@

@ @

@ 11 @

@ @

@

Morning After Tennis

@


The next morning broke bright and early. True to their words, it was nearly noon before any of the troupe emerged from their respective sleeping pods to appreciate it.

Xander and Anya sat on opposite sides of the booth, nursing cups of semi-fresh coffee.

"What's the schedule?" Xander mumbled. He widened his eyes a couple times, then gave up and shut them. There had been some minor turbulence around midnight. And one thirty. And two forty-five.


"Sound check at four," Anya replied, swiveling in her seat to reach the coffee-maker on the counter behind her. "Ears at eight thirty. Meet-n greet at nine. Stage at nine thirty. With any luck, we'll be out of this hellhole by eleven."


"The hellhole that is where?"


Anya turned back around, and handed him her full cup. He took it and passed her his, which she refilled. "Uh..." She turned back around and both took a moment to savor their next sips of coffee. "...mm, Sunnydale? Something like that, anyway. Aside from the venue, there's absolutely nothing here."


"I guess it's just far enough away from LA to get the rest of the southern traffic," Xander muttered, looking confusedly at the lipstick smear on his cup.


The door to the bunks slid open, and Dawn shuffled out, a vision in puffy cloud pajamas. She and Xander exchanged the nods of comrades in arms.


"Dawn," he acknowledged. "How'd you sleep?"


Dawn flopped down on the couch and cradled a throw pillow to her head. "Amazingly well for a moving vehicle in desperate need of another axle. But I definitely shouldn't have stayed up that late. Are we the only survivors?"


"Oz went to talk to the bassist for Kakistos," Anya supplied. "I haven't seen the other two yet. They're probably sound asleep."


@@@


Buffy was debating the wisdom of leaving her bunk.


After about twenty minutes of panic and stress last night, exhaustion had allowed her to fall asleep. But now it was morning. There was a bright world out there, and Spike was in it. They might be forced to interact socially.


I should just stay in here. Forever. She unwillingly called to mind last night's 'bedroom scene'. Oh, God, she thought for the hundredth time. I molested my boss. I am staying in here. Dawn can bring me food a couple times a day. It'll be great.

The light was off in her little cave. She didn't to alert anyone to her presence just yet. Maybe just wait until the show time. When was show time?


She suddenly realized that yes, she did have a job, and probably wouldn't get to stay on the bus if she didn't do it.


Buffy rolled over to the edge and peeked through the curtain. The closed off hallway was darkened, but a strip of light shone under the sliding door. She detected no movement from Spike's bunk. He's probably still asleep. Okay.


She eased her way feet first out of her bed with the smallest of rattles from the coasters of the curtain track. She braced herself on the rim below, and with much caution to the noise, dropped to the carpeted floor. After a moment to make sure Spike hadn't woken up, she went into the back room to change.


In his bunk, Spike heard the door slide closed and went back to typing quietly at his lap top. He'd slept restlessly, strangely inspired, and had ventured out of his bunk around 3:00am to retrieve his computer. He was writing a song.


...What the hell rhymes with effulgent?


After a moment of thought, he deleted the last three lines and tried again. He'd already sketched out the song that had burned his brain in the early ams. Now he was trying to fulfill a request from Hallie. This is why I don't write love songs. Daft twit. Why should I listen to a publicist? What does she know about music?


And what rhymes with heart beat?


"Body heat!"


Yeah, bod--what?



@@@


"It's not going to work, Anya. You're gonna have to break down and buy the sweatshirts eventually."


"You're only delaying the inevitable," Dawn chimed in.


Anya folded her arms. "I honestly don't see why everybody has to get their own sweatshirt. It's not cost-effective."


"We did it last year," Xander explained patiently. "And we did it the year before. Now it's what we call a 'tradition.' It's like a Christmas bonus, but 100% cotton."


"And in October."


He nodded at Dawn. "That too."


"Body heat!" Anya shouted again. "What's wrong with good old fashioned body heat?"


"It doesn't have our logo on it?"


