Title: Miss Congeniality
Summary: A/U...based on the movie, well, Miss Congeniality. Buffy Summers is a no-nonsense FBI agent, who is given the assignment to go undercover at the Miss America pageant.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine...don't sue.
Pairing: Spuffy...as always.
A/N: If you are reading this for the first time (this chap) I mean, you won't understand this, but I needed to fix one of Giles' quotes, which claims he taught a deaf-MUTE to sing, when I had meant to put a deaf- BLIND...which is why I'm gonna start sending these chaps to my Beta, too, from now on. Thanks! ~ "Gah!! No! No! No! No! And an extra "NO!" for good measure!" Buffy yelled at Spike, who was sitting by her desk, laughing annoyingly.
"Really, Summers, I thought you'd be pleased. 'Sides, it ain't your choice."
"It ain't my choice? I'm sorry, when did we relocate to a dude ranch?" Buffy asked, sarcasm dripping from her lips.
"Hey! "Ain't" happens to be a perfectly acceptable word in England...wait a minute, you're just trying to get me off topic!" Spike pointed out accusingly.
"Damn, I hoped ya wouldn't pick up on that. Look, it just...it isn't my deal, okay?"
"You're "deal," as you so aptly put it, is your job. No one ever said working for the FBI would be all cream and cupcakes -"
"No shit."
"...and sometimes ya gotta do what ya gotta do." Spike finished, giving Buffy a pity glance, "Now get off your ass, we have a meeting with the pageant coordinators."
"Do I gotta wear the bathing suit?" Buffy whined as Spike grabbed her hands and pulled her up.
"Yes, you * have * to wear the bathing suit." Spike replied, more or less yanking Buffy out of the office.
~
"Ah! Hello..." Margaret Walsh, former Miss America, pageant host and planner, devoted mother and wife, not to mention a model citizen, cocked her head condescendingly at the strange people sitting in her office. One was a relatively good looking fellow, with god-awful hair, however. The other...well, she couldn't even bear to describe * that * creature, "May I ask what this is about?"
"Well, you see, Ms. Walsh..."
"Oh, you can call her Maggie! Everybody does." Said Clement Longbower, a funny looking man, with many wrinkles (he had lost weight over the past summer and being as old as he was his skin had lost its...elasticity.) In spite of his physical appearance, however, he was easily one of the most charismatic people...even when in front of the unflattering television cameras, "As for me, I'm Clem!"
"Now the problem would be what, exactly?" Maggie said, cutting her partner off.
"Someone has sent us a bomb-threat indicating your pageant will be...well, "blown to smithereens" is the term they used." Buffy said, fully aware of the woman's disapproving gaze.
"Oh, my." She said, sitting back, "Now what do the two of you propose to do about it?"
"Well, actually, Spike is in charge of a team of agents who will be on 24/7 ensuring the safety of the girls."
"And how are you going to do that? I really wouldn't like to see those girls get blown up. Especially without their knowledge." Clem commented, rather dumbly. Maggie rolled her eyes.
"Well, what we're planning on doing is sending in an agent as one of the contestants." Spike explained, "Of course, we'll need some of your help with the judging to ensure that she reaches the top 5."
"Absolutely not!" Maggie screamed. How dare they even think of...
"Listen, ma'am, I know that you care a lot about your little beauty pageant here..." Buffy said, leaning forward.
"It is not a beauty pageant. It's a scholarship program!" Maggie hissed.
"Whatever. But listen, all we want is the girl's safety. And to do that we need to supplant one of your girls with an agent." Buffy said, hoping her face looked reluctant, when honestly she couldn't care one way or the other if the precious pageant lost its "integrity" for a moment.
"But which girl? All of the contestants have been selected already." Clem said, scratching his long forehead. Spike scrunched his eyebrows...he hadn't thought of that either.
"Au contraire. Through * my * diligent research," Buffy said, sending a pointed look in Spike's direction, "I have discovered that Miss New Jersey was part of an independent film entitled 'Arma-Get-It-On.'" Buffy explained with a snort of laughter.
