementioned tradition." Xander's face fell. He backed away with speed.

"Right well, tradition is such an overrated thing anyway."

"So Buffy," Oz spoke up. "Birthday bash tonight at the Bronze, right? A hoot with a little dash of nanny?"

"Yeah I guess. Just us right? I'd like just a little get-together, nothing big. Giles and Ms. Calendar are coming, which already takes over for the lack-of-cool factor, but that's it. I don't want any more guests." Willow twitched guiltily as Buffy said these words, prompting looks of consternation from the birthday gal. Willow tried to muster up an explanation helplessly.

"Not that many more---"

"Willoooow. . . how many more?"

"Just two."

Buffy groaned, already knowing which two she meant. "Willow, please tell me you didn't---"

"I couldn't help it!" exclaimed Willow. "With Giles coming, he told me I couldn't leave out Spike! He wants to keep him included. A-and with Spike comes----"

"Drusilla," Buffy finished for her grimly.

Xander made a face. "Drusilla . . . is it just me, or is that girl just a little too . . . 'Witchy Woman' for anyone's tastes? 'Cause, y'know . . . she's got that . . . 'thing'. You know the thing."

Buffy nodded. "Yeah that 'thing'. That 'thing' being I have no clue what she's talking about most of the time. And there's nothing to her, just dolls and Spike, and dolls and Spike."

"Look, I know Dru is a little . . . eccentric," Willow said generously. "But she's nice and Spike seems to be permanently attached to her at the hip, so it can't be helped."

"And we're dying for Spike's presence because . . . ?"

Willow frowned disapprovingly. "Buffy! I thought you were okay with Spike now. It's been awhile, you said you gotten used to him. Hey, even Dawn likes him!"

"Ugh, don't remind me," Buffy grumbled as she thought of her sister's fixation for Spike.

He had come over to Buffy's house, begrudgingly delivering a book from Giles. As usual, he had handed to her with a hostile air, and looked over his shoulder while doing it, as if he was ignoring her while she was standing right in front him. Dawn had bounded down the stairs and immediately made her presence known. "Who are you?" she asked rudely.

"Dawn!" Buffy tried to shush her threateningly.

Spike looked down at her, amused. "My name's Spike. What's yours?"

"Dawn. Spike. That's a funny name."

"I'm a funny person." He leaned down and did the old quarter-out-the ear trick and held out the shiny quarter out to her. "See? Funny."

Dawn made a face, giving off the impression that she was much too blasé for such childish things. "That's a stupid old trick. I've seen it done a million times before."

Spike was taken aback by her assertive air. "A smart lil' nibblet you are, aren't you," he said, smiling.

She again made a face and giggled. "Nibblet? What a weird thing to say."

"Oh you think I'm weird, do you?"

"No," she smiled widely, her eyes bright. "I think you're nice." Buffy heard that and groaned, knowing the Spike crush-age had begun.

"Don't get me started about Dawn liking Spike," Buffy repeated.

"Well we still have to invite him. Giles asked that he was, he really wants Spike to make more . . . normal friends."

"So he dumps his son into the laps of a slayer and her demon-fighting cronies?" Buffy sighed. "Fine, whatever. Whoever wants to come can. It looks like this will be the best birthday ever . . ."

" . . . Happy birthday, dear Buffy, happy birthday to you! Yay!" Willow joyfully threw a handful of ribbons and confetti in the air, showering Buffy where she was seated at a table in the Bronze, surrounded by her friends. Spike was loitering a few feet away, whispering something to a giggly Drusilla. "Blow out the candles, make a wish!"

Buffy felt like a fool in this cone birthday hat Willow had forced her to don and she eyed the blazing candles despondently. Not likely to come true, she thought. Unless he suddenly showed up out of the middle of nowhere, which isn't likely to happen. I just wish I knew where he was-------

"Buffy!" Willow cried, interrupting her thoughts. "Come on birthday gal, make with the wishes!" Buffy forced a grin at Willow and looked back towards the cake. Closing her eyes, she blew out all the candles in one gust, prompting all to burst into applause. She feigned a gracious smile as everyone, including a reluctant Spike and an indifferent Drusilla, wished her a happy birthday. Willow rushed into a corner and came back, bearing gifts. "Okay it's prezzie time," she announced gleefully, and a mad storm of ripped paper and discarded ribbons and bows proceeded.

