Title: Scary Monsters (And Super Creeps)
Author: Tabitha R. Jones (me in other words)
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Angel Pairing: Spuffy. If you really dislike Spike/Buffy, please don't flame.
Disclaimer: I do not now nor have I ever owned Buffy the Vampire Slayer or its characters. They are all the property of Joss Whedon. I also do not own the lyrics to "Scary Monsters (And Super Creeps)" which are quoted herein. Those belong to David Bowie.
Rating: PG-13, for mild profanity and possible mocking of goths. (I can do that, as I am goth...heh)
Summary/Genre: Humor/Angst. Songfic. Very post-final-episode, and post-Spike-resurrection, but before the end of Angel. Buffy and Dawn (who has now gone gothic lolita) visit a goth club in London on their European tour. In the club, Buffy angsts it up in a sarcastic way, but ends up getting a surprise. (I suck at summaries, I admit it.) 2405 words. One-shot.
Archiving: Ask me first. Also, I will be posting it to my LiveJournal
Comments: Yes, please! It's my first ever Buffy fic!
"Oi, in or out, missy, I ain't got all night."
Buffy looked up at the hulking bouncer, taking in his shaved head, gauged ears and tribal tattoos without even raising an eyebrow. She rolled her eyes, preparing a witty comeback when she felt a hard yank on her arm.
"Come on!" Dawn was practically wriggling like a puppy next to her, "Let's GO IN! It's my first time in a real London club!"
"Chill, Dawnie, we'll go in," Buffy said, slightly exasperated, "how much is it?"
The bouncer leered down at the two girls, "Could be free, if you're friendly....URK..!" His come on was suddenly cut off, as Buffy's elbow found his crotch.
"So, free then? Awful sweet of you." And with that, the two girls stepped over the fallen bouncer and slipped through the metal doors of the club.
Inside the club, black lights picked out the whites of eyes, the glints of teeth and the occasional white accessory. Pounding loud industrial goth music echoed off the metal walls in an almost deafening cacophony. Patrons in gleaming rubber, slithery black leather and shiny metal posed around the bar, preened at the mirrored back wall, or lounged on the tattered velvet furniture, doing their absolute best to look completely bored. For what felt like the fiftieth time that night, Buffy rolled her eyes. Confronted by the bartender's bonded-on fake fangs and body-mod devil horns, she rolled them for the fifty-first.
"Omigodthisissocoolcanyoubelievehowcoolthisis?!" shrieked Dawn, directly in her ear, "Ican'tbelievewe'reactuallyhere!"
This was going to be a night of eye-rolling, no doubt about it.
"Yeah!" Buffy yelled back, "Awesome! You go have fun!" She smiled at her little sister, once again amazed at Dawn's recent stylistic choices. Like the rest of the bar's patrons, Dawn wore nothing but black, though hers was accented here and there with gashes of red and liberal helpings of lace. At least she'd gotten better at walking in the Japanese knee-high platform boots she insisted on wearing- she no longer teetered dangerously when trying to walk faster than a grandma. Buffy definitely felt old.
"I'm gonna go dance!" yelled Dawn, tightening her ponytail fasteners and adjusting her Victorian bodice and fingerless lace mitts, "Where should I meet you?"
Buffy glanced around quickly, surprised at this sudden display of responsibility. Her eyes caught the word LOUNGE picked out in green neon over an archway. She pointed and made a little walking gesture with her fingers in its direction. Dawn nodded, then dashed to the sunken dance floor, managing to make it without breaking her neck. Buffy was impressed. Those Japanese fashion magazines had probably been a bad purchase initially, but she had to admit Dawn looked adorable. Certainly better than the vampire poseurs and wannabes that seemed to be infesting the rest of the club. She sighed and headed towards the lounge, shrugging out of her jacket. At least in there, she could hopefully escape the screeching music. Yes, definitely feeling old.
Twenty minutes later, Buffy was regretting ever going into the lounge. True, the music of the dance floor was muffled by what had to be amazingly well soundproofed walls. But the lounge was host to a far more evil horror, one of the absolute worst the ex-Slayer had ever had to face.
The lounge was the karaoke room.
A karaoke room populated by nothing but goths. Goths that were either depressed or besotted or both.
The Hellmouth would have been a better place to spend the night.
