CHAPTER THREE
Travis and Dawn enter the silent apartment hand in hand. Spike's car was not in the lot there were no lights on from the outside. But still, as they walk in, she feels the need to call for them just in case they are having an intimate moment in their bedroom.
"Well, I guess they haven't gotten back from the mall yet," Dawn says with a smile.
"So we're alone?" Travis asks, moving closer to her.
"Yep. All alone."
The awkwardness of the moment envelopes them both for just a second. It is not often that they find themselves alone. They are always either with the gang at the library or here in the apartment with Spike playing the watchful chaperone, sometimes even sitting between them on the sofa while they're watching television. With the lights out and their youthful hormones raging to be unleashed, Dawn laces her fingers with Travis' and leads him over to the sofa.
Travis gave Dawn her first real kiss. It occurred the night after the fall formal, on the dance floor, to Creed's "With Arms Wide Open." She knew that if he was going to kiss her, it was going to be then. She remembers how his eyes darkened as he leaned into her and how her heart pounded inside of her. She was embarrassed, really, that her excitement was so audible. His lips were so warm over hers and his hands traveled up and down her back as he drew her closer and closer. She was startled when his tongue danced across the underside of her top lip and even more so when it found its way inside her mouth, but she accepted it and thought with a girlish giggle in her head, "So this is frenching…"
They sit on the edge of the sofa, staring ahead into the darkness before finally turning to each other. Dawn reaches out to smooth back Travis' ever-unruly blond locks from his forehead and his hand goes to her brown tresses as well. She loves it when he runs his hands through her hair. She inclines his head to his, looking up into his lash-laden stare. His lips brush hers very gently and she closes her eyes. His arms go around her and she falls against the cushion of the sofa, allowing him to lay his torso on top of hers. As he kisses her, she threads her fingers through his hair. His hands are now roving over her shoulders, down her arms.
"So, Dawn," he says, kissing her down the side of her face. "How are Spike and Buffy these days?"
Dawn freezes in his arms and regards him curiously. This is the last question she expects to hear from him in such a passionate embrace. "They're fine. Why?"
"I was just wondering. They seem like such a cool couple."
"They are a cool couple. But I'll let you in on a little secret. Mentioning my sister and her boyfriend while we're kissing? Big mood killer," Dawn intones threateningly.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—
"No worries," she replies, rubbing her nose against his. "I'll let you off with a warning this time."
They are kissing again as they hear the locks being undone at the door. A shared panic goes through them like a bolt of electricity.
"Oh, God…" Dawn says, springing up from the sofa. She quickly rearranges her shirt and smoothes down her mussed hair. She is turning on the lamp just as Buffy and Spike cross the threshold.
"Hi!" Dawn says brightly as her sister's questioning gaze peruses the room like a searchlight.
"Hey," Buffy says slowly, noting the darkness in the room and Travis' huddled position on the sofa. "What are you guys doing?"
"We were just…um…we were watching TV and there was nothing on…so we turned it off. Just before you came in," Dawn explains, twitching nervously under her sister's knowing glare.
"Uh huh," Buffy says.
Dawn notices that Spike's nostrils are flaring as he looks about the room. Her heart begins to pound. Oh, God! He knows! He can smell it!
"I'd better be going," Travis says, moving off the sofa and closing in on the door. "Mom will be expecting me."
There's something about that phrase that strikes Spike as being a bit familiar. He doesn't exactly know why…He shrugs it off and makes his way past the trio in the living room and heads for the bedroom, finding it hard to fight the impulse to grab Travis by the neck and squeeze the life out of him any longer. Making out in my home with my Nibblet. I'll dream about killing the bastard tonight…
Shortly Buffy does join him in the bedroom. He is lying on their bed, his hands behind his head, the Christmas gifts still bagged and on the floor when he told Buffy he would put them away. Annoyed, she takes up the task herself.
As she is stuffing the gifts into the closet, she says, "Honey, do you have something to do tonight?"
"Not really," he answers.
