Disclaimers: This isn't mine, not at all. Though I wish it were.
Feedback: Everyone that gives me feedback can have a cookie. The double chocolate chip kind.
Author's Note: Thanks to everyone for their kind comments. I feel so evil for leaving all of you at a cliffhanger like that, but it had to be done. Because . . . umm, I'm sick and twisted and like to make you suffer (but not for too long). Enjoy the upcoming Spuffiness!
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She listened intently, running her hands over the wall in an attempt to find the light switch.
'Aha!' she thought, as her fingers hit the switch on the wall. She flicked it on immediately, a bright yellow light flooding the room.
A loud: "Surprise!" echoed throughout the house as her four friends jumped up from behind the living room couch, grinning widely.
"Ah!" she cried, stepping backwards and tripping over the table in the middle of the living room.
Willow ran over to her, worry on her face, reaching a hand out to help Buffy up.
"Buffy, are you okay?"
Her hands shook as she brushed the hair out of her face.
"Wh-what were you guys doing?" she asked, her voice shaking, "Why were y- you waiting like that?"
Willow frowned, furrowing her brow. "Don't you remember what day it is?"
Buffy sat up, rubbing her sore backside. "What, 'Give Buffy a heart attack' day?
"Is that a holiday?" Anya queried.
"Buffy . . . it's your birthday."
She arched a slender eyebrow, confused. "Huh? Are you sure it's my birthday? I think I would've remembered that."
Xander turned to her. "It's been on the calendar for weeks, Buff. Granted, we've only been planning this for days, but still . . . you really don't remember your own birthday?"
Buffy blushed, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson. "I-I guess not, if it really is my birthday today. My mind has kind of been . . . preoccupied."
"Are you okay, Buffy? You've been acting pretty strange lately. Spacey."
"I'm fine. I mean . . . college is stressful. But things are getting better, I think."
Willow smiled warily. "Okay, as long as you're all right. And, um, sorry about that almost giving you a heart attack thing."
She smiled back, trying not to show her shock at not remembering her own birthday. "Well, I see balloons, and streamers, and cake . . . but where's the presents? I don't see any . . . I guess they could be really small. And good things come in small packages: money, jewelry . . . Buffy."
Xander grinned, shoving his hands into his pockets. "We all figured that since Giles' place isn't exactly party central that we'd move it on over to the Bronze. Your presents are there."
Her face lit up in a genuine smile; she had wanted to spend some quality time with her friends, lately, where she could just forget her troubles for an hour or two. "Dance party? I'm all for it . . . just let me get my coat."
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They showed up at the Bronze at 9 p.m., and it was packed. The dance floor was jam-packed with a sea of writhing, sweaty bodies bumping and grinding to the dance music provided by the live band.
Xander led the way to a corner booth behind a table covered with presents. Buffy grinned, sitting lightly on the cracked red vinyl.
"Are these all for me?"
Xander smiled sheepishly. "Well, Anya did want to take about half of them for herself, but-"
"Hey!" Anya squealed, jabbing Xander in the chest with her elbow. "You promised not to talk about that!"
Buffy grabbed the first present next to her, and shook it roughly.
"So, what's in here?"
A sound of broken glass tinkled and she set the present down, embarrassed.
"I guess I'll just save that one for last."
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After all of the presents had been opened, Buffy sat in the afterglow of the unwrapping fury. She smiled at her friends and at the pile of new things next to her.
"Everything's so great, you guys, thank you. This is the best birthday I've ever had without knowing I was having a birthday!"
"Come again?" Xander asked, confused.
"I think that means she had a good time," Willow said, smiling. "And I'm glad that you liked it."
"But you know, all of that present opening made me thirsty. I'm gonna go get a drink. Anyone want anything?" Buffy asked.
She made her way to the Bronze's bar to make her order, taking a seat on the barstool. The skinny bartender turned to her, placing her hands on her hips.
"Whadda ya want?" she asked, grumpily.
"Umm, two Cokes and a Mountain Dew."
The woman turned her back to her, grumbling something about 'damn teenagers'. Buffy sighed, tapping her fingers on the counter impatiently.
"Rough night?" came the question from the man next to her, the one sipping from a dull silver flask.
"Look, I really don't feel like . . . Spike!" She yipped, finally having gotten a glimpse of the man's face. The chiseled cheekbones and striking hair were unmistakable.
He grinned at her before taking another swig. "Don't look so shocked, luv."
"W-what are you doing here? Are you stalking me?" As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretting them.
Spike's mood soured at her accusation, and he turned away from her.
"I -have- a life outside of you, you know. Just 'cause I happen to be in the same place at the same time, doesn't mean that I'm followin' you. S'not like you found me hangin' around your house or something."
"Right, I-"
"And -I- was the one that said we should get some space. So why would I be stalkin' you now? Doesn't make any bloody sense, if you really think about it."