"Was that her?" Spike asked, surprised. Buffy gave him a death glare before turning back to Maggie.
"Fine." Maggie said shortly, "Who do you have in mind?" Buffy cleared her throat and raised her hand. Maggie backed up in obvious disgust and sighed, looking through her address book.
"Let me get you Rupert Giles' number..." She said, still casting a wary eye towards Buffy.
"And who would that be?" Spike asked.
"A pageant consultant. He * might * be able to, uh, clean her up." ~
"I so do not see the point of this." Buffy complained, walking with Spike on their way to meet the elusive Mr. Giles.
"Meeting this guy? Summers, be serious. You need a pageant consultation to help...I mean, to...So that you know...Uh..." Spike flustered.
"Spike. I own a mirror. I know what I look like." Buffy said, placing her hand on his shoulder, "I just don't care."
"And that's what this Giles guy is gonna help you with! Caring about the way you look! And speak and act..." Spike said, glad to have found a valid reason without having to call her downright ugly.
"How I act and speak? What is this gonna be, "The Art of Bimboism 101?" Thanks, but no thanks." Buffy said, beginning to turn around.
"Hey!" Spike said, grabbing her arm, "Do you wanna get fired or somethin'? We're meeting Giles, he's gonna make you a knock-out, then you're gonna save the bloody pageant and we'll all celebrate and pick dandelions, ya got it?"
"Please! I know what this is, alright? This is Riley's punishment for me!" Spike laughed.
"Punishment? Do you realize how much arm-twistin' it took for me to get him to allow you on this op? Like or not, mate, you screwed up."
"Well, I don't want it." Buffy said stubbornly, crossing her arms. Spike clenched his fists and snapped his eyes shut.
"Listen, Summers...the team needs you. * I * need you. This is my first op and I'll be damned if I let some stubborn headcase ruin it just because she thinks she's too bloody good to be in a beauty pageant. Now move your ass or I will."
Buffy's eyes widened as she listened to Spike's whispered fury and threats. Nodding her head, she moved forward. Spike trailed her, pulling out a cigarette. They were almost there.
~
Rupert Giles looked up to see a stunning beauty. Perhaps this will be easier than I thought...
However, she sat down at a table three away from his.
So close, and yet, so far.
He glanced up once again to see a mix-matched pair walk in, one a cocky- looking, handsome bleach-blonde, and the other... a complete and utter mess. Giles shook his head and muttered about how unkept some people were and about taking pride in oneself, when he noticed that the pair was standing before him. His eyes widened in blatant abhorrence.
"If you are Buffy Summers, I quit now." Buffy laughed, self-conscious for the first time in, well, ever.
"Yeah...I know, I'm having a bad hair day." She smiled. Giles stared in nausea at the beer and food stains which were laden upon yellowed enamel, "Or a bad hair decade."
"Please, sit down..." Giles said, motioning to the other chair. Spike patted her on the back.
"Well, Summers, I'm outta here. Nice meetin' ya." He said, extending his hand to Giles.
"Certainly." He replied flippantly. Buffy looked up and mouthed 'Don't leave me' to Spike, who just raised his eyebrow and walked out of the restaurant. Giles sat, unsure of what to say, was, thankfully, saved by the waiter.
"May I take your order?" He asked politely.
"Damn! You're a little Speedy Gonzalez there aren't ya?" Buffy joked, laughing, until she looked at Giles' unamused face, "But, I'll start with a salad and then have a steak, well-done, with A1 sauce, but not if it's the unspicy kind. I need my steak sauce to be really hot."
"Dressing for your salad? We have raspberry vinaigrette and Caesar." Buffy considered this.
"Got any Ranch?"
"Dear Lord..." Giles muttered.
"No, I'm afraid not, ma'am." Buffy pouted.
"Shit...uh, then...no salad for me." The waiter nodded, scratching off her salad order.
"And for you, sir?" Giles resisted the urge to bury his head inside his hands.