"Um…could you have something to do tonight?"
Spike rouses himself from his prostrate position slightly and props his head up on his outstretched hand. "Why? What's going on?"
Buffy smoothes her hands down her slight hips and purses her lips. "I really, really need to have some sort of talk with Dawn tonight."
"What? About her and Travis playing out a Marcy Playground song in the living room?"
"Exactly. Things are getting a little too hot and heavy between the two of them a little too fast. The last thing we need is for her to come home pregnant one day."
"Well, sweetheart, I did smell full arousal in there, but I didn't smell the aftermath of a geyser gusher."
"Yeah, but it's only a matter of time," Buffy says, gathering more gifts to hide in the closet. The most obvious place for hidden gifts, but the only place in a two bedroom apartment.
"You sure you don't want me around for back-up?"
"No, I think having you here would just embarrass her."
"Too right," Spike concedes, jumping up from the bed. "Well, I'll find something to do, I suppose. Perhaps there's a game of kitten poker on somewhere."
"Kitten poker?" Buffy asks, thinking that in all her life she has never heard those two words so close together in a sentence. "I hope that's a euphemism for something."
"Sadly, no," Spike says, grabbing his duster. "But it's all I got now. And if I win any kittens, I promise I'll either set them free or give them to worthy street urchins who would otherwise have empty stockings this Christmas."
There are no games of kitten poker this night.
Spike has no other course but to result to plan B. B standing for the Bronze.
The band plays a slow song heavy on the effects from the Casio organ the keyboardest plays as though he has opened an early Christmas gift and is just getting used to the keys. The bands have been a miserable lot lately. He hasn't heard any good music since a alt band from Fresno played Blink 182 songs one night. He is ashamed that he likes the trio of would-be punkers whose gimmick is to run around naked on stage, but he has found some value in their tunes, something that reminds him of the three chord perfection of garage bands past.
He goes to the bar and orders something out of the ordinary for him. A whisky. Neat.
The bartender knows him by sight and nods to him as he pours the drink. "How's Carla tonight?"
"Carla's fine," Spike replies, rifling through Buffy's tip money sandwiched between the leather of his wallet. "Looks like she did well last night."
The bartender shakes his head. "I'd never say it to her face, but Buffy's the best thing to happen to this dive since that Troll wrecked the place."
As Spike hands him three dollar bills, he decides to take what the bartender has said as a compliment to his lady. It is a much better bar now. Except for the extinction of the blooming onion. There has to be some way to bring that back.
Spike walks away from the bar, shoving his change into the interior pocket of his duster. As he is doing this, a brutish shoulder brushes against his.
"Hey! What's it?" Spike says indignantly. Then he sees the person who has bumped into him. Harris. "Oh. One of those happy coincidences."
"Spike?" is all Xander says.
"No, Bob Saget. But I get that all the time."
Xander's lower lip curls in a near-sneer if he were cool enough to pull off such an expression. "Look, don't bother me tonight. I'm not in the mood."
"And you expect me to wait for a night when you want to be bothered? Harris, I may be immortal, but I am terribly impatient."
"Don't you have something else to do tonight?," Xander says, with arms crossed.
"I suppose I could crack open your cranium and hold you hostage. Oops! Been there, done that, would have gotten the tee shirt, if I could have screen printed 'Xander and Willow Hostagefest 1998' in a timely manner."
"Yeah. Real funny, Spike. Makes me wish we were better friends."
"That was the worst scheme I ever tried to pull off. If Buffy hadn't been so into Poof Daddy, she would have known I had you and Will chained up in the factory. But at least it gave you a chance to get cozy with Red. Hey! Maybe that's why she became a muff diver. Ever think about that?"
Xander slices two hands through the space in front of him. "If you only knew what I've been through this evening…Nah, forget it. You'd only use it to your advantage in your continuous piss off Xander quest."
"Aww, Harris. Something wrong? You know I'm always here for you," Spike says, nearly giving into laughter as his mock earnestness leaves Xander momentarily flustered.
