Looking up at the dreary gray sky, Buffy tugged at the belt of her trench
coat, securing the caramel-colored material around her waist. The October
breeze was unseasonably warm and she hoped that the mild weather would hold
out for another few days. Oblivious to the leaves that were already
beginning to turn vibrant red and rich orange hues, Buffy walked through
Central Park with a wide smile on her face. Three more days, she thought as
she absently twirled her engagement ring. Just seventy-two more hours and
she would be getting married. Excitement coursed through her body, her
smile widening to a goofy grin. The last seven months had flown past and
now just a few days before her wedding, Buffy was practically bursting with
anticipation.
She stopped on the concrete path, closing her eyes as the wind swirled around her. Wrapping her arms around her waist, Buffy tilted her head back, letting the wind tousle her blonde hair. Everything felt absolutely perfect; there was nothing that could ruin Buffy's good mood, except the tiny droplet of water splashing off her forehead. She opened her eyes just in time to see sheets of rain pouring down from the cloudy sky. She laughed out loud as the icy torrents of water pelted her face and soaked her clothes. "Dammit," she swore through her giggles, dashing in search of some refugee from the downpour.
Coming out of the Park, Buffy stopped at the curb, her left arm raised. "Taxi," she called, pushing damp strands of hair out of her eyes. A yellow cab pulled up in front of her and Buffy reached for the door handle. She slid into the backseat, slamming the door shut behind her before she told the driver her address. Brushing droplets of water off her coat, Buffy leaned against the seat and watched the buildings flash by. Within a few minutes she was standing in the foyer of her building, waiting for the elevator to come back down from the top floor. An elderly woman stepped into the elevator, shaking her head sympathetically at Buffy's drenched appearance. "Terrible storm, isn't is," she said. Buffy shook her head in agreement, pressing the button for her floor as the elevator doors hissed shut.
Stepping off the elevator, Buffy walked down the hall towards her apartment. Her hand pawed through the contents of her purse, trying to pull out her keys without spilling everything all over the carpet. Sighing in irritation, Buffy leaned against the doorframe, bracing her purse against the wall. "Gotcha," she murmured triumphantly, sticking the key into the lock. Spike was walking into the kitchen when he saw the front door swing open. He turned around, promptly bursting into laughter when he saw Buffy. She stuck her tongue out at him, "that's one hell of a welcome home," she pouted.
Spike ran his fingers over his bleached hair, "sorry sweetheart, but you should see yourself." Laughing, Buffy locked the door, "is it that bad," she asked, making her way over to the mirror hanging on the living room wall. "See for yourself," Spike said, crossing his arms across his chest. "Ohmigosh," she shrieked, dissolving into a fit of embarrassed giggles. Her hair was hanging in stringy clumps around her face, limp tendrils curling against her forehead. The black eyeliner she had carefully applied that morning was ruined, ebony streaks cascading over her cheeks. She giggled again, "I better get changed."
Shaking his head, Spike re-filled his coffee cup before walking back to the study. Sitting back down at the desk, he picked up his red pen and began to read the next essay in the pile. Buffy walked into the room, her makeup scrubbed off and her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, clad in loose- fitting black pants and a fitted white sleeveless shirt. "How was class," she asked, perching on the edge of the desk, watching Spike's pen slash through the typed pages. He didn't answer right away, trying to figure out how some of these students were ever going to get a degree. Looking up from the essay, he dropped his pen onto the pile in front of him. He had taken another teaching position, this time at a small college in the City. This semester he was teaching two classes in British literature and a seminar in romantic poetry. The literature classes were fairly simple and mundane; it was the seminar that was driving him crazy, some of his students thought that a series of disjointed words and unfinished sentences counted as quality poetry. They never thought that their professor actually expected them to write multiple drafts, even at the college level, some people couldn't see the value of revision.
