Mortal Allies Series
Episode 5
War and Roses
By: Passion4Spike
Chapter 11: Chocolate Explosion
Chapter Notes:
There are some references in here to things that happened in the previous story. I tried to put in reminders of the previous conversations in the story itself to refresh your memory. I put a couple of reminders as a 'previously on' kind of thing at the very beginning, copying the relevant scene from the previous story.
I'm running a bit behind on responding to comments-so sorry! I love them so much. I promise to try and get caught up in the next few days. Still don't have my taxes done... soooo ...
Much thanks to MissLuci and All4Spike for generously betaing this for me! All mistakes are mine, cos I keep fiddling.
Previously on Mortal Allies...
From Episode 4, 'My Turn', Chapter 17, 'Friends':
Joyce sighed in relief as she stepped into the quiet house and closed the door behind her. The gallery had been a nightmare today. She usually enjoyed her time there, but today had been all about fixing things that had been bungled in her numerous absences over the last couple of weeks. Inventory had been mislabeled or misplaced. African artifacts had been labeled as Aztec, Ming Dynasty porcelain had been cataloged in as Delftware, and a whole crate of French Gothic Altar candlesticks was missing.
It had taken turning the storeroom upside down to find the missing items, and even longer to get everything properly cataloged. But it was done – thank goodness. Joyce dropped her purse on the table next to the door and kicked off her shoes. She draped Spike's repaired and cleaned duster over the balustrade at the foot of the stairs and headed for the liquor cabinet in the sitting room. She needed a drink and a long, hot bath. Her brows furrowed when she couldn't find her bourbon, but remained undeterred as she headed for the kitchen, reaching back beneath her shirt to unhook her bra on the way.
'Shit!' She stopped short. She'd just got her bra unhooked and was in the process of pulling the straps off from under her top when she saw Spike at the counter in the kitchen.
Spike looked up at her, arching a brow, her bra half out of her shirt. He smirked and looked back down at the papers on the counter. "Nothing I haven't seen before, luv… if you recall," he reminded her with a shrug.
Joyce swallowed. "I try not to… recall, that is," she said with a hot blush coloring her face. She hurriedly pulled the bra free of her shirt and hid it behind her back. "I-I didn't know anyone was still up."
"Creature o' the night," he reminded her, looking up again as she came into the kitchen. "Look a bit knackered. Bad day in the salt mines?"
"You could say that." Joyce gave him a weak smile, her face still burning. She moved carefully over to the cabinet by the stove and grabbed the first glasses she could reach without much stretching.
They turned out to be a pair of Yogi Bear and Boo-Boo jelly jars. She tossed her bra into the back of the cupboard and closed the door on it.
-X-
From Episode 4, 'My Turn', Chapter 29, 'National Hot Chocolate Day'.
"Oh my gosh!" Willow exclaimed, stopping in the doorway and making everyone behind her hastily put on the brakes to avoid a messy collision. "We totally missed Buffy's birthday!" she declared, gesturing toward the calendar hanging on the wall by the phone. "We didn't party or do the gifts or anything."
Buffy snorted. "Buffy and birthdays are unmixy. I'm officially not celebrating birthdays anymore. Ever."
"Awww, but Buffy," Willow admonished, turning around and facing the group gathered behind her, her own plate and a glass of soda in her hands. "It's your birthday… your eighteenth… it's special and needs a major celebration to mark its passing."
"I think that was what Kralik and the Council was for. And believe me, they really made me feel super special," Buffy mocked, rolling her eyes.
"Willow's right, Buffy," Joyce interjected. "It isn't every day my little girl turns eighteen, and I refuse to let the Council and their… their…"
"Bollocks?" Spike suggested.
Joyce gave him a smile and a short nod. "…bollocks ruin it for you."
Buffy set her food back down on the counter. "Look, I really appreciate all the sentiment, but I'm totally serious about birthdays. No more. Ever again. Zero, zilch, nada…"
"Nonsense," Joyce interrupted.
"Exactly! Birthdays are nonsense," Buffy agreed.
"No, I mean not celebrating is nonsense," Joyce clarified.
"It's not nonsense, it's total sense! Have you not been paying attention to Buffy birthday bashes? They're really heavy on the bashing," the Slayer continued to argue. "Have you seen Spike?" she went on, waving a hand at the vampire. "And Giles? In fact, my birthdays have escalated from bashing to blasting… next I'm guessing comes blitzes and bombs."