Buffy took another deep gulp of her drink, as yet another painfully skinny, spotty faced, pale boy attempted to croon out the Cure's "Lovesong" to a girl who had absolutely no business wearing a rubber catsuit. She cringed visibly as he attempted to warble a high note. The next singer to take the stage unbelievably wore a floor-length cloak and a poofy pirate shirt, topped off with an actual top hat. When he began to sing "Bela Lugosi is Dead", Buffy began to wish Peter Murphy had never been born. A bespectacled woman in vinyl jodphurs and a shirt made of black electrical tape screeched out a Siouxsie and the Banshees song so badly it was impossible to tell which song it even was.
Buffy checked her watch for the fifth time, and turning around in her chair, desperately scanned the doorway for Dawn. Of course, the only table in the place had to be close to the low platform that served as the stage. She craned her neck, eager for even a glimpse of Dawn's frilly petticoats or those clunky boots. Another song was starting, the driving beat promising another goth murdering another classic song. Another eyeroll was certainly imminent.
"She had a horror of rooms she was tired you can't hide beat..."
A surprisingly good voice growled out the first line. Buffy continued to look for Dawn, ignoring the stage.
"And when I looked in her eyes they were blue but nobody home..."
The crowd was cheering, whether for the classic Bowie song or the singer, Buffy didn't know. Still, he wasn't terrible.
"She could've been a killer if she didn't walk the way she do, and she do..."
Buffy snorted a little to herself. Killer. What did Bowie know about killing? What did any of the doom-and-gloom-obsessed goths in the club really know about it?
"She'd opened strange doors that we'd never close again..."
Wasn't that just the truth? Story of a Slayer's life, really. Open strange doors, then make sure you got them closed again. Buffy shook her head slightly. The whole point of this little world tour jaunt around Europe was to forget all that. Perhaps she'd had one drink too many and was already getting maudlin.
"She began to wail jealous screams, waiting at the lights know what I mean..."
The singer was really pretty good. Buffy was surprised when around the room, people jumped to their feet, completely blocking the view of the door. People on their feet, for a karaoke singer?! She turned back to the stage, finally curious.
"Scary monsters supercreeps keep me running running scared..."
Buffy went completely cold with shock, goosepimples forming on her bare arms.
There, in the fitful spotlights trained on the stage, was an all-too familiar figure. A black t-shirt stretched over a lean-muscled chest, tucking into tight black jeans. Skin paler than any goth's gleamed under the lights while white blond hair caught glints of color from the neon beer signs. And despite the sweltering heat of the club, the trademark full length leather trench coat was still on.
Spike.
Singing. Karaoke. In a goth club.
"What the fuck?" asked Buffy of no one in particular. Spike continued to sing, looking out over the crowd.
"Scary monsters supercreeps keep me running running scared..."
Buffy glanced around nervously, wondering if she could sneak out of the lounge before he noticed her. It seemed impossible, since the crowd was absolutely loving Spike's performance, and had packed as close to the makeshift stage as they could. There was no escape. Just as she realized she couldn't get out by ass-kicking her way through the crowd, Spike stalked over to her side of the stage, dragging the mic stand with him in full rockstar mode.
And then he noticed her. He didn't miss a beat, but started on the next verse of the song, staring right at her.
"She asked me to stay and I stole her room..."
Buffy squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. More like the whole house. And is it really stealing when you invite someone in?
"She asked for my love and I gave her a dangerous mind..."
Yeah, that was an understatement. Though there wasn't really any asking going on. And could nasty-hot, hardcore demon-sex really be called "love"...? Buffy downed the rest of her drink in one gulp, staring right at Spike who stared back and kept singing.
"Now she's stupid in the street and she can't socialize..."
"Hey!" Buffy yelled in spite of herself, slamming her empty glass down on the table, "Stupid?!" Though she had to admit she was pretty damn awful at that whole "socializing" thing. It had practically taken an act of God to get her out in this club in the first place. If she hadn't felt responsible for Dawn, she'd have stayed home. She glared at Spike, who simply gave a maddening little smirk, raising an eyebrow. Several nearby goth girls audibly squealed.
"Well, I love the little girl and I'll love her till the day she dies..."
Spike's eyes flashed as they met hers, and Buffy suppressed a gasp. Okay, now this was just getting ridiculous. Spike was ancient history. Plus, he obviously was still an overly sentimental, delusionally romantic nutbar. So why did her face feel so hot?
Spike grinned, as if he could sense her flustered state, then dashed to the edge of the stage to sing the next lines to the rapturously upturned faces of a group of PVC-clad ladies.
"Jimmy's guitar sound jealousies scream, waiting at the lights know what I mean..."