"Just an ice water and some Tums, thank you." The waiter nodded understandingly and walked off. Buffy drummed her fingers on the table and pursed her lips. Giles reached over and slammed his hand atop of hers.
"Shit. Ow." She said, pulling them out from underneath.
"No tapping."
"Yeah, yeah, okay."
"Yes." Giles said curtly.
"Yeah, okay." Buffy repeated.
"Yes! It is always 'Yes' never 'Yeah.'" Buffy rolled her eyes and began tapping her fingers again, staring smugly at Giles.
"Do you have any idea who I am?" He exclaimed, grabbing her fingers once again.
" * Besides * a pain in my ass..."
"I was once the most sought after pageant consultant. Girls begged me to prepare them. I dealt with some of the most severe cases, from Gothics who wanted a change to a deaf-blind. Every year my girls won. And though you are an FBI agent, I still expect you to win because I've never lost." Giles said, proudly. His face fell, though, when he took another look at her again, "However, none of girls have ever been quite so...apeish, before."
"What the hell is your problem?"
"Five!" Giles exclaimed.
"Your problem is the number five?"
"No, I meant that that is the fifth time since you came in here that you have used an expletive."
"Oh my freakin' God...has anyone ever told you that you are extremely anal retentive?" Buffy asked, slamming her hands onto the table, "You're probably the type who yells at people for having their elbows on the table."
"No, that would be in the * second * lesson." Giles deadpanned.
"Fuck you!"
"Six! And I think I'll even count that one as double..."
"I'm leaving, I don't need to put up with this bull- with this bull." Giles leaped up.
"See! I'm already changing you! You held back just after spending less than five minutes with me! I'm what you need." Buffy spun around and glared at the man.
"Fine. Tell me. If you're so high in demand, why don't you have some little Dixie cowgirl to coach. Why are you helping an FBI agent who has no place in the Miss America pageant?" Giles sat back down, gravely.
"Remember the deaf blind I told you about? Well, I had coached her on how to sing. It took months, days, hours upon hours of sweat, blood and tears. She won, though, obviously. Because I taught her how to sing and I made her the most beautiful girl there ever quite was. Afterwards, in interviews, she panned me, calling me a slave-driver, through her interpreter of course. Then, nobody wanted me." Buffy felt a pang of pity when she took in Giles' kicked-puppy look.
"Why would Walsh suggest you, then?"
"Because, I am the best." Giles replied, with an arrogant tone. Buffy cocked her eyebrow a la Spike.
"Or perhaps, because all of the other consultants have contestants already." Buffy accepted this and sat back down.
"Alright, pal...teach away."
~
"Is that how you always dress?" Giles asked, as he and Buffy walked down the street.
"I'm a federal agent, Giles." Buffy said, hoping that would be all the explanation needed.
"That doesn't mean you can't dress neatly outside of the office, or even in the office. Why, I once met a man with a mullet named Willy Jack who had a better fashion sense than you."
"Doubtful." Buffy said, curling her lip.
"Yes, you're right. That was an exaggeration. But only because I do not associate with people who have mullets!"
"And I thought Spike was arrogant." Buffy commented incredulously. "Well, look how far it's gotten me."
"Yup, bankrupt and coaching a fake contestant. Really livin' the good life there, aren't ya?" Giles glared at Buffy.
"Now, we also have to do something about that walk."
"My walk is fine, thank you." Giles shook his head vigorously and stopped her.
"Watch me." Giles walked down the sidewalk, sashaying his hips and waving his hands about in the air gracefully. He yelled back to Buffy,
"See? This is what you must do. You must glide, watch. Don't I look pretty?"
"Takes a real secure man to walk like that." She ran over to him and moved along, not letting her feet come up from off the ground.
"Now, glide...glide...Come now, it's not the bloody ice capades. Now glide, lift your feet a little...not that much...you're not in a marching band, Buffy, glide. Move your hips." A guy on a bike zoomed past the odd pair knocking Buffy off of her balance. She jumped up.
"Hey! I was gliding here! Asshole..."