Buffy looked around at her friends. Willow was about to put on her resolve face. Xander looked like a puppy begging for a Milk-Bone. Her mom was going into her 'I'm the mother and I know best' mode. Only Oz seemed unaffected either way—but then, he always looked like that. "I am not celebrating my birthday. End. Of. Story," she declared, crossing her arms and glaring defiantly at them all.
Joyce moved over next to Willow to look at the calendar, an idea glittering in her eyes. She ran a finger over the dates, starting with the nineteenth. "Okay… how do you feel about popcorn?" Joyce asked, looking back at her daughter.
Buffy arched a brow. "We've never dated, but I'm guessing he's not relationship material. Explodes with the least little thing."
Joyce rolled her eyes. "January 19th is National Popcorn Day… instead of celebrating your birthday we could celebrate that."
Buffy frowned. "I think the universe just might see through that guise… being on the same day and all," she excused.
"Fine," Joyce continued, undeterred, looking back at the calendar. "January 23rd is National Pie Day. January 30th is National Croissant day. January 31st is National Hot Chocolate Day." She stopped and looked up, her bright eyes darting first to Spike before settling on her daughter. "You love hot chocolate," she reminded Buffy. "And it's not on the same day as your birthday."
Buffy sighed, her shoulders slumping. They were clearly not letting this go. "Fine," she ground out, rolling her eyes. "We can celebrate National Hot Chocolate Day."
-X-
On Saturday morning, Buffy couldn't find Spike for the administration of Rule Number Five: Blood Boiling Good Mornings. He wasn't in his room or in the bathroom, so she was heading downstairs to continue her search when her mom called from her room, "Buffy, can we talk a minute?"
Buffy's brow furrowed because she was sure she could totally smell bacon cooking—if her mom wasn't cooking it, then who was?
"Uh, sure... have you cloned yourself?" she asked, walking into the master bedroom.
Joyce looked around, confused. "Not that I know of?" she replied hesitantly. "Is that even possible? Because that could really be handy for Chamber of Commerce meetings."
The Slayer smiled and sat down on the bed when her mom patted a hand down next to her. "Cooking is happening, and yet..." She waved a hand at her mom to complete her point.
"William said he wanted to cook you breakfast for your... for National Hot Chocolate Day," Joyce relayed, turning a bit to face her daughter on the edge of the bed.
"Spike cooks?" Buffy asked with wide eyes, mirroring her mom's position, facing her.
"He said he could. I guess we'll see."
Buffy's eyes drifted to the door. Her feet really wanted to haul the rest of her down to see the vampire chef up close and personal, like now.
"What I wanted to talk to you about," Joyce continued, drawing Buffy's attention away from the door. "Well... that is to say... errr..."
"We don't need to have that talk again, Mom," Buffy said, wide-eyed. "The first one was totally cool. I'm all up-to-date on life facts."
Joyce smiled softly, reaching out to lay a hand over Buffy's where it rested in the girl's lap. "I love you, you know that, right?"
"Oookay," Buffy drawled, not sure where this conversation was going. "I love you, too."
"And I know you're an adult now, and you're strong and capable of making your own decisions."
Buffy waited a few moments then prompted, "But?"
Another self-conscious smile from Joyce. "But," she echoed. "That fight with Spike last Sunday night... it... do you think that's... healthy?"
The Slayer snorted and rolled her eyes. "That wasn't a fight, it was a... a discussion. With fists."
"Honey, I'm serious. You know I like Spike, and I know you care for him, but I'm not sure that's the right way to go about having a discussion."
Buffy sighed and dropped her gaze to her mom's hand where it rested over hers. "Don't be mad at him. I started it. He was just defending himself... mostly."
"I'm not mad at either one of you, I'm just trying to... I just want you to be safe and happy and..."
"I am safe and happy," she interrupted, looking back up. "With Spike it's... I can be myself around him. He doesn't judge... he understands that I need... I sometimes... I..." She stumbled to a halt, dropping her eyes again and biting down on her lip.
"What do you need, Buffy?"
"It's hard to explain. I don't know if you'd understand." She shrugged a shoulder, not looking up.
"I want to try and understand," Joyce assured her. "I love you, nothing you can do or say will ever change that, but I'd just like to understand."
Buffy nodded and took a deep breath. "Sometimes... I mean... if I don't... slay something... o-or if I'm really emotional, it feels like... like this pressure inside me." She lifted her free hand and pressed her fist against her chest, looking up at her mom. "Like a spring wound too tight, ya know? Like in Grandpa's old watch? I feel like I'll explode if I don't... don't do something to let it out, to release it."
"Do something... you mean slay something?" Joyce clarified.
Another shrug. "I need to move, to... to fight, to..." Her other hand curled into a fist beneath her mom's. "To hunt. To... yeah, to slay."
