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Inspiration
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Two hours later, the gang has dispersed.
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Dawn looked up from her magazine when the door opened. Xander's head poked out of the stairwell. "Anybody up there want on the hotel ferry before it leaves?"

"Hotel Fairy?"

Xander held up a small duffle bag. "The runner's taking a vanful of us over to the hotel to shower in non-dressing rooms. Real beds to nap on, not enclosed on five sides..."

Dawn hopped up. "Single occupancy bathroom? I am so there. Just let me get my stuff."


She disappeared into the back, and returned in less than a minute with a small bundle of clothes and hair products. She slipped on her sunglasses and shooed Xander out the door in front of her.

He glanced over her shoulder, into the bowels of the bus. "What about Buffy and Spike? We probably shouldn't leave those two together any time soon."

There was a grey van parked a few feet off. Dawn could see Anya in the front seat, and Andrew and a couple other techies she almost recognised in the back. "Somehow I don't think they're going to jump each other right now."

"Not jumping," he corrected. "Assaulting."

"Spike's asleep. Buffy just went out for a run, and I'm not going to wait two hours for her to get back. She can deal with the tiny icky showers, and the grumpy Spike."

Dawn hopped in next to Andrew and buckled her seatbelt, leaving Xander to climb into the far back. She whapped the back of the seat, startling the slightly rotund driver. "Let's hit the road, Jack."

"It's Garrett."

"It's God, if you can get me to the actual building with the real bathrooms."

@@@

The light changed, and Buffy trotted fearlessly into the street in front of the line of cars.

Yeah, she thought as she got into the rhythm again. This is what I needed. Buffy could feel the stress of the last few days getting pounded into the sidewalk and left there like trampled dog turds. This was good.

She didn't have to think about anything. Not shows. Not newspapers. Not Spi-- She could just think about the beat of her feet, and her breathing, and the scenery.

Thud. In. Thud. Out. Thud. In. Thud. (Ooh! Vintage!) Thud. In. Thud. Out. Thud. Bum beeeeeebumbumbum.

Buffy's rhythm was shattered. Suddenly there was a new one running through her head. A good one. She kept running past the boutique, and tried to listen to it.

Bum beeeeeebumbumbum. Beebumbum beeebebum.

Definite drum part. Certainly space for guitar. She could almost hear words on top of it. And they were new words. Never-before-sung words.

Good words.

I've gotta write this down.

Still jogging, she pulled her backpack around to the front. But even as she dug through it, she knew that no paper or writing implements had made it on this outing.

Bum beeeeeebumbumbum. Beebumbum beeebebum.

Desperate, and with music dripping out her ears, she stopped and entered the deli she'd been about to pass.

Okay. Pen. She jog/hopped the counter and the teenage boy behind it.

"Hey, could I borrow a pen?" Beebebebumbumbum. She grabbed a napkin out of the dispenser by her elbow.

"Hey! I know you!"

Instinctively, Buffy made eye contact and said, "Oh, right! Hi!"

"You're screwing XCOD into the ground, 'Buffy!'"

Beeeruuumm.... "I what?" Thump thump.

The boy turned around and called, "Hey, Yancy!" into the bowels of the kitchen.

Slightly horrified, Buffy watched a girl with a nose ring and a ball necklace emerge from the back. Her hands were full of pickle slices.

"What?"

The counter boy jerked his thumb at Buffy. "Look who wants a sandwich."

"Hey, I never said anything about a sandw--"

The girl's eyes went wide. "Is that Buffy Summers?"

"Yeah, she totally is."

This was getting a little too creepy. Buffy carefully set the napkins on the counter.

"Uh, look, I'm just gonna..."

"Hey, bitch! Stay away from my band!"

"Your..?" Buffy started backing towards the door, aware of the seated customers' eyes on the scene.

"It's your fault Devon's gone!"

She just had to correct her. "Actually, it's ecstasy's fault Devon's gone--"

"You're totally screwing XCOD into the ground," the counter boy repeated in agreement. "They're totally going pop."

"Hey! We're not--"

"'We?' You joined the band, like, a week ago?" Pickle girl waved her hands in agitation, sprinkling the counter and the three of them with juice.

"You have no right to act like you're a part of it. I have more claim to XCOD than you do! I've been to every show they've ever had within three hours of Y-town , and by the way, yours SUCKED." Yancy said loudly. Someone who had opened the door closed it again quickly.

"Look, I--" Buffy continued to back away, hands held in front of her like they were going to start shooting.

"Her sister was pretty good though," Counter Boy said.

"Yeah," Yancy conceded. "To bad you," she gestured with pickle-filled hands at Buffy, "had to go all apeshit."

The incongruity gave Buffy pause. She took a step forward. "I didn't go 'apeshit!'"