"Not too bad," he said, pushing his chair away from the desk and standing up in front of Buffy. "How was your day?" Buffy giggled, "aside from getting caught in a downpour, it was alright." Spike grinned, wrapping his hands around her waist. "Got everything done," he asked, resting his forehead against hers. Buffy nodded, "yup, I'm officially on vacation for the next two weeks. I'm all yours. At least until everyone gets here, then chaos takes over." Before Spike could say anything, the phone rang. "Bloody hell," he swore, his eyes never leaving Buffy's as he picked up the receiver. "What," Spike snapped into the phone, his frown deepening when he heard a familiar voice. "Fine. Alright .We'll be here .I said we would . her idea, not mine . of course .. I will not- . yeah. Bye."
Buffy raised her eyebrows questioningly, "what was my idea," she asked. Dropping the cordless phone onto the desk, Spike exhaled an unnecessary breath. "Inviting Peaches to the wedding." Buffy pursed her lips in annoyance, "now wait a minute," she began angrily, "I thought we decided that ." In too good of a mood to argue, Spike crushed his lips to Buffy's, his tongue dueling fiercely with hers. "What was I saying," she asked breathlessly when they broke apart. He shrugged, lifting her onto the desk and trailing a line of kisses over her neck, running his fingertips up and down the muscles of her bare arms. Buffy sighed into his neck, tangling her hands in his platinum curls. "I love you," she whispered and Spike looked up in surprise at the unexpected declaration. "Love you too sweetheart," he replied. Buffy's smile widened, "less talking, more kissing," she demanded, pulling Spike's face towards hers.
Almost two hours later, the phone rang again. This time Buffy answered it; she rolled off Spike's chest, reached her arm up onto the desk, feeling around for the receiver without getting off the floor. "Hello?" Her jaw dropped when she heard the irate voice on the other end of the phone. Buffy dissolved into a fit of giggles at the litany of curses flying across the telephone lines, the vampire on the other end was uttering words she had never heard of. "So I'm guessing you don't want to talk to my fiancée then," Buffy teased, "considering he was the one to book your flight." She covered her mouth to suppress her laughter; it wasn't entirely Spike's fault that his grand-Sire's flight from Los Angles to New York had included two flight changes and a layover in Chicago. It also wasn't his fault that the airline had somehow lost Angel's luggage, Spike had no way of knowing that Angel's suitcase would end up in Cleveland, Ohio.
Switching his cell phone from one ear to another, Angel growled in aggravation. "I'll be in the City in less then an hour," he snapped. "See you then," Buffy chirped before hanging up the phone. Leaning back in the seat of the taxi, Angel clicked his phone off and closed his eyes. He still couldn't believe that he had flown across the United States for Buffy and Spike's wedding. Hell, he couldn't believe that Buffy and Spike were talking to each other again, much less actually getting married. It's going to be an interesting weekend, he thought as the highway flashed past the cab's window.
Inside the busy terminal of JFK International Airport, a flight from London had just landed. Passengers spilled off the plane, hurrying down the corridor in search of their next flight gate or moving down towards baggage claim. As they walked out of the airport nearly thirty minutes later, a tall Englishman cleaned his glasses furiously without breaking stride. "I still can't believe it," Giles complained to his wife, "aren't this damn flights supposed to be on time? Don't they have people checking that?" Katherine smiled understandingly, "don't worry about it, Rupert. So we're a few hours later then we expected. On the scale of things that could go wrong, this isn't a big deal." Giles nodded, clasping Katherine's hand tightly as they walked out of the airport. "My voice of reason," he proclaimed, "knew there was a reason I married you." Katherine's dark eyes twinkled, "you just married me to keep your stress level down," she teased with a straight face. Giles shook his head, hoisting the tweed-printed suitcase into the trunk of the taxi parked on the curb. Climbing into the cab, he gave the driver Buffy's address and sunk into the worn leather seats beside Katherine.