~
Buffy walked into her virtually empty office building, exhausted from the long day with Giles. Slumping down into her chair, she looked at the stack of papers sitting on her desk, along with a note from Riley, stating that she could give all the extra work to Parker Abrams, a rookie, while she was on the op. She sighed happily and sat back, letting the past few days wash over her.
"Summers." She smiled despite herself at the sound of Spike's voice. He wasn't always her favorite person, but at the same time, he always made for interesting conversation.
"How was Art of Bimboism?" Spike asked, after raising his eyebrow at her, as always. Buffy chuckled.
"I learned how to glide." She offered. Spike smirked and pulled up a chair to sit by her.
"Hey," He said suddenly, "I'm sorry about the stuff I said to you out there. I didn't mean it. Honestly, I don't blame you for hatin' this. I probably would, too, in your place."
"I know."
"It's just...I really need ya here, mate."
"I know." Buffy reiterated.
"So, what? You still mad at me?"
"I was never mad at you. I didn't blame you for getting upset. My leaving would've screwed up everything."
"Gettin a little cocky there, Summers." Spike joked.
"You must be rubbing off on me." She spat back playfully. Spike laughed and stretched out.
"Finn has been on my ass ever since this thing started. I swear, he thinks I'm gonna screw it all up...and that would give him fair reason to fire me." He said with a shake of his head.
"What is the deal between you guys? I mean, Riley isn't my best friend or anything, but you seem like you really hate him."
"Cuz I do really hate him. Bloody bastard." Spike said, wishing this topic hadn't been brought up.
"Why?"
"It's getting late, Summers. I oughta go. See ya tomorrow, 5 o' clock sharp, at LA International, alright?" Spike said, standing up.
"Huh? What for?" Buffy asked.
"We're flyin' out to the good ol' Lonestar state. Giles is gonna supervise your makeover and then it's time for the preliminaries." Buffy nodded and waved to him as he walked out. She scrunched her nose as she realized she was feeling...disappointment? Cuz Spike left?
Must've been something in that steak sauce...
~
Summary: A/U...based on the movie, well, Miss Congeniality. Buffy Summers is a no-nonsense FBI agent, who is given the assignment to go undercover at the Miss America pageant.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine...don't sue.
Pairing: Spuffy...as always.
A/N: If you are reading this for the first time (this chap) I mean, you won't understand this, but I needed to fix one of Giles' quotes, which claims he taught a deaf-MUTE to sing, when I had meant to put a deaf- BLIND...which is why I'm gonna start sending these chaps to my Beta, too, from now on. Thanks! ~ "Gah!! No! No! No! No! And an extra "NO!" for good measure!" Buffy yelled at Spike, who was sitting by her desk, laughing annoyingly.
"Really, Summers, I thought you'd be pleased. 'Sides, it ain't your choice."
"It ain't my choice? I'm sorry, when did we relocate to a dude ranch?" Buffy asked, sarcasm dripping from her lips.
"Hey! "Ain't" happens to be a perfectly acceptable word in England...wait a minute, you're just trying to get me off topic!" Spike pointed out accusingly.
"Damn, I hoped ya wouldn't pick up on that. Look, it just...it isn't my deal, okay?"
"You're "deal," as you so aptly put it, is your job. No one ever said working for the FBI would be all cream and cupcakes -"
"No shit."
"...and sometimes ya gotta do what ya gotta do." Spike finished, giving Buffy a pity glance, "Now get off your ass, we have a meeting with the pageant coordinators."
"Do I gotta wear the bathing suit?" Buffy whined as Spike grabbed her hands and pulled her up.
"Yes, you * have * to wear the bathing suit." Spike replied, more or less yanking Buffy out of the office.
~
"Ah! Hello..." Margaret Walsh, former Miss America, pageant host and planner, devoted mother and wife, not to mention a model citizen, cocked her head condescendingly at the strange people sitting in her office. One was a relatively good looking fellow, with god-awful hair, however. The other...well, she couldn't even bear to describe * that * creature, "May I ask what this is about?"