"Have you always felt this way?"
Buffy frowned, shaking her head slightly and thinking back. "Kind of... a little? I'd get twitchy, and sometimes it felt like my skin was too small, too tight, but it got worse after..."
"After you became the Slayer," Joyce finished.
"Yeah, I guess." She refocused on her mom, nodding. "It gets so intense sometimes. It's not so bad if I'm not, you know, stressed o-or feeling... angry or whatever. I can usually push it back, take it out on the slayage, but..." She sighed. "I know it wasn't right, what happened between me and Spike—I shouldn't have hit him. I could've stopped Faith without kicking him, even. I just... ergh!" she exclaimed, clamping her eyes closed and gritting her teeth. "It just boiled over. Days of... of... frustration just Vesuvius-ed all over Spike." She dropped her hand from her chest, unclenched her fists, and bowed her head. "Am I a bad person?"
"Oh, sweetie, no. You could never be a bad person," Joyce assured her immediately, leaning toward Buffy and squeezing her hand. "Spike says..."
Buffy's head shot up, her eyes wide. "You talked to Spike about this?"
"Yes, I spoke to him, and he says it's that fire inside that will keep you alive... it's what you need to be the Slayer. He seemed to think it was perfectly normal, that what happened during your discussion was... was healthy, for you two."
A crease formed between the Slayer's brows as she considered that. "I'd... I'd just held stuff in too long," she said after a few moments. "And there was a lot being held in... like Hoover Dam amount of holding in. I just need to try and not do that... with the damming of... stuff."
"He said you two wear your hearts in your fists," Joyce added.
With a snort, Buffy said, "Yeah, maybe..." She met her mom's concerned gaze. "I'm happy and safe with Spike," she assured her. "I know it might seem like toxic-ness to you, the fight, but it actually was like intense couple's therapy. Afterwards, I felt like... like I'd been in a cage and the door finally opened and I could fly again. And I think Spike gets that... he gets me."
Joyce nodded, scooching over closer on the bed. "What do you think you could do to keep from letting things build up like that?"
The Slayer gnawed at her lip a moment before saying, "Well, talking is of the good… but also, since Spike's gonna stay in town, we could add some more challenging training sessions in… sparring, but, you know, at full speed, if not full power. There really wasn't anyone I could do that with other than Faith, and she's been Miss Unreliable. That could help disburse the extra energy for both of us without actually having to pummel each other."
"Okay, honey. I just want you happy and safe." She pulled Buffy into a hug. "You're a beautiful, strong, amazing woman, and I'm so incredibly proud of you. I love you, and I trust you to know what you need, what's best, and if that's Spike, then you have my blessing and my support. Happy Eighteenth National Hot Chocolate Day, sweetie."
"Thanks, Mom," Buffy croaked, her throat clogged with tears. She held her mother tight, but not too tight, overcome with emotion, savoring the moment. Her mom had come so far, from thinking Buffy had gone mad and putting her in that mental hospital, to falling into some kind of self-inflicted amnesia about the whole thing, to utter denial, to asking if Buffy had 'tried not being the Slayer', to full acceptance and support. It had been a long road for them, but Buffy wasn't sure she'd change any of it. Well, maybe the mental institution.
-X-
The kitchen smelled like heaven when Buffy and Joyce finally made it downstairs. In this case, heaven smelled a lot like bacon, and hash browns, and pancakes. What else would heaven smell like?
"I so need a camera right now," Buffy declared as she leaned on the kitchen island, looking over at Spike, who was slaving over the stove. The kitchen, of course, was a complete disaster. There were bowls, boxes, egg cartons, and canisters all over the counters. Pancake batter seemed to be dribbled over every flat surface, and bacon grease was splattered in a three-foot radius around the stove. Egg shells oozed tears of gooey albumin on even more dirty bowls and dishes in the sink.
When Spike turned around, she saw that he wasn't in much better condition than the kitchen. Flour coated his dark clothes in a dusting of white, while spots of something nasty looking had begun to dry on the front of his jeans. Buffy didn't want to think about what that might be. More egg goo or pancake batter, she hoped.
Spike glanced over his shoulder at her then turned back to his task. "'Bout time you layabouts got up," he grumbled, flipping a pancake over. There was already a stack of them piled on a plate next to the stove, approximately enough to feed the Marine Expeditionary Force at Camp Pendleton, or Xander.
"Just how many people are you expecting for breakfast?" Buffy asked, her eyes locking on the two floury handprints on his ass and wishing she'd made them. Apparently, Spike had never heard of a towel or a dish rag... or water?