Standing in front of the rental car desk in LaGuardia Airport's baggage claim, Xander Harris shifted the heavy duffel bag onto his shoulder, grabbing the handle of a large suitcase with one hand. He picked up another duffel bag in his free hand before turning to face his wife. "Ready," he asked and Anya nodded, anxious to leave the chaos of airport. She pushed the stroller with her left hand, her right was wrapped tightly around the hands of her twin sons. The boys were dragging their feet, they had fallen asleep on the plane and they still hadn't woken up completely. Spotting a large minivan in the nearly empty parking lot, Xander gestured for the attendant to open the trunk. "We'll take that one." He put the suitcases inside the van as Anya secured the twins in the back seat, snapping the baby's car seat into place. Once the entire Harris family was inside, Anya pulled the map they had printed from the Internet out of her purse. "Now the map says that the best way to get to Buffy's apartment is to make a left here," she said, smoothing out the creases. Xander looked at his wife in confusion, "but Ahn, it's a one-way road. I can't make a left turn." She shrugged, crumpling up the printout, "well if you don't want to follow the directions, that's fine. Just don't blame me when we get lost." Shaking his head, Xander turned out of the parking lot, hoping that they made it to Buffy's apartment before the wedding was over.
While Xander was trying to figure out how to get out of the airport parking lot, Willow was transfixed by the view of New Jersey outside the airport's long windows. Beside her, Tara was trying to balance her carryon bag and Michaela's pink suitcase. "Sweetie, can I get a hand here," she asked, pulling the redhead out of her thoughts. Shaking her head, Willow reached her hand out to Michaela, pulling her daughter close to her side. "Sorry baby," she said, "got a little distracted." Tara smiled, shifting the luggage in her arms as they walked out of the airport. Sliding into the taxi, Willow gave the driver Buffy's address. "I can't believe that they're finally getting married," she told Tara, who nodded, smoothing their daughter's strawberry blonde bangs off the center of her forehead. "I know," she said softly, "but it's about time."
"Yeah Buffy, it's me," Dawn said, "my flight just landed . Yeah, I'm in Philadelphia. I should be at your apartment in about two hours . Alright, see you then." Snapping her phone shut, Dawn leaned forward to look out the window of the sedan. "About two hours, right," she asked the driver, sinking back into the seats. The heavy-set woman nodded, "yes ma'm. Might be faster if I don't hit too much traffic." Dawn shut her eyes, exhausted from her long day. "Take your time," she said, "I'm going to be the last one there anyway. Least I know they can't start without me."
The grandfather clock in Buffy's apartment read a little after three when Dawn finally dragged her suitcase through the door. She stood in the foyer, too dazed by the activity to say anything. The penthouse was filled with people, making the spacious living room seemed more cozy then normal. "Here, I'll take your stuff," Buffy told her sister, pulling Dawn's coat off her shoulders. Slipping her arms out of the sleeves, Dawn just nodded as the Scoobies surged around her. Everyone except Dawn was staying in the hotel down the street, but for right now the entire group was together under one roof.
Willow pressed a glass of wine into the brunette's hand, brushing an air kiss against her cheek. "Sit down," she insisted, gesturing to the empty space on the sofa. Dawn smiled, "thanks," she said, sitting down beside Anya. Somehow the two women managed to squeeze over enough to fit Tara on the end of the couch. Willow sat down on the floor, resting her re-filled glass on the coffee table. Across from her, Angel was sitting stiffly in one of Buffy's dining room chairs. Giles and Katherine were also suffering quietly in the terribly uncomfortable chairs, pretending that the cushions weren't as hard as concrete. Xander had plopped on the floor after checking on the kids who were asleep in the guest bedroom. He stretched out his legs, taking a long sip of his iced tea and grinning at Dawn. Spike was sitting comfortably in the armchair, a half-empty glass of wine in his hand as he waited for Buffy to come back into the room. She breezed into the living room, having deposited Dawn's suitcase in the study, and sat down in Spike's lap.
"I'm so glad you guys are all here," she squealed with excitement. Spike smiled at his fiancée's enthusiasm, squeezing her hand gently. The temporary lull in conversation caused by Dawn's arrival faded away, and the living room was again filled with four simultaneous conversations. "So how's school this semester," Anya asked Dawn as Tara told Katherine how much she had enjoyed her last book. Xander was trying to convince Willow that her next computer game should be about the Hellmouth, featuring a blonde demon fighter and her band of Slayerettes. Giles was asking Angel if he had seen any interesting demons in LA. "Some things never change," Spike said quietly, shaking his head. He was amazed at how easily everyone fell into cheerful conversations, there was no indication that months had passed since they were all together. Buffy spun around in his lap, raising a questioning eyebrow, "what's up," she asked. "Just thinking," he replied. Buffy smiled as if she had read his thoughts, "I'm so glad that everyone's here." Spike nodded, "I know sweetheart, I know." Buffy rested her cheek against Spike's shoulder, "I love you," she whispered softly under the low hum of conversation filling the room.