"You went unconscious."

"I--Okay, that part's true. But--!" She held her finger highly and tried to think of something to defend herself against the teenagers staring angrily back at her. She couldn't.

"Bye."

She dashed for the door.

As it swung shut with a jingling of bells, Yancy snorted. "What, no autographs? What a bitch."


Three feet beyond the Deli of the Damned, Buffy collapsed against the wall, heart pounding.

"That is possibly the most surreal experience I have ever had."

"Ohmigod! You're Buffy Summers!"

"You are! Ohmigod! I saw you on E!"

And the challenger enters the ring.

Buffy looked to her left. There were two grinning girls paused midstride in the sidewalk. Each was holding bulging Wet Seal shopping bags.

"Um, hi?" All she could think of was the twin girls in The Shining. At least they don't have pickles.

One of them sudenly exhibited doubt. Her face crunched. "You are Buffy Summers, right?"

No! Go away! "Uhm... Yes?"

They bounced.

"Ohmigod!"

"You're totally an inspiration for female punk musicians!"

"Oh. Uh, are you two punk musicians?" How can these people know me? Is this what failure means?

"No! You're so cool!"

"It's too bad you fainted the other night. That was kinda stereotypical."

The one on the right nudged her friend. "Oh, Stephanie! Get her autograph!"

"Oh, yeah!"

The other one grinned at Buffy as Stephanie put down her bags and rooted around in her purse. "So is Spike, like, as hot in person as he is onstage?"

"Uh ....yeah," Buffy admitted. Can't think about that. ...And why do they want my autograph?

"But Xander's hotter, right?" Stephanie handed Buffy a pen and a checkbook. "It's all I have. Can you make it out to Stephanie and Megan?"

Buffy turned the book over unsurely. "Um, where should I..."

"Here!" Megan said. There was a ripping sound. She gave Buffy a good chunk of her shopping bag, retrieving her friend's checkbook.

Buffy turned it over to the white side, and experienced a moment of existential uncertainty.

I've forgotten how to write my name.

"What's wrong?"

"Uh, nothing." Closing her eyes, Buffy braced the bag shard against the wall and wrote what she hoped was her name. She opened her eyes. Close enough. As an afterthought, she added, "To Stephanie and Megan" at the top.

She handed the paper back to the eager teens.

Their faces fell.

"Hey! You spelled my name wrong!"

Panic. "I what?"

"It's M-E-A-G-H-A-N." Meaghan stared sadly at the ripped paper.

"Oh, uh, sorry." Buffy made to take the bag back and correct it, but Meaghan pulled it out of her reach. "No, that's okay," she said with wounded acceptance. "It was really cool to meet you, anyway."

"Bye, Buffy!" Stephanie and Meaghan picked up their bags and continued on their way, leaving Buffy shell-shocked and still leaning against the wall.

"Possibly it's time to go back to the bus."


% % % %


The bus appeared to be empty.

A little uneasy about the possible significance of this, Buffy quickly retrieved a change of clothes from the suitcase explosion in the back room and went off in search of a shower. They were parked in the lot of some sort of basketball stadium where they'd be playing (music, not basketball) tomorrow. Surely there were showers somewhere in there.

She crossed the parking lot, had her laminated pass nodded at by a seated security guard, and eventually found the showers after circling the building twice. The bathroom was slightly nicer than the one she remembered from high school gym class, but not much. Well, he thought, laying towels out so she wouldn't have to walk on the tile, at least if I fail as a touring musician, I can avoid any more of these nasty things. ...How does Anya stand it? she wondered. The water refused to reach for anything beyond lukewarmth.

(At that moment, Anya was reclining in the hot tub at the Bay View, while visions of checksums danced in her head.)

During the actual shower ritual, the tune Buffy'd forgotton in her Twilight Zone moment popped back into her head.

Beeebebumbumbum.

Terrified she was going to lose it again, Buffy hummed frantically as she finished rinsing. She even forwent the Repeat in order to make a dripping dash for her bag, which now housed a black gel pen.

As soon as she started scribbling down an approximation of the rhythm running through her head, the words started coming --almost faster than she could write.

Mumbling like a crazy person, she got down as much as she could, vaguely aware that if she had a better writing surface, this would be much easier.

After about three minutes, she had a chorus and the better part of two verses sloppily written ...on her bra?

"Shit!" She stared in amazement at her handiwork. Without even realizing what she'd done, she'd started at the top of the left cup, and switched to the right cup when she ran out of space. Her bra was ruined.

...But she'd written a song.

*

Fifteen minutes later, Buffy was back on the bus, in the process of changing her clothes and making a simultaneous attempt to organize her stuff back into the suitcase. She gave up. She was about to continue the arduous task of selecting an outfit when she spotted the guitar case lying on the floor.

