So sorry for the wait. Unfortunately, real life got in the way. But I'm back!
Mita427: Cute things are good every once in while, right? Thanks for the encouragement.
AnDrEwSrObOt: Always nice to hear that you love it!
Gigil3: Good to know that you laughed. Thanks for the help and happiness!
jobe: Just wanted to make sure you knew so you didn't feel completely cheated at the end. It's nice to know that you still like, though.
lilmisscookiemonster: Hope you like this next chapter of Buffy and Spike waging war against home cooking.
Digital Damita: Glad you think Dawn sounds right. It's weird, even though Spike's British, I don't think I've ever heard him say brilliant.
Jenikyula: Here's the next chapter! Hope you really do love it!
If you were sitting in the Summers' kitchen at this very moment, you would have been treated to the sight of many, many paper bags walking in the back door on legs clad in leather pants. They would have been followed by a petite blonde girl, who was swinging her purse cheerfully, laughing at said bags. Or, rather, what was underneath those bags.
It would seem as if Buffy had found a way to keep Spike from being burn by the sun as they made the journey to her house. And that way just happened to include covering up every inch of his visible skin with paper bags. The bags just conveniently happened to be loaded with groceries.
And was it really Buffy's fault that it had taken every single one of those bags to make sure that none of the vampire's skin was showing?
"You're always sayin' you're the mighty, strong Slayer, pet. Don't you think ya could've helped a little?" Spike dumped all the food onto the counter with a relieved sigh.
"Well . . . I could've, but then you would have risked a dusting."
"Rubbish. You know that's just some pathetic excuse you threw me before you ran off, leavin' me with all the groceries," Spike said angrily.
"But that's why you're here today," Buffy said, innocently. "So you could help me."
"Right. Help you, not be your soddin' manservant," he retorted, still not appeased. In fact, he looked as if he were ready to leave right now.
"Alright." Buffy rushed to make a compromise. "Will you be happier if I promised you a cup of mom's hot chocolate at the end of all this?"
"If I goin' to die, I want it to happen in a good and proper fight, luv. Not from food poisonin'."
"So does that mean you won't be joining us for dinner tonight?" In her surprise, Buffy forgot about compromising.
"Wasn't invited," Spike pointed out.
"Sure, you are. You going to help make the meal," Buffy said looking up at him hopefully.
"Really?" asked Spike doubtfully.
"Yeah," Buffy nodded her head vigorously. "Plus, now I have someone to blame it on if everything turns out awful," She added thoughtfully.
"Should've known you were up to no good, pet."
'Ell, this is weird. Me, the Master Vamp, makin' nice with the Slayer, Spike mused as he thought about what just happened. How the mighty have fallen.
Except, he hadn't, really. He'd just changed. And in the back of his mind, Spike sort of liked the way things were right now.
His thoughts were interrupted as a loud crash sounded, making Spike jump slightly. Shaking his head, the vampire went off to help the erratic Slayer.
oooOoooOoooOooo
As Buffy looked for her mother's cookbook and got all the things they needed to cook, she asked Spike, "What can you cook, anyways?"
"Um . . . scrambled eggs and French toast?" he replied with a dubious expression.
"And . . ." Buffy prompted.
"Well, pet, cookin' really hasn't been an issue --."
"What?! You only know how scrambled eggs and French toast?!" Buffy looked as if she were about to begin hyperventilating. "But Dawn said you could cook!"
"Um, all the Bit said was that I made her some breakfast food once, luv. She never made me some bloody Iron Chef or somethin'."
"No, no, no! You know, when I said that we would make dinner, what I really meant was you could do all the dinner making, and maybe I could add some helpful comment every once in a while and . . . "
Buffy couldn't seem to stop ranting and pacing. She kept going until Spike grabbed her shoulders, making her face him.
"Alright, luv, breathe. Deep breaths. Right. You're a clever bird, you can figure it out. Think of it as some demon you want to kill or somethin'. Hasn't your watcher tol' you anythin' 'bout focusin' on the goal, or some of that rot? Think of it that way."