She stopped on the concrete path, closing her eyes as the wind swirled around her. Wrapping her arms around her waist, Buffy tilted her head back, letting the wind tousle her blonde hair. Everything felt absolutely perfect; there was nothing that could ruin Buffy's good mood, except the tiny droplet of water splashing off her forehead. She opened her eyes just in time to see sheets of rain pouring down from the cloudy sky. She laughed out loud as the icy torrents of water pelted her face and soaked her clothes. "Dammit," she swore through her giggles, dashing in search of some refugee from the downpour.
Coming out of the Park, Buffy stopped at the curb, her left arm raised. "Taxi," she called, pushing damp strands of hair out of her eyes. A yellow cab pulled up in front of her and Buffy reached for the door handle. She slid into the backseat, slamming the door shut behind her before she told the driver her address. Brushing droplets of water off her coat, Buffy leaned against the seat and watched the buildings flash by. Within a few minutes she was standing in the foyer of her building, waiting for the elevator to come back down from the top floor. An elderly woman stepped into the elevator, shaking her head sympathetically at Buffy's drenched appearance. "Terrible storm, isn't is," she said. Buffy shook her head in agreement, pressing the button for her floor as the elevator doors hissed shut.
Stepping off the elevator, Buffy walked down the hall towards her apartment. Her hand pawed through the contents of her purse, trying to pull out her keys without spilling everything all over the carpet. Sighing in irritation, Buffy leaned against the doorframe, bracing her purse against the wall. "Gotcha," she murmured triumphantly, sticking the key into the lock. Spike was walking into the kitchen when he saw the front door swing open. He turned around, promptly bursting into laughter when he saw Buffy. She stuck her tongue out at him, "that's one hell of a welcome home," she pouted.
Spike ran his fingers over his bleached hair, "sorry sweetheart, but you should see yourself." Laughing, Buffy locked the door, "is it that bad," she asked, making her way over to the mirror hanging on the living room wall. "See for yourself," Spike said, crossing his arms across his chest. "Ohmigosh," she shrieked, dissolving into a fit of embarrassed giggles. Her hair was hanging in stringy clumps around her face, limp tendrils curling against her forehead. The black eyeliner she had carefully applied that morning was ruined, ebony streaks cascading over her cheeks. She giggled again, "I better get changed."
Shaking his head, Spike re-filled his coffee cup before walking back to the study. Sitting back down at the desk, he picked up his red pen and began to read the next essay in the pile. Buffy walked into the room, her makeup scrubbed off and her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, clad in loose- fitting black pants and a fitted white sleeveless shirt. "How was class," she asked, perching on the edge of the desk, watching Spike's pen slash through the typed pages. He didn't answer right away, trying to figure out how some of these students were ever going to get a degree. Looking up from the essay, he dropped his pen onto the pile in front of him. He had taken another teaching position, this time at a small college in the City. This semester he was teaching two classes in British literature and a seminar in romantic poetry. The literature classes were fairly simple and mundane; it was the seminar that was driving him crazy, some of his students thought that a series of disjointed words and unfinished sentences counted as quality poetry. They never thought that their professor actually expected them to write multiple drafts, even at the college level, some people couldn't see the value of revision.
"Not too bad," he said, pushing his chair away from the desk and standing up in front of Buffy. "How was your day?" Buffy giggled, "aside from getting caught in a downpour, it was alright." Spike grinned, wrapping his hands around her waist. "Got everything done," he asked, resting his forehead against hers. Buffy nodded, "yup, I'm officially on vacation for the next two weeks. I'm all yours. At least until everyone gets here, then chaos takes over." Before Spike could say anything, the phone rang. "Bloody hell," he swore, his eyes never leaving Buffy's as he picked up the receiver. "What," Spike snapped into the phone, his frown deepening when he heard a familiar voice. "Fine. Alright .We'll be here .I said we would . her idea, not mine . of course .. I will not- . yeah. Bye."