She bit her lip.

The song was burning her ears, and it's not like anyone was here to hear...


# # # # # #


Spike was jerked awake to the extremely jarring sound of music.

"THE ARMOUR/AROUND HER/ IS WEARING THI-II-II-IN. SHE NEVER--"

"Wha-the--??" He squinted his ears.

That's odd. Sounds like... Buffy?

And a guitar?

He brought himself more fully awake.

"--THAT THIS WOULD END..."

Damn, that girl can sing ...when she's of a mind.

"And just who's guitar is that, may I ask?" he muttered, fumbling around in the cramped space for his jeans. The racket sounded like it was coming from the direction of the back room, but Buffy's cords were blasting through the door like it was paper, and her voice surrounded him. She obviously thought she was alone. He'd never heard her sing with such abandon.

It was nice. Too bad she can't manage to do that when it counts.

As it was... He caught his pants with an ankle and managed to wriggle into them. Suitably clothed, he dropped down from the bunk.

Yep. Definitely coming from the back room. Pretty strong guitar, too. Was Oz in there with her? Surely he'd remembered how protective Spike was of his acoustic darling.

Spike opened the door and stuck his head in.

The sight that greeted him stole his breath.

No Oz. Just Buffy, eyes squeezed shut, screaming lyrics he was barely paying attention to, thrashing at the strings, wearing nothing but his guitar, a bra, and possibly panties.

He blinked a few times. It didn't go away.

Thoughts of My guitar! Were warring with thoughts of The lucky thing...

The second set won. Now this is a photo op, he thought, reaching behind him.

Buffy sensed something in the air change as she was singing, and opened her eyes.

Spike? Spike! Oh shit! In sudden panic, the only way she could think of to shut herself up was to snap her mouth shut. She did so instinctively, and felt a sudden silence accompanied by an equally sudden sharp agony. She clapped a hand around her mouth in shock and pain.

"Ow!" She could feel her mouth throbbing.

"Ow?" Spike opened the door wider and stepped in. Buffy barely spared him a glance. "You weren't that bad, Summers."

"No, you ashhole!" She stuck a finger in her mouth. It came away red. "I bith my tongue!"

"'S what you get for touching other people's things," he replied, mostly joking. Buffy didn't have time for that.

She pulled off his guitar and pushed past him to the front of the bus. Why do I always do this? Now he thinks I'm even more of an idiot than he already did ...And I have a mouth full of blood.

She could tell he was following her as she made her way to the front counter and spat bloody saliva into the sink. Why is he following me? Oh, blood.

"Ugh." She popped open the cabinet and pulled--Where are the cups? She tried the next drawer over and pulled one out. She could feel his eyes on her as she filled it from the tap and swished.

"Pretty good song," he commented. "Who does it?"

Buffy spat out the water into the sink. "You, uh, wouldn't know her," she answered, wiping her mouth.

"And you play guitar."

"Sort of." Oh,he means his guitar-- "Spike, I'm really sorry I didn't ask before I--"

"Gonna play lead?"

Buffy furrowed her brows at him. "You mean, 'Am I going to take your job?'?"

"Well, we know you can't sing."

He actually thinks I coud-- She reached out a comforting hand. "Spike--"

There was a click and a rush of air as the bus door opened.

"Hey hey hey! Anybody ho--" Xander stopped with a raising of eyebrows when he caught sight of the blondes. "Well, this is intriguing."

Buffy shot him a confused look, before she realized she was feeling the warm breeze on her stomach. She looked down.

"Ack!" God, Buffy! Most people manage to dress themselves! She dived behind Spike for cover, and realized that she was feeling bare flesh under her palms. He wasn't wearing a shirt, either.

"Ack!" She made a mad dash for the back room and slammed the door behind her. Xander flinched at the gunshot-crack of wood, then turned to Spike.

Spike tried to leer suggestively, but couldn't pull it off at the brunette's hilariously confused face.

"Bit her tongue," he said by way of explanation.

Xander nodded slowly, puzzling through that statement. "Oh. Right."

Dawn and Anya appeared behind him. Dawn saw Spike and rolled her eyes. "Put a shirt on, Dayglow."

Anya merely pushed Xander up the stairs. "On the bus, Sweetie. Don't be frightened."

"I'm not--"

"Where's Buffy?" Dawn asked the half-naked guitarist. "You didn't kill her, did you?"

Anya dumped her purse and etc. on the couch and headed for the door she'd just entered through, mumbling about local crew coordination.

"Not this time. She's in the back."

Dawn brushed past him, and Spike turned to pull a water out of the fridge, leaving Xander wondering what he'd just witnessed.

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Wait. You mean starmouse actually updated?

Woahh. Weird.

~starmouse