Oh look.

I caved.

Big surprise.

I promised I'd stay off FFN until all my extracurricular school projects --of which there were way too many-- got done, and got done good.

Well.

Obviously, it is not February (Oh, so close, though!) and I am about 80% done.

And look at me. I have posted. Watch my meticulously scheduled time get sucked in through the USB port on my computer, with an amusing sqwerlick! sound. All laugh at Star Mouse! Queen of the Type A Procrastinators! Ha! Ha! Ha! She really likes to rant about herself!

Anyway. This is small penance for letting my real life ever get in the way of my fanfiction. Even for a moment.

*Irony Becomes Her will be updated shortly, as well. I've gotten a couple chapters done, except. . . They're not the next ones. So I have to write the other ones first. Sigh. Life is hard.

Sincerely and schizophrenically,

~Star Mouse




&& && &&


*Ding dong!*

. . .

*Ding dong!*

. . .

*Ding dong-dong-dongdongdongdongdong--Bangbangbang!*

"FOR GOODNESS' SAKE, SPIKE! GET THE DAMN DOOR!"

Spike sighed from the living room couch, and got up to answer the bell, showing all the enthusiasm of a man on his way to the gallows. There was only one person he could think of off the top of his head rude enough to knock that much. Grumbling and furtively adjusting his clothes, he swung the door open for his mortal enemy. He opened his mouth for an acerbic quip----

and just kinda stood there like an idiot.

Elizabeth the Black raised an eyebrow, after a long pause made it clear Spike wouldn't be standing aside any time soon. "We were finally accepted to mime school?" she hazarded, managing not to shift awkwardly on her feet, like the geek in her wanted to.

Spike snapped his mouth shut with an audible clack of teeth, still unable to pull his eyes away.

"Uh..." he said, intelligently.

"What?"

"You're. . . Pink." His eyes coasted once again across the lines of the absolutely adorable, sinful, sweet, deadly, pink dress. Or, more specifically, Buffy's lines in the sinful, sweet, deadly, pink dress.

Buffy quirked a lip. "I take it we like pink?"

"Uh..." Spike desperately searched for some words other than 'pink, good.' Surely there must be some. "...'talo's Finnish for 'house.'"

. . .

Damn. Not the best words I could have picked.

Buffy didn't seem to know what to say to that.

"I'm not sure what to say to that," she said. Spike laughed nervously.

And then they both just kind of stood there a little while longer, not really sure what to do, both too distracted by Spike's discovery of the color pink to notice.

And that was how Rupert found them.

"Good heavens," he said, startling his son to attention. "Have you two been standing in the doorway all this time? Spike, move aside, and let Elizabeth through."

Spike shot to the left so fast he knocked over a coatrack.

Which fell into a side table.

Which dislodged a vase.

Which tipped over a fern.

Buffy and Rupert stared at the mess of potting soil and overcoats for a second, while Spike bit his lip to keep from screaming.

Giles cleared his throat, sending that sweet girl Elizabeth an understanding look as he did so. "Perhaps we should just retire to the dining room."

&& && &&

Spike stared into the pot roast in front of him. Maybe if he concentrated hard enough, it would turn into something lethal. Because, no matter what the stereotypes demanded, his father was a pretty damn good cook, and nothing he made could ever be considered a decent poison.

If it had been, at least Spike would have a way out of this hell.

He glanced up.

"...And then, when he was in the third form, he saw that Billy Idol video, 'White Wedding,' and got one of his chums to paint his hair white. But they accidently confused the white paint for the paste..."

Elizabeth burst out laughing, eyes squeezed shut and tearing, as Rupert Giles described the process of shaving off the helmet that had been Spike's hair after the glue dried. Elizabeth laughed even harder.

She'd been doing that a lot this evening.

Especially during the oh so amusing tales of his brief vegan phase in kindergarten, when he'd tried to burn his sneakers because he thought his dad had personally killed a cow to make them.

Oh, how she'd laughed.