Buffy raised her eyebrows questioningly, "what was my idea," she asked. Dropping the cordless phone onto the desk, Spike exhaled an unnecessary breath. "Inviting Peaches to the wedding." Buffy pursed her lips in annoyance, "now wait a minute," she began angrily, "I thought we decided that ." In too good of a mood to argue, Spike crushed his lips to Buffy's, his tongue dueling fiercely with hers. "What was I saying," she asked breathlessly when they broke apart. He shrugged, lifting her onto the desk and trailing a line of kisses over her neck, running his fingertips up and down the muscles of her bare arms. Buffy sighed into his neck, tangling her hands in his platinum curls. "I love you," she whispered and Spike looked up in surprise at the unexpected declaration. "Love you too sweetheart," he replied. Buffy's smile widened, "less talking, more kissing," she demanded, pulling Spike's face towards hers.
Almost two hours later, the phone rang again. This time Buffy answered it; she rolled off Spike's chest, reached her arm up onto the desk, feeling around for the receiver without getting off the floor. "Hello?" Her jaw dropped when she heard the irate voice on the other end of the phone. Buffy dissolved into a fit of giggles at the litany of curses flying across the telephone lines, the vampire on the other end was uttering words she had never heard of. "So I'm guessing you don't want to talk to my fiancée then," Buffy teased, "considering he was the one to book your flight." She covered her mouth to suppress her laughter; it wasn't entirely Spike's fault that his grand-Sire's flight from Los Angles to New York had included two flight changes and a layover in Chicago. It also wasn't his fault that the airline had somehow lost Angel's luggage, Spike had no way of knowing that Angel's suitcase would end up in Cleveland, Ohio.
Switching his cell phone from one ear to another, Angel growled in aggravation. "I'll be in the City in less then an hour," he snapped. "See you then," Buffy chirped before hanging up the phone. Leaning back in the seat of the taxi, Angel clicked his phone off and closed his eyes. He still couldn't believe that he had flown across the United States for Buffy and Spike's wedding. Hell, he couldn't believe that Buffy and Spike were talking to each other again, much less actually getting married. It's going to be an interesting weekend, he thought as the highway flashed past the cab's window.
Inside the busy terminal of JFK International Airport, a flight from London had just landed. Passengers spilled off the plane, hurrying down the corridor in search of their next flight gate or moving down towards baggage claim. As they walked out of the airport nearly thirty minutes later, a tall Englishman cleaned his glasses furiously without breaking stride. "I still can't believe it," Giles complained to his wife, "aren't this damn flights supposed to be on time? Don't they have people checking that?" Katherine smiled understandingly, "don't worry about it, Rupert. So we're a few hours later then we expected. On the scale of things that could go wrong, this isn't a big deal." Giles nodded, clasping Katherine's hand tightly as they walked out of the airport. "My voice of reason," he proclaimed, "knew there was a reason I married you." Katherine's dark eyes twinkled, "you just married me to keep your stress level down," she teased with a straight face. Giles shook his head, hoisting the tweed-printed suitcase into the trunk of the taxi parked on the curb. Climbing into the cab, he gave the driver Buffy's address and sunk into the worn leather seats beside Katherine.
Standing in front of the rental car desk in LaGuardia Airport's baggage claim, Xander Harris shifted the heavy duffel bag onto his shoulder, grabbing the handle of a large suitcase with one hand. He picked up another duffel bag in his free hand before turning to face his wife. "Ready," he asked and Anya nodded, anxious to leave the chaos of airport. She pushed the stroller with her left hand, her right was wrapped tightly around the hands of her twin sons. The boys were dragging their feet, they had fallen asleep on the plane and they still hadn't woken up completely. Spotting a large minivan in the nearly empty parking lot, Xander gestured for the attendant to open the trunk. "We'll take that one." He put the suitcases inside the van as Anya secured the twins in the back seat, snapping the baby's car seat into place. Once the entire Harris family was inside, Anya pulled the map they had printed from the Internet out of her purse. "Now the map says that the best way to get to Buffy's apartment is to make a left here," she said, smoothing out the creases. Xander looked at his wife in confusion, "but Ahn, it's a one-way road. I can't make a left turn." She shrugged, crumpling up the printout, "well if you don't want to follow the directions, that's fine. Just don't blame me when we get lost." Shaking his head, Xander turned out of the parking lot, hoping that they made it to Buffy's apartment before the wedding was over.