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry."
Spike arched his eyebrow; Buffy could practically hear the gears in his brain working.
"So what are -you- doing here?" he asked, finally, "Maybe you're the one doin' the fatal attraction bit."
"It's my birthday." She said, shrugging. "I'm celebrating."
"Really? So how olds' the birthday girl? Late thirties?" He teased.
"No!" she squeaked, "I'm nineteen!"
He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Sorry, sorry. I'm just sayin' . . . you must've had a hard life, if you're only nineteen and you look like -that-. What with all the wrinkles around the eyes."
"Oh, yeah, keep talking, old man," she countered, "Is that a bald-patch I see? Yes . . . all that bleach must be killing your follicles."
Spike's eyes widened, as he groped at his hair. "What? Where?"
Buffy barely restrained a giggle, her mouth curved up into a smile. His eyes narrowed, and he dropped his hands to his side. "Right, right. Very funny, you got me. Make jokes at the vampire with no reflection."
"Ah, you're no fun," she pouted, "Play the reflection card and get me feeling all guilty."
They sat in awkward silence, Buffy staring into her red, plastic cup of Coke, watching the bubbles rise and pop at the surface. Spike cleared his throat, fingering the flask.
"I've missed you," he said, finally.
"I - I've missed you, too," she choked out, surprised at her words.
"You did?" He asked, arching his eyebrow.
"Yeah . . . I guess I did."
The band began playing a slow song and Buffy found her gaze wandering to the drinks. 'Drinks . . . oh, man, they must be wondering where I went. I should've returned ten minutes ago!'
"Look, Spike, I've gotta -"
"I understand, Slayer," Spike said, not bothering to look up from the counter. "You've got friends to tend to."
She rised herself off of the vinyl barstool, balancing the cups in her arms.
"Buffy?"
She turned to look at Spike, who was still sitting with his head down.
"Happy birthday."
Buffy looked down at the drinks in her hands, and set them on the counter. 'It's not like they're going to go flat if I leave them for a minute.'
"Spike?"
He turned to her, his face questioning.
"May I have this dance?"
Spike looked confused, his eyes cloudy. "But I thought we were going to -"
"Dancing doesn't constitute kissing, does it? Besides," she added, "it's my birthday. This could be your present to me."
He nodded, getting out of his seat and taking Buffy's out-stretched hand, leading her to the dance floor.
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To be continued . . .
Feedback: Everyone that gives me feedback can have a cookie. The double chocolate chip kind.
Author's Note: Thanks to everyone for their kind comments. I feel so evil for leaving all of you at a cliffhanger like that, but it had to be done. Because . . . umm, I'm sick and twisted and like to make you suffer (but not for too long). Enjoy the upcoming Spuffiness!
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She listened intently, running her hands over the wall in an attempt to find the light switch.
'Aha!' she thought, as her fingers hit the switch on the wall. She flicked it on immediately, a bright yellow light flooding the room.
A loud: "Surprise!" echoed throughout the house as her four friends jumped up from behind the living room couch, grinning widely.
"Ah!" she cried, stepping backwards and tripping over the table in the middle of the living room.
Willow ran over to her, worry on her face, reaching a hand out to help Buffy up.
"Buffy, are you okay?"
Her hands shook as she brushed the hair out of her face.
"Wh-what were you guys doing?" she asked, her voice shaking, "Why were y- you waiting like that?"
Willow frowned, furrowing her brow. "Don't you remember what day it is?"
Buffy sat up, rubbing her sore backside. "What, 'Give Buffy a heart attack' day?
"Is that a holiday?" Anya queried.
"Buffy . . . it's your birthday."
She arched a slender eyebrow, confused. "Huh? Are you sure it's my birthday? I think I would've remembered that."
Xander turned to her. "It's been on the calendar for weeks, Buff. Granted, we've only been planning this for days, but still . . . you really don't remember your own birthday?"
Buffy blushed, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson. "I-I guess not, if it really is my birthday today. My mind has kind of been . . . preoccupied."
"Are you okay, Buffy? You've been acting pretty strange lately. Spacey."
"I'm fine. I mean . . . college is stressful. But things are getting better, I think."
Willow smiled warily. "Okay, as long as you're all right. And, um, sorry about that almost giving you a heart attack thing."
She smiled back, trying not to show her shock at not remembering her own birthday. "Well, I see balloons, and streamers, and cake . . . but where's the presents? I don't see any . . . I guess they could be really small. And good things come in small packages: money, jewelry . . . Buffy."
Xander grinned, shoving his hands into his pockets. "We all figured that since Giles' place isn't exactly party central that we'd move it on over to the Bronze. Your presents are there."