She hadn't done too bad this year, present-wise. Willow had gotten her a sweater (the one she had been making nose smudges on the windows of Nordstrom's for), Oz had given her a few CDs he knew she liked ("a little something from the Estrogen side of my music collection," he had said), Xander had given her a necklace, as well as the gag gift of edible panties (which Buffy threw back at him with the evil eye), Ms. Calendar had given her a pair of earrings (dangly ones, engraved with the symbol of her family's Gypsy clan) and Giles had given her a set of centering and healing crystals and an antique, illustrated volume of the Legend of the Slayers (pretty, but glaring reminders of her obligations). "Thank you so much, she said, appreciatively, lost in a sea of colored paper. Suddenly, an unusually subdued Spike appeared, with much nudging by his father, bearing a gift of his own.

"Umm, you forgot one," he mumbled, throwing the box carelessly on the table.

Buffy stared at him in surprise. "You . . . you didn't have to do this, Spike."

Spike tried to shrug flippantly, as if he was even trying to deny he had given a gift. "S'nothing. Just had some stuff lying about the house, figured you'd probably do better with it than me."

"Oh." Buffy was less surprised now. Still, a present from Spike was shock enough. No one could make the mistake, however, that it was a present from Spike, as it was encased in a shoe box, messily wrapped in newspaper and held together by what appeared to be butcher's twine. But when she opened it, she couldn't help but emit a gasp. "Oh wow, this is . . . it's beautiful."

It was a stake made out of bright red wood, glossy and shiny and intricately carved with details of dragons and knights and ornate leaves and flowers on it. The wood itself was knobby and wavy-looking, give the carvings a more impressive air. She looked up from the present to Spike, amazed. "Thank you so much," she whispered.

"Yeah well . . . I whittled it m'self, it's my lucky stake and all."

Buffy was even more astounded. "You're giving me your lucky stake?"

"Well it's just a sodding piece a'wood. It's doesn't mean nothin'. I'm not one for superstition anyway." He rubbed the back of his neck frantically and gazed at the stake uneasily. "But hell, if you don't bloody well like it you can give it back---" He held his hand out, unsuccessful in disclosing his anxious desire not to part with it.

"No!" Buffy automatically held the stake to her chest, still marveling it. "I mean, I love it . . . it's just . . . I can't believe you would give me something that meant so much to . . . that you worked so hard on."

"It was a very generous thing to do," Giles told Spike, laying a hand on his son's shoulder. Spike glowered at him and shrugged him off.

"Sod off, you were the prat who ordered me to give it to her! Doing clean-up and inventory of all my hunting supplies and such!" he yelled. Giles shook his head, indicating that a birthday party was a time that called for tact, but Spike glanced back at Buffy, angry to part with possession. For a moment it looked like Spike was about to demand the return of the stake, but he looked at Buffy in the eyes, stormy blue ones tangling with somber green ones. He suddenly detected a note of sadness there, as if he knew that maybe Buffy needed all the cheering-up she could get on this day. He was surprised that he even cared, but his face softened. He cleared his throat. "Well um, anyway . . . yeah, just make sure you take care of it," he said, less caustically. "And um, just to let you know . . . its name is Mr. Pointy."

Buffy laughed truly for the first time that evening. "It has a name?"

"Well you work damned hard on something, you sometimes feel inclined to give it a name. Y'know . . . fruit of your loins and that sort. Anyway . . . just enjoy it will you? Try not to break it or splinter it in some damned beastie's chest?"

Buffy nodded, serious this time, seeing something in his eyes that was gentler than usual. "Thanks Spike. I will." He nodded back at her awkwardly and shuffled away, back to Drusilla.

"You give away Mr. Pointy?" Buffy could hear Drusilla whining to Spike. "That was Miss Edith's favorite playmate!" She was stamping her foot like a petulant child as Spike tried to mollify her. "And I thought I you carved that specially for me! The black orchid carvings----that's MY flower!"