Buffy frowned, annoyed at her reactions, then stood up suddenly, almost knocking over her chair. The chair legs made a horribly audible scraping sound, drawing Spike's attention back to her, though he kept singing. She felt her face grow even hotter as several nearby clubbers glanced curiously in her direction. Completely flustered, she sat down quickly, thinking to escape once the song was over. Maybe some of the obviously enamored girls (and guys) in the lounge would mob Spike once he was done. Maybe then she could sneak out. And maybe then a convenient meteor could fall on her or a nice earthquake could swallow her up. There couldbe earthquakes in London, right?
The song ended. The crowd cheered. Buffy stood again, and walked briskly towards the doorway, trying to pretend she had to be somewhere. She checked her watch to add to the look of "important destination, gotta run" she was trying to project.
An icy cold hand fell on her bare shoulder and she almost shrieked, wheeling around instantly.
She was face to face with Spike. Her mouth went dry, and she couldn't think of anything witty to say. Spike just looked at her, the green neon of the lounge sign gleaming on his high cheekbones, giving him an almost unearthly look. Which wasn't far from the truth, really. Buffy swallowed hard and, of all things, noticed the scar on his eyebrow with a warm pang of familiar recognition. Her mind raced as she tried to think of something, ANYthing to say to break the awkward silence.
She didn't have to.
"SPIKE!"
A frilly-and-lacy black-and-red blur slammed into Spike's chest, almost knocking him down. Dawn had come to find Buffy, and launched herself into an attack-hug.
"Spike! You're here in London! Oh my god, this is too cool!" screamed Dawn at top volume, waving her Vivienne Westwood mini-purse in an arc that brought it dangerously close to Buffy's head. Spike glanced past Dawn to Buffy quickly, then smiled his most charming smile at the younger girl.
"Ain't this a surprise, finding you girls here," he quipped. "Never thought I'd run into you two again." He glanced past Dawn once more, and winked at Buffy, then raised an eyebrow. Considering the last time they'd seen him, they were positive he'd be destroyed, Dawn was taking his sudden appearance awfully well. Certainly better than Buffy was. Something weird had to be going on. And Buffy had come to Europe to get away from that whole "weird" thing for a while.
Buffy frowned. Spike was obviously lying, or he'd never have been singing that song. It had been chosen for the sole purpose of getting her attention. And he'd followed them to Europe, had been trying to find them, never mind the fact that he wasn't bothering to explain why he was there. Just like a vampire to appear out of nowhere, with no explanation, and to act like it was no big thing. She felt the familiar prickle of anger scratching at her senses, and opened her mouth to tell him off in no uncertain terms.
But then she saw the huge grin on Dawn's face. Dawn was practically sparkling, she was so excited. She didn't look like an adorable-yet-creepy Victorian doll for the first time in months. The younger girl was under Spike's arm, both arms around his waist, smiling up at him happily. Buffy looked up at Spike's face and was surprised to see that he looked tired. Could vampires look tired? Was that even possible? He must have gone through something pretty harsh. She knew she looked tired these days- running from her past was exhausting, almost as exhausting as the past itself. She was getting older, and her life as a Slayer had been pretty hard. She was already getting tiny crow's feet around her eyes and without the daily regimen of Slayer training, she knew her upper arms were starting to jelly up like an old lady's. She dismissed her wandering thoughts with an imperceptible shake of her head. She hoped Spike wouldn't notice her jelly-tube arms and wrinkles the way she felt every new guy she met did. Wait, what was she thinking?
Her eyes met his, and she felt her stomach drop. Spike looked at her with such tenderness, it was almost palpable. She could feel the love. Despite herself, she melted.
"It's good to see you," Spike said. "You're looking good."
"Th-thanks," Buffy said. Oh lord, were her eyes watering? Maybe she could blame the smoky club. She blinked hard a few times, then smiled, crow's feet be damned.
"Let's get out of here," she said, slipping on her jacket. "Who wants donuts? I'll buy."
Spike reached out and put his other arm gently around Buffy's shoulders. It felt good, like a favorite sweater. Cozy, almost. Buffy performed her final eyeroll of the night. Most definitely old, if she was enjoying the idea of a guy being "cozy". Especially when that guy was the former William the Bloody.
"No, I'LL buy," Spike said. "I've got some catching up to do."
"No kidding," Buffy said. "Not to mention some explaining. Come on, Dawnie, Spike, let's get outta here."
The three made their way out into the streetlamp glow of the London night, their voices echoing off the darkened, empty buildings in the familiar way of reunited friends.