"Well, you're always here," Xander says.
"Yeah? You too. I think we're what they call regulars." Spike takes a sip of his drink. "Where's your screamin' demon lover tonight?"
"If you're referring to my fiancée, she's at the Magic Box helping Giles with end-of-the-year inventory. What about your infinitely better half?"
"Home. Practicing some parental guidance with the Nibblet. We're the only Scoobies about tonight."
"Since when did you become a Scooby?"
"I think sleeping with the Slayer qualifies me for full-Scooby status." Spike cocks his head to one side. "Join me for a drink?"
Xander shrugs. "Might as well. The day couldn't get any worse."
"Ho ho, my friend," Spike chortles. "You've been a Scooby longer than I have. You should know better than to say thing like that. Things can get a lot worse and they usually do."
Dawn is in the living room watching TV when Buffy pulls out the wrapping paper and tape from the space over the washer and dryers. She peers around the division between the hall and the living room, finding Dawn nearly comatose in front of a much-repeated Behind the Music episode.
"Dawnie?" Buffy says. "You want to help me wrap?"
Dawn remains silent for a few minutes, staring with sudden interest at the screen. She rises, putting an index finger up in the air. "One second. I think this band is just about to discover that their dreams of success are becoming a nightmare."
"Well, when you're done Journey'ing, will you join me in the kitchen? I could use some help with prezzie wrapping."
"Is it lecture time?" Dawn asks warily.
"No. Prezzie wrapping time."
"OK," Dawn says, getting up from the sofa in slow puppet movements. If this isn't lecture time, I will eat the wrapping paper, and maybe a bow or two.
Buffy places a white shirt box on top of the underside of the wrapping paper and judges how much slack she will need to cover the right hand side without neglecting the left. Finally satisfied with her guesswork, she slices into the paper with the scissors.
"You can fill out the name tag," Buffy says. "This one's for Spike."
"Is it the silk robe?" Dawn asks.
"Well, silken. 100% polyester. But I tore off the tag."
"Four out of five vampires can't tell the difference," Dawn says, taking up a tag and filling it out with a black felt tip pen.
"So, um…" Buffy says, stuffing the ends of the paper into a neat triangle, "did you get Travis something for Christmas?"
"Yeah. Just a little something. He wanted the latest NOW collection, so I got it for him," Dawn says, beginning to realize that she won't be munching on paper anytime soon.
"And is he getting you something?"
"I guess. We are boyfriend and girlfriend. 'Tis the season."
"So you guys are in the gift-giving stage. Must be getting kind of serious," Buffy says, cutting the other end of the paper and nodding to Dawn for some tape.
"Yeah. We're serious," Dawn says, giving Buffy a two-inch length of tape.
"So you're dating exclusively?" Buffy asks, accepting the tape.
"Yeah. Why?" Dawn asks, knowing that the lecture will commence now.
Buffy pastes the tape to the side of the box and pauses. The parent in her doesn't want to come out now. Buffy knows that long ago her mother did tell Dawn about the birds and the bees. Right after the Angel incident. But did she really? She remembers the muted talk from the hall. Dawn saying "ew." Dawn promising, "If that's what it's like, I don't wanna do it. That's just yucky!"
"Dawnie," Buffy says. She catches Dawn's hand and semi-smiles. "Dawn. Remember when you found out Spike and I had slept together?"
"Found out? I was kind of in the audience," Dawn says, staring down at her tape.
"Well, yeah. But the morning after. What I told you. About two adult people coming together?"
"Yes, I remember that," Dawn nods, eyes still cast downward.
"You're only sixteen years old. You've got your whole life ahead of you. I just don't want you to waste it---
"Look, Buffy, Travis and I do make-out. But that's all. I swear."
Buffy relaxes her shoulders a bit. "But if things get a little steamy one night---
"We won't do it. Not yet. But if we do it, I will ask him to wear a condom. I mean, it's not just pregnancy now that's the big threat. There's AIDS and clymidia and all that. I guess that's the advantage of dating a vampire. No pregnancy, no disease."