It took a long time to make Buffy calm down.
Never thought I'd be a motivational speaker for a Slayer, thought Spike after Buffy's face stopped being purple.
He gave her a few more minutes, then asked tentatively, "So . . .what are you goin' to try to cook first, pet?"
That set off a whole new round of Slayer choking and Spike soothing.
Looks like I'm not the only one afraid of some domestic chore, Spike reflected dryly. It's gonna be a long afternoon.
Spike decided to take charge after convincing Buffy that food could not be any more evil than demons that plan to end the world.
"Alright, luv, let's try to make, um, steamed peas, first," Spike while examining the recipe Joyce had written.
5 whole minutes of staring produced nothing but: "Bloody 'ell, did she write this soddin' recipe in code or somethin'?!"
No one answered. Buffy was still sitting on the kitchen stool, eyes wide in shock. Spike waved his hand in front of her face, but nothing happened. He decided it would be safer to leave her like that for now.
"Right. 'First, shell the peas.' What the hell does that mean?!" Spike resorted to yelling at the cookbook, trying to relieve his frustration.
Unfortunately, the book kept silent.
Spike thought about it, decided to interpret that direction as taking the peas out of the bag. He found the frozen peas, and proceeded to rip a hole into the plastic.
He ripped too hard.
Peas went flying everywhere, and the vamp was left holding two halves of a plastic bag.
At least they woke Slayer up, thought Spike as he watched the little green balls bounce off Buffy's head and scare her into wakefulness. That's a good thing. . .
Thinking that the vegetable had grown sentient and were attacking, Buffy shook off the dazed look on her face, and surveyed the damage around her. Realizing that it was only Spike, she got off the stool, walked over to him, and whacked him in the back his head.
. . . or, maybe not, Spike mind continued as he rubbed at his hurting head.
The pair spent the next half hour picking peas off the floor.
Realizing that they did not have time for another trip to the market (and not really wanting to go back to that hell, anyways), Buffy gave the peas a quick rinse and proceed with the instructions.
"'Put peas in a large pot lined with cabbage leaves.' "
"Did we buy cabbages, luv?"
"Nope, look in the fridge."
Opening the refrigerator door, Spike was immediately assaulted with a rancid smell. Peering in cautiously, he observed, "You really weren't exaggeratin' when you said there wasn't any edible food in the house."
"'Course I didn't exaggerate," Buffy said crossly. "Do you think I'd go to the supermarket if I had a choice?"
"Point taken, pet."
Spike ended up throwing away most of the contents of the fridge, but in the very back he found a pack of spinach.
"Don't have any lettuce, but I found this," he said, holding up his prize.
Buffy wrinkled her nose. "Ugh, spinach. I guess we could use that, as long as we don't have to eat it. In fact, I'm probably doing Dawn a favor, getting rid of it now, so mom can't use it next week," she concluded, brightening visibly.
"Right, then. 'Ave you got the pot?"
Buffy held up a large soup pot. Spike handed her the spinach, and she filled the pot with peas and spinach as he read the next step.
"'Add one tsp. of salt and half a tsp. of sugar. Fill pot with water and cook on stove.' " said Spike. "What's a tsp.?"
"I have no idea," Buffy answered, equally puzzled. "We can use this." She held up a soup ladle she had found.
"If you're sure that's right," Spike said doubtfully.
"There're a lot of peas in here, Spike. This spoon might not even be big enough."
She dumped a ladleful of salt and sugar into the pot, filled it brimming full of tap water, and set it on the stove.
"Um, I'm pretty sure you have to turn the stove on, luv."
"Oh, 'course." Buffy turned it up to high, using the reasoning that it would cook faster if there was more fire.
Gaining confidence from her first success, Buffy eagerly asked, "What's next?"
"Hmm, let's see . . . um, mashed potatoes?"
"'K. What do you do?"