Author: Tabitha R. Jones (me in other words)
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Angel Pairing: Spuffy. If you really dislike Spike/Buffy, please don't flame.
Disclaimer: I do not now nor have I ever owned Buffy the Vampire Slayer or its characters. They are all the property of Joss Whedon. I also do not own the lyrics to "Scary Monsters (And Super Creeps)" which are quoted herein. Those belong to David Bowie.
Rating: PG-13, for mild profanity and possible mocking of goths. (I can do that, as I am goth...heh)
Summary/Genre: Humor/Angst. Songfic. Very post-final-episode, and post-Spike-resurrection, but before the end of Angel. Buffy and Dawn (who has now gone gothic lolita) visit a goth club in London on their European tour. In the club, Buffy angsts it up in a sarcastic way, but ends up getting a surprise. (I suck at summaries, I admit it.) 2405 words. One-shot.
Archiving: Ask me first. Also, I will be posting it to my LiveJournal
Comments: Yes, please! It's my first ever Buffy fic!
"Oi, in or out, missy, I ain't got all night."
Buffy looked up at the hulking bouncer, taking in his shaved head, gauged ears and tribal tattoos without even raising an eyebrow. She rolled her eyes, preparing a witty comeback when she felt a hard yank on her arm.
"Come on!" Dawn was practically wriggling like a puppy next to her, "Let's GO IN! It's my first time in a real London club!"
"Chill, Dawnie, we'll go in," Buffy said, slightly exasperated, "how much is it?"
The bouncer leered down at the two girls, "Could be free, if you're friendly....URK..!" His come on was suddenly cut off, as Buffy's elbow found his crotch.
"So, free then? Awful sweet of you." And with that, the two girls stepped over the fallen bouncer and slipped through the metal doors of the club.
Inside the club, black lights picked out the whites of eyes, the glints of teeth and the occasional white accessory. Pounding loud industrial goth music echoed off the metal walls in an almost deafening cacophony. Patrons in gleaming rubber, slithery black leather and shiny metal posed around the bar, preened at the mirrored back wall, or lounged on the tattered velvet furniture, doing their absolute best to look completely bored. For what felt like the fiftieth time that night, Buffy rolled her eyes. Confronted by the bartender's bonded-on fake fangs and body-mod devil horns, she rolled them for the fifty-first.
"Omigodthisissocoolcanyoubelievehowcoolthisis?!" shrieked Dawn, directly in her ear, "Ican'tbelievewe'reactuallyhere!"
This was going to be a night of eye-rolling, no doubt about it.
"Yeah!" Buffy yelled back, "Awesome! You go have fun!" She smiled at her little sister, once again amazed at Dawn's recent stylistic choices. Like the rest of the bar's patrons, Dawn wore nothing but black, though hers was accented here and there with gashes of red and liberal helpings of lace. At least she'd gotten better at walking in the Japanese knee-high platform boots she insisted on wearing- she no longer teetered dangerously when trying to walk faster than a grandma. Buffy definitely felt old.
"I'm gonna go dance!" yelled Dawn, tightening her ponytail fasteners and adjusting her Victorian bodice and fingerless lace mitts, "Where should I meet you?"
Buffy glanced around quickly, surprised at this sudden display of responsibility. Her eyes caught the word LOUNGE picked out in green neon over an archway. She pointed and made a little walking gesture with her fingers in its direction. Dawn nodded, then dashed to the sunken dance floor, managing to make it without breaking her neck. Buffy was impressed. Those Japanese fashion magazines had probably been a bad purchase initially, but she had to admit Dawn looked adorable. Certainly better than the vampire poseurs and wannabes that seemed to be infesting the rest of the club. She sighed and headed towards the lounge, shrugging out of her jacket. At least in there, she could hopefully escape the screeching music. Yes, definitely feeling old.
Twenty minutes later, Buffy was regretting ever going into the lounge. True, the music of the dance floor was muffled by what had to be amazingly well soundproofed walls. But the lounge was host to a far more evil horror, one of the absolute worst the ex-Slayer had ever had to face.
The lounge was the karaoke room.
A karaoke room populated by nothing but goths. Goths that were either depressed or besotted or both.
The Hellmouth would have been a better place to spend the night.