Something hugs Buffy from within. Her empty womb…She never even recognized its existence until that day when she saw the strollers go by. It would certainly not be wise to conceive a child as a Slayer, with all the hazards of the job. She doesn't have to worry about conception. Spike's swimmers are dead. She feels them, cold, pooling inside of her when they make love, but they shove off and butterfly in the opposite direction.
"I'll never have his child," Buffy says, more to herself than to anyone else.
"Does that bother you?" Dawn asks.
Buffy is surprised that Dawn answers her. She demurs, putting the final tapings on the package at hand. "Sometimes."
"But if you could have his baby, would you?" Dawn asks.
This is not something Buffy expects from her little sister. But it is a question she has asked herself. It's always a resounding yes. She would love to have the chance of feeling a life they created together growing and kicking inside of her. Someday. She is not ready for it yet. But someday, when she is older, perhaps…
"I knew that Angel and I could never have a baby together," Buffy says, in a ghost voice as she places the name tag on the present. "But I was a teenager then. I thought we were forever. It didn't bother me then that I couldn't have a child with him. But now with Spike…"
"It's different?" Dawn offers.
Buffy caresses the name tag. To: Spike From: Buffy and Dawn. "Yeah. It's different."
Spike is ordering his third whisky when Xander comes back from the bathroom. And he finds the seat he was occupying has been taken.
"Thanks for saving my seat," Xander says, noting also that his beer is gone.
"Sorry. This bloke asked me if someone was sitting there and I said no because you were in the gents. Besides, you didn't ask me to save your seat."
"Yes I did! I remember very clearly saying, 'Spike, would you mind keeping my seat for me?'"
"Must not have heard you over the noise."
"I thought vampires were supposed to have super hearing?"
"Depends on what's being said," Spike replies, regarding the amber liquid in his glass before taking a sip. "But I must say. You don't take as long in the bog as the Slayer does."
"I think that's a universal girl thing. Anya is a big time bathroom enthusiast too."
"You know, I just don't get it. I swear that Buffy and Dawn have some sort of Batcave buried in the walls of the bathroom at home. They go in there and disappear for hours on end."
Xander shakes his head. "I have no clue what Anya does when that door shuts but her prep time for bed is almost at the hour mark now. I have a feeling it has to do with all those jars and vials she picks up every time she goes to the mall. She said she never worried about the aging process when she was a vengeance demon, but now she's very concerned."
Spike nods knowingly. "I once tried to spend an hour in the bathroom, just to see what all the fuss was about. I've never been so bored in all my life. The time I spent dead and buried was scads more entertaining than that. Granted, I'm probably missing out on at least one aspect of the experience. You know---the whole mirror thing---but still. When I'm in there, I take my shower, I clean both sets of teeth, maybe sprinkle on a bit of cologne if Buffy and I are sorting out for the evening, and then I'm done."
"Oh! And if you dare to spend more than twenty minutes in there---
"Hell and damnation! Of course, in my household I'm out-numbered. I don't dare go over my allotted time with both the Slayer and the Nibblet around."
The patron beside Spike sees a familiar face in the crows and takes his leave. Xander quickly reclaims his seat and flips through the contents of his wallet to pay for another beer. After the beer is poured and paid for, the two men sit in silence, listening to the band and nibbling on the complimentary peanuts on the bar. After a while, Xander breaks up the monotony.
"So, Spike," he begins, "What is your standard answer to the age-old, 'Do I look fat in these jeans?' question?"
Spike grimaces slightly as he takes a sip of his drink. "There is no answer to that question. If you say no, they think you're lying and if you say yes, well, that just about puts them in rehab."
Xander slams a hand down on the bar. "Exactly! And there's no way Buffy or Anya could ever look fat in anything."