He arched a brow and looked back at the two women. Joyce, who was standing next to Buffy now, was clearly calculating the clean-up time in either hours or days based on the shocked look on her face.
"Just us," he said, turning around to slide that pancake out of the pan, and drop in another slab of butter to melt.
"In that case, I think there are enough pancakes," Buffy informed him. "How much batter did you make?"
Spike shrugged, tilting the pan around to cover it evenly with the butter. "Whatever was in the box."
"I just bought that box this week... it was full," Joyce noted.
Buffy pursed her lips to keep from laughing. "And the bacon? Did you cook all of that you could find too?"
"'Course," Spike answered as he poured more batter into the pan. "Found four packs in the freezer."
"Four pounds of bacon?" Joyce muttered, shaking her head.
"Dog ate one," Spike offered, which explained why furry Spike was sleeping it off at the vampire's feet.
"I think I'd better call in reinforcements," Buffy suggested, heading for the phone. "Do you think the Scoobies will be enough, or should I call the Marines too?"
"What're you on about?" Spike demanded, flipping the latest pancake.
"You've cooked enough for an army," Buffy informed him, laughing. "How much do you think we can eat?"
Spike looked at the stacks of pancakes and the pile of bacon. "Haven't even asked ya how you want your eggs," he said, frowning at Buffy. "Bloody pancakes are half air and there's barely anything left o' this streaky bacon. All cooks away. Sodding thievery, that is, much as it costs. And you think I'm evil!"
"Um, maybe we can just save the rest of that batter for another day... or five," Joyce suggested, coming around the island to help the industrious cook as Buffy sent up the Bat Signal.
Spike appeared deflated as he slid what was apparently the last pancake onto one of the stacks. "Just trying t' make a nice breakfast for your special day, pet," he explained, sighing as Joyce whisked away the bowl of batter before he could use any more.
Buffy called Willow, who would call Oz and Xander, and they'd be over soon to help. She walked over to Spike, who was looking a bit lost now that he didn't have any more batter to cook up to a yummy golden brown. She gave him a PG-rated-just-in-case-Mom-was-watching kiss on the lips and pressed her palms on his floury chest, pushing lightly, lest he decide to lean in to deepen her chaste kiss. She didn't want to be covered in whatever gooey, sticky things were clinging to his clothing if he pulled her into his arms. She made herself a mental note to cash in double for his breakage of Rule Number Five. She did have to acknowledge his incredible breakfast making skills though. Despite the mess, everything looked and smelled scrumptilicious!
"And you did. This is amazing. All your pancakes are like, totally perfect, exactly the same size and not even any weird shapes. Where did you learn to cook? And don't say you ate a chef once."
Spike grinned devilishly. "Ate a chef once."
Buffy swatted his chest, a puff of flour rose in a tiny cloud before drifting to the floor. "Seriously, Spike, you had to learn somewhere."
He shrugged and ran a dirty hand back through his hair, leaving streaks of batter in its wake. Buffy couldn't help grinning at the tousled, boyish dishevelment he made.
"Boston... Dru loved the sodding underground railway, and wanted t' ride the new one in Boston. Didn't know the bleeding thing only went half-a-sodding-mile." He shook himself. "Anyway, she rode the thing back and forth for days, had me barking after two trips, so I went off and..."
"Learned to cook?"
He shrugged. "Well, yeah. Met a matronly ol' biddy name o' Farmer who said she'd teach me t' cook if I'd just come and look pretty for the housewives she was trying to attract to her new school. Didn't have anything better t' do, did I?"
She grinned at him. "And did you look pretty for them?"
Spike smirked back at her. "What do you think, Sunshine?"
Buffy let her eyes wander slowly down his body and back up again, still smiling. "I think the classes were full."
"Bloody right, they were. And sodding informative, too," he agreed.
"Didn't they teach you to wear an apron? You could have avoided all this." Buffy waved a hand to encapsulate his messy clothes.
"Don't have one. You could get me one as a housewarming gift." Spike leaned over and whispered in her ear, "I'd cook breakfast for you wearing nothin', but might put my dangly bits in danger."
"Spike… Mom," Buffy hissed, pushing him away before he could smear the messy result of his non-apron wearing cooking over her clean shirt.
"Right." He cleared his throat and straightened up. "Learned all about cooking, I did."
The Slayer laughed. "I can tell," she said. "Too bad they didn't teach cleaning up in that school."
Joyce huffed a breath of agreement from behind Spike.