"Well, you see, Ms. Walsh..."
"Oh, you can call her Maggie! Everybody does." Said Clement Longbower, a funny looking man, with many wrinkles (he had lost weight over the past summer and being as old as he was his skin had lost its...elasticity.) In spite of his physical appearance, however, he was easily one of the most charismatic people...even when in front of the unflattering television cameras, "As for me, I'm Clem!"
"Now the problem would be what, exactly?" Maggie said, cutting her partner off.
"Someone has sent us a bomb-threat indicating your pageant will be...well, "blown to smithereens" is the term they used." Buffy said, fully aware of the woman's disapproving gaze.
"Oh, my." She said, sitting back, "Now what do the two of you propose to do about it?"
"Well, actually, Spike is in charge of a team of agents who will be on 24/7 ensuring the safety of the girls."
"And how are you going to do that? I really wouldn't like to see those girls get blown up. Especially without their knowledge." Clem commented, rather dumbly. Maggie rolled her eyes.
"Well, what we're planning on doing is sending in an agent as one of the contestants." Spike explained, "Of course, we'll need some of your help with the judging to ensure that she reaches the top 5."
"Absolutely not!" Maggie screamed. How dare they even think of...
"Listen, ma'am, I know that you care a lot about your little beauty pageant here..." Buffy said, leaning forward.
"It is not a beauty pageant. It's a scholarship program!" Maggie hissed.
"Whatever. But listen, all we want is the girl's safety. And to do that we need to supplant one of your girls with an agent." Buffy said, hoping her face looked reluctant, when honestly she couldn't care one way or the other if the precious pageant lost its "integrity" for a moment.
"But which girl? All of the contestants have been selected already." Clem said, scratching his long forehead. Spike scrunched his eyebrows...he hadn't thought of that either.
"Au contraire. Through * my * diligent research," Buffy said, sending a pointed look in Spike's direction, "I have discovered that Miss New Jersey was part of an independent film entitled 'Arma-Get-It-On.'" Buffy explained with a snort of laughter.
"Was that her?" Spike asked, surprised. Buffy gave him a death glare before turning back to Maggie.
"Fine." Maggie said shortly, "Who do you have in mind?" Buffy cleared her throat and raised her hand. Maggie backed up in obvious disgust and sighed, looking through her address book.
"Let me get you Rupert Giles' number..." She said, still casting a wary eye towards Buffy.
"And who would that be?" Spike asked.
"A pageant consultant. He * might * be able to, uh, clean her up." ~
"I so do not see the point of this." Buffy complained, walking with Spike on their way to meet the elusive Mr. Giles.
"Meeting this guy? Summers, be serious. You need a pageant consultation to help...I mean, to...So that you know...Uh..." Spike flustered.
"Spike. I own a mirror. I know what I look like." Buffy said, placing her hand on his shoulder, "I just don't care."
"And that's what this Giles guy is gonna help you with! Caring about the way you look! And speak and act..." Spike said, glad to have found a valid reason without having to call her downright ugly.
"How I act and speak? What is this gonna be, "The Art of Bimboism 101?" Thanks, but no thanks." Buffy said, beginning to turn around.
"Hey!" Spike said, grabbing her arm, "Do you wanna get fired or somethin'? We're meeting Giles, he's gonna make you a knock-out, then you're gonna save the bloody pageant and we'll all celebrate and pick dandelions, ya got it?"
"Please! I know what this is, alright? This is Riley's punishment for me!" Spike laughed.
"Punishment? Do you realize how much arm-twistin' it took for me to get him to allow you on this op? Like or not, mate, you screwed up."
"Well, I don't want it." Buffy said stubbornly, crossing her arms. Spike clenched his fists and snapped his eyes shut.
"Listen, Summers...the team needs you. * I * need you. This is my first op and I'll be damned if I let some stubborn headcase ruin it just because she thinks she's too bloody good to be in a beauty pageant. Now move your ass or I will."