"Look ducks, I had to. It was the git's birthday and all----"

"But I thought that stake was you're most prized possession-----besides me, that is!" she added skittishly.

"Baby, it was just a piece of wood. And besides, the girl's havin' a crummy birthday in the first place, look. She doesn't deserve that." He gazed back at her while Drusilla gave an indifferent scowl. Buffy was pretending not to hear them, instead focusing intently on the empty space in front of her. She was slightly smiling at Spike's words though. Spike, of all people, acknowledging what everyone else failed to see this evening and showing her a sign of kindness. Spike! And kindness! In the same sentence! It was enough to garner another true smile from Buffy for the second time this evening. "I mean, even dumb blondes deserve a good birthday," Spike added. Her mouth flattened back into a line quickly. Of course. Couldn't count on that boy for more than seven seconds of decency. She turned quickly, despite her show of pretending to not listen, and meet briefly with Spike's eyes. Again, a soft, uncharacteristic look was there, in spite of what he just send. She softened and found his brief look comforting, and at the same time unsettling, as if it was impossible to stay angry if you really looked at Spike. For an unintentional moment, she almost forgot she was even staring at Spike, she was so absorbed in the glance, as he seemed to be. So she hurriedly broke the gaze and Spike walked with Drusilla out to the dance floor.

Buffy sighed, absently playing with a stray piece of birthday ribbon as she sat, hands cradling her head disconsolately. Here she was, the girl of the hour, sitting alone in the Bronze looking as if her dog had been run over. She scanned the club for her friends, undoubtedly having a much better time than she was. Looking to her left, she saw Giles and Ms. Calendar conversing and laughing quietly over two cups of steaming lattes. To her right, Willow and Oz were cozied up on the couch, whispering and smiling softly at each other. In front of her, Spike and Drusilla were on the dance floor, slow dancing. Even Xander was halfway marching on the Couples Parade as he was struggling to mack on a girl near the pool table who only looked mildly disgusted.

"Seventeen, and already I'm hopelessly alone," she mumbled fretfully to herself, her face curling into a frown. What if it stays this way? What if I've already met who I'm supposed to be with and I just let him get away? Her face went aghast as she pondered the most horrifying thought. What if I die a virgin?! . . . Should I just save years of heartache and become a nun now? A sudden shake of the shoulder was enough to draw her out of her thoughts.

"Buffy, you okay?" Willow, as usual. Her face was full concern, but Buffy got up agitatedly from her chair.

"Ummm, actually I'm not feeling good," she said, donning a sickly, downcast face as she began rubbing her stomach in pseudo pain. "Must be something I ate. I-I think I'm just gonna jet."

Willow shook her head furiously with dismay. "Buffy! You can't leave! I-it's your birthday party, you can't leave your own birthday party. W-we're having so much fun!"

Buffy wondered how blind with best-friend enthusiasm Willow must have been, because it had been painfully clear just exactly how much fun she wasn't having. "I know," she lied instead. "It's a great party, it's just . . . I'm just not feeling so good, okay?" She said it sharper than intended and Willow was a bit taken aback.

"Well o-okay, if you really aren't feeling so good, just call me tomorrow and----"

But Buffy had already turned away and was rushing towards to the door.

She didn't go home. Instead she was here, stepping over cracked lumber and ravaged splinters of wood as she crossed through the thresh hold. She stopped and peered across the blank room, taking a teary sigh. Brushing the tears from her cheeks, she took a step into the room, edging near the sparse bed. Reaching down with one hand, she smoothed down the rumpled sheets wistfully, as if she was trying to get the essence of the one who used to sleep here from them. Shaking and weary, she carefully lowered herself onto the bed and wrapped herself in the blankets, noting how everything enveloping her still carried his distinctive scent. But then a strangled grunt and a sudden noise made her spring up and glance around the room quickly. She stopped when her eye caught a raggedy, bruised, hopelessly filthy figure standing in the doorway. His hair was dangling in his brown eyes that seemed filled with pain. And her heart skipped a beat and she gasped with unnecessary quickness.

"Oh my God. Angel."