Buffy took another deep gulp of her drink, as yet another painfully skinny, spotty faced, pale boy attempted to croon out the Cure's "Lovesong" to a girl who had absolutely no business wearing a rubber catsuit. She cringed visibly as he attempted to warble a high note. The next singer to take the stage unbelievably wore a floor-length cloak and a poofy pirate shirt, topped off with an actual top hat. When he began to sing "Bela Lugosi is Dead", Buffy began to wish Peter Murphy had never been born. A bespectacled woman in vinyl jodphurs and a shirt made of black electrical tape screeched out a Siouxsie and the Banshees song so badly it was impossible to tell which song it even was.
Buffy checked her watch for the fifth time, and turning around in her chair, desperately scanned the doorway for Dawn. Of course, the only table in the place had to be close to the low platform that served as the stage. She craned her neck, eager for even a glimpse of Dawn's frilly petticoats or those clunky boots. Another song was starting, the driving beat promising another goth murdering another classic song. Another eyeroll was certainly imminent.
"She had a horror of rooms she was tired you can't hide beat..."
A surprisingly good voice growled out the first line. Buffy continued to look for Dawn, ignoring the stage.
"And when I looked in her eyes they were blue but nobody home..."
The crowd was cheering, whether for the classic Bowie song or the singer, Buffy didn't know. Still, he wasn't terrible.
"She could've been a killer if she didn't walk the way she do, and she do..."
Buffy snorted a little to herself. Killer. What did Bowie know about killing? What did any of the doom-and-gloom-obsessed goths in the club really know about it?
"She'd opened strange doors that we'd never close again..."
Wasn't that just the truth? Story of a Slayer's life, really. Open strange doors, then make sure you got them closed again. Buffy shook her head slightly. The whole point of this little world tour jaunt around Europe was to forget all that. Perhaps she'd had one drink too many and was already getting maudlin.
"She began to wail jealous screams, waiting at the lights know what I mean..."
The singer was really pretty good. Buffy was surprised when around the room, people jumped to their feet, completely blocking the view of the door. People on their feet, for a karaoke singer?! She turned back to the stage, finally curious.
"Scary monsters supercreeps keep me running running scared..."
Buffy went completely cold with shock, goosepimples forming on her bare arms.
There, in the fitful spotlights trained on the stage, was an all-too familiar figure. A black t-shirt stretched over a lean-muscled chest, tucking into tight black jeans. Skin paler than any goth's gleamed under the lights while white blond hair caught glints of color from the neon beer signs. And despite the sweltering heat of the club, the trademark full length leather trench coat was still on.
Spike.
Singing. Karaoke. In a goth club.
"What the fuck?" asked Buffy of no one in particular. Spike continued to sing, looking out over the crowd.
"Scary monsters supercreeps keep me running running scared..."
Buffy glanced around nervously, wondering if she could sneak out of the lounge before he noticed her. It seemed impossible, since the crowd was absolutely loving Spike's performance, and had packed as close to the makeshift stage as they could. There was no escape. Just as she realized she couldn't get out by ass-kicking her way through the crowd, Spike stalked over to her side of the stage, dragging the mic stand with him in full rockstar mode.
And then he noticed her. He didn't miss a beat, but started on the next verse of the song, staring right at her.
"She asked me to stay and I stole her room..."
Buffy squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. More like the whole house. And is it really stealing when you invite someone in?
"She asked for my love and I gave her a dangerous mind..."
Yeah, that was an understatement. Though there wasn't really any asking going on. And could nasty-hot, hardcore demon-sex really be called "love"...? Buffy downed the rest of her drink in one gulp, staring right at Spike who stared back and kept singing.
"Now she's stupid in the street and she can't socialize..."
"Hey!" Buffy yelled in spite of herself, slamming her empty glass down on the table, "Stupid?!" Though she had to admit she was pretty damn awful at that whole "socializing" thing. It had practically taken an act of God to get her out in this club in the first place. If she hadn't felt responsible for Dawn, she'd have stayed home. She glared at Spike, who simply gave a maddening little smirk, raising an eyebrow. Several nearby goth girls audibly squealed.
"Well, I love the little girl and I'll love her till the day she dies..."
Spike's eyes flashed as they met hers, and Buffy suppressed a gasp. Okay, now this was just getting ridiculous. Spike was ancient history. Plus, he obviously was still an overly sentimental, delusionally romantic nutbar. So why did her face feel so hot?
Spike grinned, as if he could sense her flustered state, then dashed to the edge of the stage to sing the next lines to the rapturously upturned faces of a group of PVC-clad ladies.
"Jimmy's guitar sound jealousies scream, waiting at the lights know what I mean..."