Her face lit up in a genuine smile; she had wanted to spend some quality time with her friends, lately, where she could just forget her troubles for an hour or two. "Dance party? I'm all for it . . . just let me get my coat."
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They showed up at the Bronze at 9 p.m., and it was packed. The dance floor was jam-packed with a sea of writhing, sweaty bodies bumping and grinding to the dance music provided by the live band.
Xander led the way to a corner booth behind a table covered with presents. Buffy grinned, sitting lightly on the cracked red vinyl.
"Are these all for me?"
Xander smiled sheepishly. "Well, Anya did want to take about half of them for herself, but-"
"Hey!" Anya squealed, jabbing Xander in the chest with her elbow. "You promised not to talk about that!"
Buffy grabbed the first present next to her, and shook it roughly.
"So, what's in here?"
A sound of broken glass tinkled and she set the present down, embarrassed.
"I guess I'll just save that one for last."
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After all of the presents had been opened, Buffy sat in the afterglow of the unwrapping fury. She smiled at her friends and at the pile of new things next to her.
"Everything's so great, you guys, thank you. This is the best birthday I've ever had without knowing I was having a birthday!"
"Come again?" Xander asked, confused.
"I think that means she had a good time," Willow said, smiling. "And I'm glad that you liked it."
"But you know, all of that present opening made me thirsty. I'm gonna go get a drink. Anyone want anything?" Buffy asked.
She made her way to the Bronze's bar to make her order, taking a seat on the barstool. The skinny bartender turned to her, placing her hands on her hips.
"Whadda ya want?" she asked, grumpily.
"Umm, two Cokes and a Mountain Dew."
The woman turned her back to her, grumbling something about 'damn teenagers'. Buffy sighed, tapping her fingers on the counter impatiently.
"Rough night?" came the question from the man next to her, the one sipping from a dull silver flask.
"Look, I really don't feel like . . . Spike!" She yipped, finally having gotten a glimpse of the man's face. The chiseled cheekbones and striking hair were unmistakable.
He grinned at her before taking another swig. "Don't look so shocked, luv."
"W-what are you doing here? Are you stalking me?" As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretting them.
Spike's mood soured at her accusation, and he turned away from her.
"I -have- a life outside of you, you know. Just 'cause I happen to be in the same place at the same time, doesn't mean that I'm followin' you. S'not like you found me hangin' around your house or something."
"Right, I-"
"And -I- was the one that said we should get some space. So why would I be stalkin' you now? Doesn't make any bloody sense, if you really think about it."
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry."
Spike arched his eyebrow; Buffy could practically hear the gears in his brain working.
"So what are -you- doing here?" he asked, finally, "Maybe you're the one doin' the fatal attraction bit."
"It's my birthday." She said, shrugging. "I'm celebrating."
"Really? So how olds' the birthday girl? Late thirties?" He teased.
"No!" she squeaked, "I'm nineteen!"
He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Sorry, sorry. I'm just sayin' . . . you must've had a hard life, if you're only nineteen and you look like -that-. What with all the wrinkles around the eyes."
"Oh, yeah, keep talking, old man," she countered, "Is that a bald-patch I see? Yes . . . all that bleach must be killing your follicles."
Spike's eyes widened, as he groped at his hair. "What? Where?"
Buffy barely restrained a giggle, her mouth curved up into a smile. His eyes narrowed, and he dropped his hands to his side. "Right, right. Very funny, you got me. Make jokes at the vampire with no reflection."
"Ah, you're no fun," she pouted, "Play the reflection card and get me feeling all guilty."
They sat in awkward silence, Buffy staring into her red, plastic cup of Coke, watching the bubbles rise and pop at the surface. Spike cleared his throat, fingering the flask.
"I've missed you," he said, finally.
"I - I've missed you, too," she choked out, surprised at her words.
"You did?" He asked, arching his eyebrow.
"Yeah . . . I guess I did."
The band began playing a slow song and Buffy found her gaze wandering to the drinks. 'Drinks . . . oh, man, they must be wondering where I went. I should've returned ten minutes ago!'
"Look, Spike, I've gotta -"
"I understand, Slayer," Spike said, not bothering to look up from the counter. "You've got friends to tend to."
She rised herself off of the vinyl barstool, balancing the cups in her arms.
"Buffy?"
She turned to look at Spike, who was still sitting with his head down.
"Happy birthday."
Buffy looked down at the drinks in her hands, and set them on the counter. 'It's not like they're going to go flat if I leave them for a minute.'
"Spike?"
He turned to her, his face questioning.
"May I have this dance?"
Spike looked confused, his eyes cloudy. "But I thought we were going to -"
"Dancing doesn't constitute kissing, does it? Besides," she added, "it's my birthday. This could be your present to me."
He nodded, getting out of his seat and taking Buffy's out-stretched hand, leading her to the dance floor.
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To be continued . . .