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Still Round One
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Buffy and the other wives trotted out onto stage. For some reason, the studio audience applauded. Jogging to her little loveseat and waiting 'husband,' Buffy searched the crowd for Willow and Tara. She found them, red-faced and smiling.

They've been laughing. That can't be a good sign.

She looked back towards stage just as Redhead was climbing into her booth. Her husband, also carrot-top, was watching Buffy. When he caught her looking back, he winked.

He winked?

She got a major shiver --not the good kind-- and studiously looked away as she focused on climbing into her own booth.

"Hello, luv. Have fun chattin' with the married birds?"

She stared at his moving lips. Spike-sex?

Shaking off her distraction, Buffy opened her mouth to reply, but got a good look at Spike's face first. Her brows drew together of their own volition.

"Why do you look so smug?"

"Smug? Whatever do you mean?"

"Don't think I don't know that look. What did you say?"

"Shh, luv, we're on." He took her hand and patted it. She tried not to stare at their joined digits. Spike-sex?

"Welcome back to the Newlywed Game! Gentlemen, we've recorded your answers on cards that you now have in front of you. Each time your prediction matches your wife's answer, you'll get five points. The one couple with the most points at the end of the show wins a very nice grand prize that's been selected especially for them. You all ready? Kathy, we'll start with you." Kathy nodded gravely. Bob continued.

"Kathy, how would your husband say you would complete this sentence? (This is you talking.) 'My husband's blank doesn't seem to go with his what?'"

Kathy's brow puckered in deep thought. After an indeterminable length of time, Bob repeated the question.

"Um..."

"C'mon, Kathy. His blank doesn't seem to go with his what?"

Kathy seemed to be having an existential crisis. "...His ...shoes don't seem to go with his pants? I don't know."

"Okay, Kathy. You said your husband's shoes don't go with his pants. Your husband said..." Kathy's life partner held up the first of the blue cards he'd been holding in his lap. In bold marker, it read--

"His brain doesn't seem to go with his head."

There was confused silence from Kathy.

"My head's small," her husband explained.

Kathy cocked her head. "But that doesn't--"

"Allison! How did your husband say you would complete this sentence: My husband's blank doesn't seem to go with his what?"

Allison, having had a little more time to think about her answer, answered readily enough.

"His eyes don't seem to go with his face."

"And Bob, you said...."

A slightly indignant Bob raised his card.

"Your shoes don't seem to go with your pants."

"That's ironic," Buffy muttered.

"Buffy!"

She jumped. "Huh?"

"Your husband's what doesn't seem to go with his what?"

Blank. Her mind was totally blank. Husband's what? What husband?

She felt Spike nudge her.

"Uh! His ...his..."

"His what doesn't seem t--"

"His hair doesn't seem to go with his eyebrows!" she shouted the first thing that came to her mind.

There was a bark of laughter by her ear. She turned to read the card in Spike's lap, as Bob Eubanks announced

"Spike said... His eyebrows don't go with his hair! Five points for couple number three!"

The audience cheered the first score of the round. Buffy was still stunned by the choking sensation of public quizzing. The stunned sensation deepened when she realized the answers matched.

No way! We got one right? What's he doing? Spike was leaning towards her, an evil spark in his eye. She suddenly remembered the reruns. Oh, we have to peck-kiss now. She leaned around to Spike, but instead of kissing him, she put her hand on his cheek to block their lips from the crowd and cameras, and whispered, "Watch out for the redheads," into his mouth.

She pulled back, mission accomplished and disaster averted. Spike frowned and grabbed her face, performing the same maneuver.

"What?" he whispered.

She squirmed. "The redheads. Now let go of my face."

"No, what are you talkin' about?

Tara and Willow raised identical eyebrows as Buffy and Spike kept kissing.

"I had no idea they were into each other," Willow said.

Tara shrugged. She'd had her suspicions.

"The redheads. The wife's got some Annie the Android thing going on. When you get the chance, check out the guy for creep factor."

Bob Eubanks was looking nervously towards the camera people. Back at the still-embracing couple.

Spike and Buffy finally broke apart. When Buffy saw the looks everyone was giving them, she blushed darkly.

Spike just smirked.

Bob Eubanks glanced back at the cameras. "O-kay... Looks like the honeymoon isn't quite over!"

Spike laughed with the rest of the audience, while Buffy dearly wished for a trap door in the ugly loveseat booth. What had Xander said? The earth never opens up and swallows you when you want it to.