Spike stabbed viciously at his roast. Maybe he'd get lucky.

Buffy glanced to her left. The Slayer was attacking his plate. Bad plate, bad, bad. He didn't seem to be enjoying himself very much at all. She on the other hand...

It had been a revelation. About fifteen minutes ago, just as the one about the rollerblade rink was winding up. She was actually having a really good time. And doing something that didn't involve death or shoes, too. She wanted the Slayer to share it with her. It was his house, after all.

She reached over and poked his thigh. His leg jerked, banging into the table, and made the plates dance. Rupert paused in the middle of his story looking puzzledly at the plate in front of him, trying to figure out what had made it jump three inches to the right. Earthquake?

Spike shot Buffy a look of death. "What?" he hissed.

"You're having a bad time. Stop it," she whispered back.

Rupert could, of course hear everything they were saying. There was only about four feet separating them, after all. But he let them sneak, doing that fade-out thing parents learned instinctively around the time their children reached adolescence. The one where they tune out everything except the words 'drugs,' 'exploded,' and 'dad.'

"I've got an f'ing Slayer killer in my house! Eating a roast! Yukkin' it up with my da!"

"It's a damn good roast!" Buffy countered, albeit weakly.

"Why the hell are you eatin' it, anyway? 'S not like you'll even digest it!"

"Oh really, mister expert on my innards!"

"Little miss expert on my preteen years!"

"Lighten up, asshole!"

"Bite me, bitch!"

"Tempted, smartass!"

"Don't you know any other words?"

"Wanker!"

"Oh, very nice, I congrat..u..late. . . . ."

At this point, both seemed to remember they weren't actually alone, and turned to Rupert. He smiled at them through a bite of roast.

Slayer and vampire glanced at each other. Acting on some hidden cue, Buffy dropped her gaze to her watch.

"Oh, wow! Look at the time! I have to do my homework and make my bed and talk on the phone and other such teenage things. I should go." She smiled warmly at Spike's father, who rose to shake her hand when she stood to leave. "I had a wonderful time. Thank you for the excellent dinner," she gushed, laying it on thick for the Slayer's benefit. Spike rolled his eyes. Just the look she'd been going for.

"'S quite all right. It was wonderful to have someone other than Spike to cook for! Ah, are you walking home?" Off Buffy's nod, he tutted. "Spike, why don't you see Elizabeth home, make sure she arrives safely?"

Spike hesitated just a tad too long. Buffy kicked his chair. He jumped up.

"Right! Let's go."

&& && &&

Outside the house, the Slayer breathed a sigh of relief. Buffy didn't breathe at all, of course. But she did look sort of relieved.

"It's weird how your father can make himself seem invisible, isn't it?" she said.

Spike shrugged. "I dunno. Angel said his mom does the same thing all the time."

Buffy's brow crinkled in thought. "Angel..."

"You know. The one at the Bronze," he replied blandly.

"Oh! Him. He's hot."

Spike rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the fact that his superego was screaming What? I'm not hot? What about me? What am I, chopped liver?! and his Id was backing it up with little nods and mumbled You tell 'um, Frank.s.

Apparently Elizabeth the Black was telepathic, because she sent him a condescending smile and patted his sproingy gelled head. "Don't worry," she told him sweetly. "You're hot too."

Woah! That is so cool. She patted his hair again, marvelling at the way it boinced back into place. She watched in wide-eyed awe as one spike popped back up after she pulled it down over his face. "Holy Dippitydo, Batman! How much gel do you have in here?!"

He shook her hand off and acted all manly for a few minutes. He gave it up when he realized she wasn't paying attention to him not paying attention to her.

"Yeah, well," he grumbled. "You held your end of the bargain. So far. Did a great job of letting my da humiliate me and all. I guess it's my turn?"

"Uh huh," Buffy said, still staring longingly at his hair.

He sighed. She jerked out of whatever dark, forbidden hair~dresser fantasy she'd been entertaining and glared at him in confusion.

"Huh?"

"My help? You needing it?" he prompted again.