"'M guessin' you mash the potatoes, luv."
"Right. I know that," Buffy said impatiently. "But there's got to be more to it. Read the directions."
"Skin the potato . . ."
Spike trailed off as he watched Buffy slam through each drawer, looking for something. Finally, she gave up and said, "I forgot where mom keeps the knives. Wait a minute. I'll be right back."
A few seconds later, she returned holding a sword and a small ax.
"Here," she said, tossing the ax to Spike. "You can use this for potato skinning."
Spike stared at the ax in wonder. "Don't you a' least have any small knives?"
"Nope. They're all at Giles'."
Happily picking up a potato, Buffy started slicing. At least swords were something she knew about. Or so she thought . . .
By the time she was done with her share, Buffy had lost enough blood to be woozy.
The pair had been quiet while they worked, but suddenly, Buffy piped up. "Are you sure potatoes are orange on the inside? I thought they were white. And eww, it's sweet," she said as she tasted the potato.
"There were so many potatoes there, I couldn't have possibly picked up the wrong thing, pet. Maybe there's somethin' wrong with that one."
"You sure?"
"Yeah. Throw it away, and mash up the rest. You can just add a lot of salt later."
"Okay..." Buffy said dubiously, slowly drawing out the word.
She got a big mixing bowl, threw all the potatoes in, and used the head of the ax to mash.
Spike watched, wincing with every hit. Slayer's got a lotta pent up anger, he thought. But as long as it got the job done, Spike wasn't complaining. Last time I agree to help Nib without askin' why.
As if on cue, the teenager in question popped into the kitchen, a cheerful bounce in her step . . . that is, until she saw what Buffy was doing.
"Buff, why are you chopping up a small orange demon in that bowl? Y'know you can get normal human food at the market, right?"
Some of the blood from Buffy's cuts had dripped into the bowl, making the mess resemble a mutilated creature.
Buffy stopped for a moment, breathing heavily from her workout. "I'm making your dinner here, Dawn."
"Eeww! We're having demon for dinner?! I don't think mom will like that."
"No!" Buffy answered, annoyed. "Of course it's not a demon! It's mashed potatoes."
"Potatoes aren't orange."
Not really thinking about what Dawn just stated, Buffy turned to Spike saying triumphantly, "Ha! I told you potatoes aren't orange."
"Then what's in that bowl, luv?" Spike asked calmly.
"Yeah, what is it Dawn?" Buffy sounded for all the world like a toddler, asking its mother about something it had just discovered.
After making sure that Spike and Buffy really had gotten the contents of the bowl from the supermarket, Dawn walked over, and tasted it.
"It's yams," she declared.
"Yams are a kind of potato, Bit," Spike said confidently, then less sure of himself: "Aren't they?"
"Sort 've, but yams sweet."
Buffy cuffed the back of Spike's head again. "Great, Spike. Out of all the potatoes there, you managed to grab the funny tasting ones."
"'S not like you had a better idea," Spike retorted angrily.
"Well, at least--"
"Wait, what's that smell?" Spike cut Buffy off, sniffing.
"What smell?"
Indeed, there was a burnt smell wafting from the direction of the . . .
"Ahh! No!"
Buffy forgot the argument, and rushed to rescue the pot of peas.
"Ow! Hot! Ow . . .ow."
She managed to move the pot to the counter top without burning herself too badly. As Buffy nursed her wounds, Spike lifted the pot lid and peered inside.
"Um, luv . . ."
"What!?" Buffy answered crossly.
"You're not gonna like this, but . . ."
Buffy came and looked.
"Nnnnoooooo!" She sounded as if she had just been told that her grandmother died.
All that was left of the peas and spinach was a couple of black charred lumps.
Taking the pot, she trudged over to the trashcan, and emptied it.
"Guess we won't be having peas tonight."
"I've never like them anyway."
They were too busy mourning over the dead vegetables to notice that Dawn had quietly crept away. . .
TBC
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le faye