"I'd sort of like to see Buffy with a little more flesh on her bones. A bit more like she was when she was still in high school. But as long as she keeps insisting on cooking for herself, I don't see that happening. I'm all but on the dole paying for Dawn's after dinner snacks. I'll take her to the library and she'll say, 'Spike, can you run me by Jack N' the Box? That noodle stuff Buffy made was kind of icky.'"
"So three years after Sunnydale High, Buffy's still failing home ec?"
"Miserably. But she makes up for all her failings in the kitchen in the bedroom," Spike says with a teasing smile. He reaches into his interior pocket for his cigarettes. "A little fire engine, she is. She does this wonderful little thing right after sex. Blows my mind every time. She'll take me in her mouth because she loves to taste herself on that particular part of my anatomy. She'll just start licking away, cleaning every bit of her off me until there's nothing but me again. But she doesn't stop there. She just keeps on licking away until I'm thrusting into her mouth, all the way to the back of her throat. And…Oh!" Spike flips open his lighter, taps the end of the cigarette to the flame and gives it a satisfying puff. "I'm on my way to my second happy."
Through the curl of the smoke, Spike sees Xander's absolutely awe-struck expression. His mouth forms a perfect O and his dark eyes appear to be glazing over from second hand arousal. Just when Spike thinks that Xander has gone into some sort of shock, he speaks.
"Wow. You mean…you mean you can…you can get that way so soon after…after…"
Spike takes another puff. "One of the many advantages of being undead, mate. But it usually doesn't end there. After she's had me in her mouth, she wants me to return the favor. Turn about is fair play and all. So I go down on her, chasin' down my lads with my tongue, returning them to the fold, so to speak. And before long she's holdin' my head down there and screamin' and beggin' me not to stop. And then…" Spike scrapes a wayward shred of tobacco from his extended tongue. "Buffy taste in my mouth."
"You don't have to," Xander looks around to see if anyone is listening before saying in a hushed voice, "use any fingers or anything?"
"All in the tongue, mate. All in the tongue," Spike says, licking his lips for added affect. "But then, of course, she usually wants me inside of her after that. And then it's all déjà vu after that."
"So your average sex session lasts about…what, six hours?"
"Six, seven. Sometimes eight."
"Eight? Eight hours of sex?" Xander says in a near squeal of incredulity that catches the interest of a previously indifferent couple sitting next to them. Xander mutes his voice. "How?"
"Well it's all fairly simple, Harris. I'm a vampire, she's a vampire Slayer. She's engineered to go head to head with the likes of me. We have similar stamina, similar strengths."
"I see," Xander says, still in thrall. "No wonder she only dates the forever young and the pulse-less. We warm-bloods just can't compete."
"Well," Spike says, exhaling a gust of smoke. "Become a vampire. We're always looking for new recruits."
Xander looks as though for a minute he is considering this. But then he smirks as the reality of what Spike has said sinks in. "Nah. I keep my girl satisfied. You'll never hear any complaints from her in that department. Why else would she be marrying me?"
"Yeah," Spike says with a slight smile. "Why else?"
Spike gulps down the last of his whisky and Xander is ready for another beer as well. They both order their drinks and sink down into wordlessness. The band onstage takes a break and piped in music floods the bar. The instantly recognizable drum taps of the beginning of AC/DC's "Back in Black" bleat from the speakers overhead and Spike, a little inebriated, can't help playing a little dork air guitar as the guitar part commences. He is not too worried because he is in the company of a man whom he considers the essence of all things nebbish. Spike takes another swig, finishing it to his dismay. He quickly orders another. His head is slightly woozy. He skipped his blood feast before he left the apartment that night. Buffy bought a fresh batch of swine blood from the butcher that very day. He gulped down a pint at lunch, but had nothing for dinner. He realizes his error now. His stomach is growling and the liquor is going straight to his head. He wonders if the buffalo wings have any blood in them. The sauce is red…
He thinks about the afternoon spent at the mall. The gallery of jewels in front of his lady love. She could have had any one of them, if she had just said the word. And he would have proposed to her, if she had just realized that was what he was saying. But
there were baby carriages in the way and too many distant thoughts about later years. He felt she glimpsed at her future that afternoon and really did want to see him in it. But she couldn't see him in the mirror. She never would.