"Oh! Right. Your help. Bear with, I'm trying to phrase." She cast around her for some inspiration. She had to word this carefully, so he didn't take flight. It wasn't like it was bad. Well, kinda. But relatively speaking. . .

Ooh, distraction. "Hang on a sec. I'll be right back."

Spike stopped walking at her word, kicking his feet for a few seconds before he realized she was headed for the wino on the bench ahead.

"Bloody--! No!" He ran and grabbed her arm, yanking her back onto the sidewalk. "What the hell do you think you're doing, you crazy bitch?!"

"What?!" Elizabeth shook his hand off, shaking out of game face. "It was a great pot roast, Slayer, but not exactly filling, if you know what I mean. A girl's gotta eat!"

"Not. In. My. Fucking. Town." He bit out, staring her down.

Oh wow. "Oh, please! You've got to be kidding me! What the hell am I supposed to do? Starve?"

"There's a butcher's a few blocks down at this left. You can get some blood there."

She raised an incredulous eyebrow. "Animal?"

"Dead right. You're off Homosapiens henceforth."

"No. Fucking. Way." she replied, mimicking his earlier tone perfectly.

Spike gulped, but covered well, leaning in so close she couldn't focus on his eyes and had to pull back.

"You want my help," he said carefully, playing his one and only card, "and you will leave the locals untouched. That is the one and only deal. There will be no bargaining. There will be no cheating. Take or leave, pet."

Buffy blinked. This was so not the teenager that had been so close to banging his head against the dining room table a mere thirty minutes ago. No way.

She shook her head. "No way. You have no idea what you're asking."

"Don't care."

"Not hunt?!"

"Damn straight."

Elizabeth the Black took a moment to consider this bizarre, heretofore unexplored concept. Nope. Wouldn't work.

"Nope. Wouldn't work. For one thing, I've got several of my darling relatives in town, breathing down my back, and I have to keep up appearances--"

Spike cut her off. "Relatives? You brought a nest into my turf?"

"No! These people--" she stopped, biting her lip.

Spike's eyes narrowed. "'Lizabeth? What?"

The vampiress's eyes darted back and forth, into a few of the darker shadows. "We should get out of here," she said quietly. "If we need to have this conversation, we need to do it somewhere safe, where they can't follow."

Trying not to think about what could inspire such fear in a vampire that didn't even bat an eyelash at a Slayer (Well, she'd batted an eyelash, but she sure hadn't seemed the least bit nervous about it.), Spike looked around at where their aimless walking had taken them. And sighed. He turned to Elizabeth.

"What you said, about my friends?"

"Safe," she assured. Then rolled her eyes. "Apparently everybody is."

"I'm going to," he cringed, "trust you on that. If you do anything..."

The shorter blonde looked up at him gravely. "I swear it. On everything I'd hold holy if I was into that sort of thing."

Spike raised an eyebrow. Buffy rolled her eyes. "What do you want from me? A pledge in the name of Lucifer? I hear he's not really reliable, himself. I said I won't do anything!"

Spike looked at her intensely for a few moments, not that he could get any read on her, then nodded slowly. "We're near a friend's. We'll finish this there."

He started off down the street, the vampiress at his heels. Neither consciously realized that the last argument had featured a distinct lack of death threats, fangs, and wooden sticks.

&& && &&

Okay. I'm back to work now. I've got half of another chapter done, and I'll post that shortly. Now I have to focus on Astronomy, which, really really isn't as fun as it sounds. Way too many numbers.

In case anyone cares, I went back and rewrote a lot of the first parts. Nothing drastic or plot-twisting, just got rid of some of the aimless plot threads I threw out at first to see if anything would bite. I should probably do the same thing to Irony, but hey! I'm lazy. I think there's still a paragraph in Ch. 2 on that one that implies Birdie's from the future. Oh well. You don't care.

Send me nice reviews to tell me how much you missed me (if, of course, you noticed I was gone), and to remind me to update this thing.

~Star Mouse