Buffy's eyes widened as she listened to Spike's whispered fury and threats. Nodding her head, she moved forward. Spike trailed her, pulling out a cigarette. They were almost there.
~
Rupert Giles looked up to see a stunning beauty. Perhaps this will be easier than I thought...
However, she sat down at a table three away from his.
So close, and yet, so far.
He glanced up once again to see a mix-matched pair walk in, one a cocky- looking, handsome bleach-blonde, and the other... a complete and utter mess. Giles shook his head and muttered about how unkept some people were and about taking pride in oneself, when he noticed that the pair was standing before him. His eyes widened in blatant abhorrence.
"If you are Buffy Summers, I quit now." Buffy laughed, self-conscious for the first time in, well, ever.
"Yeah...I know, I'm having a bad hair day." She smiled. Giles stared in nausea at the beer and food stains which were laden upon yellowed enamel, "Or a bad hair decade."
"Please, sit down..." Giles said, motioning to the other chair. Spike patted her on the back.
"Well, Summers, I'm outta here. Nice meetin' ya." He said, extending his hand to Giles.
"Certainly." He replied flippantly. Buffy looked up and mouthed 'Don't leave me' to Spike, who just raised his eyebrow and walked out of the restaurant. Giles sat, unsure of what to say, was, thankfully, saved by the waiter.
"May I take your order?" He asked politely.
"Damn! You're a little Speedy Gonzalez there aren't ya?" Buffy joked, laughing, until she looked at Giles' unamused face, "But, I'll start with a salad and then have a steak, well-done, with A1 sauce, but not if it's the unspicy kind. I need my steak sauce to be really hot."
"Dressing for your salad? We have raspberry vinaigrette and Caesar." Buffy considered this.
"Got any Ranch?"
"Dear Lord..." Giles muttered.
"No, I'm afraid not, ma'am." Buffy pouted.
"Shit...uh, then...no salad for me." The waiter nodded, scratching off her salad order.
"And for you, sir?" Giles resisted the urge to bury his head inside his hands.
"Just an ice water and some Tums, thank you." The waiter nodded understandingly and walked off. Buffy drummed her fingers on the table and pursed her lips. Giles reached over and slammed his hand atop of hers.
"Shit. Ow." She said, pulling them out from underneath.
"No tapping."
"Yeah, yeah, okay."
"Yes." Giles said curtly.
"Yeah, okay." Buffy repeated.
"Yes! It is always 'Yes' never 'Yeah.'" Buffy rolled her eyes and began tapping her fingers again, staring smugly at Giles.
"Do you have any idea who I am?" He exclaimed, grabbing her fingers once again.
" * Besides * a pain in my ass..."
"I was once the most sought after pageant consultant. Girls begged me to prepare them. I dealt with some of the most severe cases, from Gothics who wanted a change to a deaf-blind. Every year my girls won. And though you are an FBI agent, I still expect you to win because I've never lost." Giles said, proudly. His face fell, though, when he took another look at her again, "However, none of girls have ever been quite so...apeish, before."
"What the hell is your problem?"
"Five!" Giles exclaimed.
"Your problem is the number five?"
"No, I meant that that is the fifth time since you came in here that you have used an expletive."
"Oh my freakin' God...has anyone ever told you that you are extremely anal retentive?" Buffy asked, slamming her hands onto the table, "You're probably the type who yells at people for having their elbows on the table."
"No, that would be in the * second * lesson." Giles deadpanned.
"Fuck you!"
"Six! And I think I'll even count that one as double..."
"I'm leaving, I don't need to put up with this bull- with this bull." Giles leaped up.
"See! I'm already changing you! You held back just after spending less than five minutes with me! I'm what you need." Buffy spun around and glared at the man.
"Fine. Tell me. If you're so high in demand, why don't you have some little Dixie cowgirl to coach. Why are you helping an FBI agent who has no place in the Miss America pageant?" Giles sat back down, gravely.