"So tell me," Spike begins, "How did you do it?"
"Well, at first, Anya was kind of demanding and wanted to be on top all the time. But then, eventually, we got to the point where we could do it missionary and even side by side---
"Harris, I wasn't asking for the Masters and Johnson of your sex life. A bit of clarification here. How did you ask shop girl to marry you?"
"Oh, that. Well, it was just us, in the basement of the Magic Shop and I had been wanting to ask her for the longest time and we found each other alone and she saw a stuffed bunny so she was vulnerable. That's about it."
"But how did you ask her? Did you just sort of slip the proposal into polite conversation or did you just spring it on her all at once?"
"I just showed her the ring. The explanation came later. Why?" Xander's eyes widen and he begins to point an agitated finger Spike's way. "Oh! Oh! You're going to ask Buffy to marry you!"
Suddenly finding himself in found out mode, Spike cowers over his fresh whisky and mumbles, "Maybe."
"No! You are! You're going to ask Buffy to marry you!" Xander says the words. They occur to him in his brain. All at once his expression falls. "You're going to ask Buffy to marry you?"
"Thought about it," Spike says, propping his jaw up on a curled fist as he swirls a finger around the remnants of his drink. "I tried today, actually."
"And what happened?"
He tries to catch the attention of the bartender, effectively avoiding Xander's full-on inquiring expression. Something about the young, the fleeting youth that always pained Spike. Perhaps the ephemeral quality of the bud about to burst into adulthood, only to die on the vine. Youthful preservation has always been key when seeking prey on a hunt. It seemed unconscionable to let pretty people go to waste. But luckily enough for Xander, Spike does not view him as being a pretty thing. He is expendable, could be drained and tossed into the heap of nameless victims. But luckily for Xander, he was Buffy's friend. And for some reason, he is Spike's friend tonight.
"She didn't take me seriously," Spike finally answers.
"But you're going to ask her? Again? Eventually?"
"I will…eventually," Spike says, inviting another gulp of his drink into his throat.
"I didn't know that you---meaning vampires, that is---were into that kind of thing. I thought if you liked someone enough to be with them on an eternal basis, you just took a bite out of them."
Spike shakes his head. "I'd be taking away everything that is Buffy, wouldn't I? Everything she is. All that sparkle and shine, all that brass and bossiness? Well, I don't think anything could ever take away the bossiness. But her warmth. Her warmth is what I crave, more than blood. The first time I held her and kissed her, I felt that warmth invading me and it was as though everything alive and wonderful about her was flowing through me and I felt good and whole and---for lack of a better word---absolved. Her kisses were like little whispered prayers against my lips that I wanted to recite over and over to make myself worthy of her. More than that, there was a sense that this woman was mine before I ever claimed her and I was finding her in a cloud of caresses and sighs. I thought to myself, if I don't have this woman for the rest of my life, I'll truly be a dead man." Without warning, a tear slips from the corner of his eye and skids down his face, hiding out under the trench of his cheekbone.
"Wow…" Xander mouths. "If you tell Buffy what you just told me now, there's no way she would say no if you asked her to marry you. I mean, I'd marry you if you said that to me and I hate your guts."
Spike chuckles a bit, relieved that Xander has given him a reason to, so that his sobs are mistaken for laughter.
"Just do me a favor, though," Xander says.
"Never," Spike says, feeling the urge to sober up. This night is becoming a bit too Big Chill for him, and he's already chilly enough.
"Just this once?" Xander pleads.
"What, then?" Spike asks.
"Don't get married before Anya and I do."
Spike chuckles a bit. "You've got a deal," he answers.
Xander raises his nearly finished beer in the air. "To our women."
Spike hoists his tumbler as well. "To our women."
At the clash of their glasses they drink. Xander orders another beer and Spike another whisky.
And by the end of the evening, Spike is confirmed as Xander's best man.