Maybe another Bezoar. That hadn't been so bad.

...Compared to the knowing look that redneck in the third row was sending her. Oh God.

"--Sarah, you said his blood type doesn't seem to go with his astrological sign. Tom, you said ...bloodtype doesn't go with your astrological sign! Five points!"

Buffy frowned as the odd couple quickly kissed. She closed her eyes and put a hand to her head. This was exhausting. I wanna go home.

Bob Eubanks turned to his next question card.

"Question number two: If you had a button that controlled your wife's Whoopie Interest, would she say that lately you'd like to turn it up, turn it down, turn it off, or turn it on?"

Buffy's eyes snapped open.

"Allison, we'll start with you."

"Down," she answered promptly.

"Down?"

She grinned at her plastically-smiling husband. "Definitely down. He has a hard time keeping up."

"O-kay. Bob, you said..." card displayed, "Turn it down!"

The audience clapped.

"She's an absolute nympho, Bob."

"Buffy! Up, Down, Off, or On?"

Buffy desperately tried to think of the least embarrassing answer. It didn't matter what Spike had said. It wasn't like they were actually trying to win, right?

"Uh, ...on?"

"And Spike said... On! You two are on a roll"

Buffy had two seconds to be shocked before Spike swooped in and captured her mouth in what was definitely not a peck.

Willow was very distraught. "I don't get it! How could I have not noticed this?"

Tara patted her shoulder.

Buffy was also ...slightly distraught.

It was probably a blessing that all rational thought had fled her mind. Otherwise, she would have been much more concerned with the fact that they were in front of a live studio audience.

As it was, she was nearly ready to do something in the way of reciprocation when Spike suddenly pulled away, looking innocently towards the man gaping from behind the podium.

He pulled himself together and read the next question.

Buffy wasn't quite there yet.

..........Spike lips. Lips of Spike.

"...A water jug?"

Not so ba--Ack! Television!

She glanced at him, slouching next to her, thighs touching through denim and 40%Rayon, 60%Polyester.

"Maybe a yamoulka?"

He was smirking. Apparently unconcerned with the fact that she, unlike some other people sitting in this booth, actually had friends, teachers, and family members that watched television on a fairly regular basis.

"Thermos?"

Damn him.

...And his lips.

"Buffy--"

She jolted back to the game at large. Bob Eubanks was looking at her.

"...How do you think Spike said you would complete this sentence: In a pinch, I'll bet my wife's bra would make a darn good blank."

Buffy blinked.

Did he just say that?

She turned to Spike. He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

Putting aside the bizarrity of the question itself, Buffy racked her brain for an answer. But not just any answer.

The right answer.

She'd show him a kiss.

...bra would make a darn good....what?

Spike watched the thoughts flit across her face with interest. She was so cute when she was suffering inner turmoil.

Too bad she'd never get it.

"Buffy?" the sadistic bastard prompted from behind the podium.

Buffy grabbed an answer out of her pile.

"A slingshot?"

"Buffy, you said slingshot. Spike you said..."

Buffy tried not to look too eager as she swivelled to see the blue card Spike was holding.

"...a jockstrap!" Eubanks finished.

In the audience, Willow and Tara burst out laughing.

Buffy stared. "A WHAT??"

"Well, y'see--" Spike started. He was smirking. That bastard! Before anyone, including Spike, realized what she was doing, she'd grabbed the card, rolled it into a tube, and started beating him about the head with it.

"You bastard! I swear to God, if my mother sees this, I will feed your ashes to a goldfish!"

Spike did his best to defend himself. "Ey! Lay off...Sla-uh,sweetie! No-! Sto--Bloody--" He grabbed the card before he got a cardboard concussion, and threw it across the stage, out of harm's way. "Christ, Summers! Homicidal maniac!"

Buffy whapped him on the shoulder with her open palm. "Pot, kettle! You probably did less damage when you were drinking the blood of the innocent, you sadistic jerk!"

They seethed for a moment, before a choking gasp caught Buffy's attention. She looked to her left, out into ...the .....audi..ence?

Oh, shit.

Tara and Willow were caught in nearly silent, hysterical convulsions. Willow's occasional hiccuping gulps of air were the only sounds in the studio.

Uh... She looked over at Spike. He waggled his tongue at her.

There was a cough from the podium.

"W-we'll be right back, after these messages from our sponsor. Don't... go away..."

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[Insert Cat Food Here]
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