"Remember the deaf blind I told you about? Well, I had coached her on how to sing. It took months, days, hours upon hours of sweat, blood and tears. She won, though, obviously. Because I taught her how to sing and I made her the most beautiful girl there ever quite was. Afterwards, in interviews, she panned me, calling me a slave-driver, through her interpreter of course. Then, nobody wanted me." Buffy felt a pang of pity when she took in Giles' kicked-puppy look.
"Why would Walsh suggest you, then?"
"Because, I am the best." Giles replied, with an arrogant tone. Buffy cocked her eyebrow a la Spike.
"Or perhaps, because all of the other consultants have contestants already." Buffy accepted this and sat back down.
"Alright, pal...teach away."
~
"Is that how you always dress?" Giles asked, as he and Buffy walked down the street.
"I'm a federal agent, Giles." Buffy said, hoping that would be all the explanation needed.
"That doesn't mean you can't dress neatly outside of the office, or even in the office. Why, I once met a man with a mullet named Willy Jack who had a better fashion sense than you."
"Doubtful." Buffy said, curling her lip.
"Yes, you're right. That was an exaggeration. But only because I do not associate with people who have mullets!"
"And I thought Spike was arrogant." Buffy commented incredulously. "Well, look how far it's gotten me."
"Yup, bankrupt and coaching a fake contestant. Really livin' the good life there, aren't ya?" Giles glared at Buffy.
"Now, we also have to do something about that walk."
"My walk is fine, thank you." Giles shook his head vigorously and stopped her.
"Watch me." Giles walked down the sidewalk, sashaying his hips and waving his hands about in the air gracefully. He yelled back to Buffy,
"See? This is what you must do. You must glide, watch. Don't I look pretty?"
"Takes a real secure man to walk like that." She ran over to him and moved along, not letting her feet come up from off the ground.
"Now, glide...glide...Come now, it's not the bloody ice capades. Now glide, lift your feet a little...not that much...you're not in a marching band, Buffy, glide. Move your hips." A guy on a bike zoomed past the odd pair knocking Buffy off of her balance. She jumped up.
"Hey! I was gliding here! Asshole..."
~
Buffy walked into her virtually empty office building, exhausted from the long day with Giles. Slumping down into her chair, she looked at the stack of papers sitting on her desk, along with a note from Riley, stating that she could give all the extra work to Parker Abrams, a rookie, while she was on the op. She sighed happily and sat back, letting the past few days wash over her.
"Summers." She smiled despite herself at the sound of Spike's voice. He wasn't always her favorite person, but at the same time, he always made for interesting conversation.
"How was Art of Bimboism?" Spike asked, after raising his eyebrow at her, as always. Buffy chuckled.
"I learned how to glide." She offered. Spike smirked and pulled up a chair to sit by her.
"Hey," He said suddenly, "I'm sorry about the stuff I said to you out there. I didn't mean it. Honestly, I don't blame you for hatin' this. I probably would, too, in your place."
"I know."
"It's just...I really need ya here, mate."
"I know." Buffy reiterated.
"So, what? You still mad at me?"
"I was never mad at you. I didn't blame you for getting upset. My leaving would've screwed up everything."
"Gettin a little cocky there, Summers." Spike joked.
"You must be rubbing off on me." She spat back playfully. Spike laughed and stretched out.
"Finn has been on my ass ever since this thing started. I swear, he thinks I'm gonna screw it all up...and that would give him fair reason to fire me." He said with a shake of his head.
"What is the deal between you guys? I mean, Riley isn't my best friend or anything, but you seem like you really hate him."
"Cuz I do really hate him. Bloody bastard." Spike said, wishing this topic hadn't been brought up.
"Why?"
"It's getting late, Summers. I oughta go. See ya tomorrow, 5 o' clock sharp, at LA International, alright?" Spike said, standing up.
"Huh? What for?" Buffy asked.
"We're flyin' out to the good ol' Lonestar state. Giles is gonna supervise your makeover and then it's time for the preliminaries." Buffy nodded and waved to him as he walked out. She scrunched her nose as she realized she was feeling...disappointment? Cuz Spike left?
Must've been something in that steak sauce...
~