Buffy frowned, annoyed at her reactions, then stood up suddenly, almost knocking over her chair. The chair legs made a horribly audible scraping sound, drawing Spike's attention back to her, though he kept singing. She felt her face grow even hotter as several nearby clubbers glanced curiously in her direction. Completely flustered, she sat down quickly, thinking to escape once the song was over. Maybe some of the obviously enamored girls (and guys) in the lounge would mob Spike once he was done. Maybe then she could sneak out. And maybe then a convenient meteor could fall on her or a nice earthquake could swallow her up. There couldbe earthquakes in London, right?
The song ended. The crowd cheered. Buffy stood again, and walked briskly towards the doorway, trying to pretend she had to be somewhere. She checked her watch to add to the look of "important destination, gotta run" she was trying to project.
An icy cold hand fell on her bare shoulder and she almost shrieked, wheeling around instantly.
She was face to face with Spike. Her mouth went dry, and she couldn't think of anything witty to say. Spike just looked at her, the green neon of the lounge sign gleaming on his high cheekbones, giving him an almost unearthly look. Which wasn't far from the truth, really. Buffy swallowed hard and, of all things, noticed the scar on his eyebrow with a warm pang of familiar recognition. Her mind raced as she tried to think of something, ANYthing to say to break the awkward silence.
She didn't have to.
"SPIKE!"
A frilly-and-lacy black-and-red blur slammed into Spike's chest, almost knocking him down. Dawn had come to find Buffy, and launched herself into an attack-hug.
"Spike! You're here in London! Oh my god, this is too cool!" screamed Dawn at top volume, waving her Vivienne Westwood mini-purse in an arc that brought it dangerously close to Buffy's head. Spike glanced past Dawn to Buffy quickly, then smiled his most charming smile at the younger girl.
"Ain't this a surprise, finding you girls here," he quipped. "Never thought I'd run into you two again." He glanced past Dawn once more, and winked at Buffy, then raised an eyebrow. Considering the last time they'd seen him, they were positive he'd be destroyed, Dawn was taking his sudden appearance awfully well. Certainly better than Buffy was. Something weird had to be going on. And Buffy had come to Europe to get away from that whole "weird" thing for a while.
Buffy frowned. Spike was obviously lying, or he'd never have been singing that song. It had been chosen for the sole purpose of getting her attention. And he'd followed them to Europe, had been trying to find them, never mind the fact that he wasn't bothering to explain why he was there. Just like a vampire to appear out of nowhere, with no explanation, and to act like it was no big thing. She felt the familiar prickle of anger scratching at her senses, and opened her mouth to tell him off in no uncertain terms.
But then she saw the huge grin on Dawn's face. Dawn was practically sparkling, she was so excited. She didn't look like an adorable-yet-creepy Victorian doll for the first time in months. The younger girl was under Spike's arm, both arms around his waist, smiling up at him happily. Buffy looked up at Spike's face and was surprised to see that he looked tired. Could vampires look tired? Was that even possible? He must have gone through something pretty harsh. She knew she looked tired these days- running from her past was exhausting, almost as exhausting as the past itself. She was getting older, and her life as a Slayer had been pretty hard. She was already getting tiny crow's feet around her eyes and without the daily regimen of Slayer training, she knew her upper arms were starting to jelly up like an old lady's. She dismissed her wandering thoughts with an imperceptible shake of her head. She hoped Spike wouldn't notice her jelly-tube arms and wrinkles the way she felt every new guy she met did. Wait, what was she thinking?
Her eyes met his, and she felt her stomach drop. Spike looked at her with such tenderness, it was almost palpable. She could feel the love. Despite herself, she melted.
"It's good to see you," Spike said. "You're looking good."
"Th-thanks," Buffy said. Oh lord, were her eyes watering? Maybe she could blame the smoky club. She blinked hard a few times, then smiled, crow's feet be damned.
"Let's get out of here," she said, slipping on her jacket. "Who wants donuts? I'll buy."
Spike reached out and put his other arm gently around Buffy's shoulders. It felt good, like a favorite sweater. Cozy, almost. Buffy performed her final eyeroll of the night. Most definitely old, if she was enjoying the idea of a guy being "cozy". Especially when that guy was the former William the Bloody.
"No, I'LL buy," Spike said. "I've got some catching up to do."
"No kidding," Buffy said. "Not to mention some explaining. Come on, Dawnie, Spike, let's get outta here."
The three made their way out into the streetlamp glow of the London night, their voices echoing off the darkened, empty buildings in the familiar way of reunited friends.