While Xander was trying to figure out how to get out of the airport parking lot, Willow was transfixed by the view of New Jersey outside the airport's long windows. Beside her, Tara was trying to balance her carryon bag and Michaela's pink suitcase. "Sweetie, can I get a hand here," she asked, pulling the redhead out of her thoughts. Shaking her head, Willow reached her hand out to Michaela, pulling her daughter close to her side. "Sorry baby," she said, "got a little distracted." Tara smiled, shifting the luggage in her arms as they walked out of the airport. Sliding into the taxi, Willow gave the driver Buffy's address. "I can't believe that they're finally getting married," she told Tara, who nodded, smoothing their daughter's strawberry blonde bangs off the center of her forehead. "I know," she said softly, "but it's about time."
"Yeah Buffy, it's me," Dawn said, "my flight just landed . Yeah, I'm in Philadelphia. I should be at your apartment in about two hours . Alright, see you then." Snapping her phone shut, Dawn leaned forward to look out the window of the sedan. "About two hours, right," she asked the driver, sinking back into the seats. The heavy-set woman nodded, "yes ma'm. Might be faster if I don't hit too much traffic." Dawn shut her eyes, exhausted from her long day. "Take your time," she said, "I'm going to be the last one there anyway. Least I know they can't start without me."
The grandfather clock in Buffy's apartment read a little after three when Dawn finally dragged her suitcase through the door. She stood in the foyer, too dazed by the activity to say anything. The penthouse was filled with people, making the spacious living room seemed more cozy then normal. "Here, I'll take your stuff," Buffy told her sister, pulling Dawn's coat off her shoulders. Slipping her arms out of the sleeves, Dawn just nodded as the Scoobies surged around her. Everyone except Dawn was staying in the hotel down the street, but for right now the entire group was together under one roof.
Willow pressed a glass of wine into the brunette's hand, brushing an air kiss against her cheek. "Sit down," she insisted, gesturing to the empty space on the sofa. Dawn smiled, "thanks," she said, sitting down beside Anya. Somehow the two women managed to squeeze over enough to fit Tara on the end of the couch. Willow sat down on the floor, resting her re-filled glass on the coffee table. Across from her, Angel was sitting stiffly in one of Buffy's dining room chairs. Giles and Katherine were also suffering quietly in the terribly uncomfortable chairs, pretending that the cushions weren't as hard as concrete. Xander had plopped on the floor after checking on the kids who were asleep in the guest bedroom. He stretched out his legs, taking a long sip of his iced tea and grinning at Dawn. Spike was sitting comfortably in the armchair, a half-empty glass of wine in his hand as he waited for Buffy to come back into the room. She breezed into the living room, having deposited Dawn's suitcase in the study, and sat down in Spike's lap.
"I'm so glad you guys are all here," she squealed with excitement. Spike smiled at his fiancée's enthusiasm, squeezing her hand gently. The temporary lull in conversation caused by Dawn's arrival faded away, and the living room was again filled with four simultaneous conversations. "So how's school this semester," Anya asked Dawn as Tara told Katherine how much she had enjoyed her last book. Xander was trying to convince Willow that her next computer game should be about the Hellmouth, featuring a blonde demon fighter and her band of Slayerettes. Giles was asking Angel if he had seen any interesting demons in LA. "Some things never change," Spike said quietly, shaking his head. He was amazed at how easily everyone fell into cheerful conversations, there was no indication that months had passed since they were all together. Buffy spun around in his lap, raising a questioning eyebrow, "what's up," she asked. "Just thinking," he replied. Buffy smiled as if she had read his thoughts, "I'm so glad that everyone's here." Spike nodded, "I know sweetheart, I know." Buffy rested her cheek against Spike's shoulder, "I love you," she whispered softly under the low hum of conversation filling the room.