Anya muttered something about Narcissism and stood. The courier that had arrived with the batch order watched her nervously as she approached him. She turned back to Xander. "Fine. You'll have your sweatshirts, silly man. Just don't come whining to me when no one wears them and all our money is gone."


She left.


"I think I'm adjusting to her, " Dawn said thoughtfully. "That conversation seemed totally natural."


"You learn quick, young drummer," Xander said into his coffee cup, "But you are not a Jedi yet."


The bunk door slid open, revealing a rumpled, pajama-clad Spike, blinking in the light and scratching his stomach. Dawn was forced to concede points to Buffy for taste. Okay, so my sister isn't crazy...


"Now this man," Xander pointed, "is a Jedi." Spike blinked at him.


"Riight. Mornin', by the way. What's this I hear 'bout body heat?"


"Anya's latest money-saving scheme."


"Don't wanna know," the blonde said, turning around and opening the cabinet.


"I don't think she was completely serious," Xander said. "She didn't have that scary gleam she gets in her eyes when she's had a really brilliant idea."


"That's a blessing," Spike muttered, selecting a manly cereal from the overstuffed shelf. "'D Hate to have another Hwong's Discount Catering episode." He poured himself a bowl and crossed to sit on the couch by Dawn.


Xander shuddered. "Do not remind me. I love this woman, and don't want to associate her with stomach pumps any more than absolutely necessary."


@@@


Buffy pulled her ponytail tight and secured it with a rubberband. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to do about showering, but for the moment she felt mostly clean and nicely pulled together. Jeans and green. Not too classy, but a far cry from the bizarre, punk clothing she and Dawn had purchased the day before. Her sneakers were laced tightly. It made her feel so much better about things.


Okay. Time to face the world.


She emerged back into the bunk section, and listened. Still quiet. With any luck she could get off the bus before Spike woke up, and enjoy a few more awkwardness-free hours.


She pulled open the sliding door.


"It's bloody well not an exaggeration! Fifty-seven people got food poisoning!"


"We had to cancel the show. She was not happy about that, let me tell ya." Xander looked up. "Buffy! Welcome to the Land of the Lively! How's the morning to you?"


"Dandy," Buffy replied, focusing intently on Xander's face. "You?"


"Fine, fine," he said, sweeping an arm across. "Coffee?"


"Nah," she said, realizing the eye contact was getting a little creepy. She ducked to examine the foodstuffs. "Maybe some granola."


Dawn's brow crinkled a little when she realized Spike wasn't going to greet her sister, and said sister didn't intend to greet Spike. What the... "Good morning, Buffy."


"Morning, Dawn." Dawn looked to Spike to continue the courtesies. He was studying his cereal. And Buffy was studying the cabinet.


..."Ok, where's the granola? I know there was some here last night."


Spike looked at the counter next to him. Golden Maple Nut? "Here it is."


Buffy stood quickly and grabbed the box. "Thanks, Spike," she said to it. "So what's the schedule for today?"


Dawn frowned at Buffy's averted eyes and Spike's tossing of the cereal when there was an excuse for some quality skin on skin contact. These weren't the same Buffy and Spike from the grocery store. They were acting so ...awkward.


Xander was oblivious. "Sound check at four, ears at eight thirty, meet-n greet at nine, stage at nine thirty," he rattled off.


"So nothing until four?" Buffy asked. "What should I do until then?" She poured herself a counter of cereal. "Oh, God! Sorry..." She went for the paper towels. "Klutzy."


Dawn ignored the mess and continued to scrutinize her sister and bandmate. What's the matter with her? And why is Spike eating his Corn Flakes with a fork? I don't think Buffy's looked directly at Spike since she came in. They're both so--


Her eyes widened. She looked back between the rumpled Brit and the frantically toweling, now furiously blushing vocalist.


They didn't.


Did they?




Buffy, you've got some explaining to do.

@@@


And I've updated. I'm pulling the RL card on the 'update-regularity' issue. My school realizes that boarding students really don't have anything better to do than homework, so they give a lot. Hours lot. It's neat.


My hands are black, crispy, peeling, and smelling of acid. In case you were wondering.


...And review.


~Star Mouse