"Might have," Spike admitted. "I lost interest after the cookin' was done." He'd usually taken that opportunity to lure a tasty, young housewife into the larder to snack on, but he wisely left that part out of his story.
Buffy looked shocked. "You? Get bored? Lose interest? I can't believe it!"
"You're a cheeky little—" he began, reaching for her again.
The Slayer shrieked and backed away. "Don't touch me! I mean it! You're all floury—and not in a roses and carnations way!"
Spike caught her around the waist when she turned to run, and swung her around, both of them laughing.
"You are so gonna pay for this!" Buffy threatened, but her giggle made it somewhat less scary than her usual threats.
"Promises, promises," Spike purred, burying his face against her neck, and nibbling on her sweet skin.
Joyce stopped trying to figure out how to store all the batter, and watched the two blondes with a smile curving her lips. She hadn't seen Buffy this happy since... heavens, she couldn't remember when. Since before Buffy had been Called? Had it really been that long since her girl had laughed so freely? Teased so easily? Glowed so brightly?
"The cavalry has arrived!" Xander called from the foyer as the troops tromped in. "What nasty thing needs taking out this early in the morning?"
Spike set Buffy down, but kept his arms around her middle, both of them now covered in white powder, both still grinning madly.
"Oh, I should've known—Evil Dead. Are we going for the classic stake through the heart or a nice beheading this fine day?" Xander continued as Willow and Oz came into the kitchen behind him.
Spike smirked. "Give it your best shot, Skippy."
"Nice try, but you haven't paid me back for the junk haul-off costs yet. Not getting out of it that easy," Xander retorted, looking around the kitchen. "Holy bountiful breakfast buffet, Batman. Who do I have to kiss for this abundance of culinary goodness?"
"That'd be Spike," Buffy announced, pulling from her boyfriend's embrace, and heading for the cupboards to get out plates and silver.
"Pucker up, Buttercup," Spike taunted, smirking.
"Uh..." Xander stuttered, but Buffy saved him by asking, "Do you want eggs, too, or will mountains of pancakes, heaps of hashbrowns, and slabs of bacon hold you over for a few days?"
All three newcomers were looking at Spike with wide eyes—or, well, Xander and Willow were. Oz looked just mildly interested. Willow was the first to voice the question on all their minds, "You cook? I mean, other than microwaved blood?"
"Got layers, don't I? Renaissance man. Not just a pretty face, am I? All sorts o' talents hidden away, just waiting to be unleashed," Spike replied, curling his tongue against his teeth, and hooking his thumbs over his belt as he rolled up onto his toes then back on his heels.
"I have a feeling I don't want to know about any more of them," Xander said, holding up a hand to stop any more information from being shared. "I'll have a couple of eggs, over easy," he said, turning back to Buffy. "Can I get them without the puckering-up part?"
"You'll have to clear that with the messy chef," Buffy answered.
"As if I'd kiss a tosser like you," Spike scoffed as he headed back toward the stove and the carton of eggs still on the counter.
"Hey! I'm extremely kissable! It's one of my best features," Xander defended as he, Willow, and Oz made their way to the breakfast bar.
Spike snorted. "Hate t' see your worst feature... literally—never drop trou around me, mate."
"Don't worry I wouldn't—Hey! What's that supposed to mean?" Xander asked as Joyce put the platters of bacon, potatoes, and pancakes on the counter, and Buffy added silverware and plates for everyone.
"I think he just insulted your manhood," Oz offered, taking a seat on the stool between Xander and Willow.
"My manhood and I are equally offended," Xander announced as he began piling his plate with food.
Spike looked at him over his shoulder. "Not offended enough t' ruin your appetite, I see."
"Well, I have my standards," Xander admitted. "And they're exceptionally low."
"What the hell?" Buffy exclaimed suddenly as she was getting out glasses for everyone. She held up a lacy, beige bra, her eyes wide and confused.
"Oh!" Joyce exclaimed, grabbing it from her hand. "That's mine."
"Why was your bra in with the Yogi and Boo-Boo glasses?" she demanded, her eyes going wide.
Joyce cleared her throat. "Well, you see, William and I were having a drink—"
Buffy's eyes expanded to the size of the pancakes Xander was drizzling with syrup. "Spike... and... you..."
"No, I mean, I had it off, and William saw me and—"
The Slayer's mouth dropped open as she looked between Spike and Joyce. "I really don't want to hear what comes after 'and' in that sentence."
"No, you don't understand, we were talking, and having a drink and—"
"And your bra just fell off?" Buffy demanded, looking at her mom with utter horror.
"Wasn't anything I hadn't seen before," Spike interjected.
"What?" Buffy shrieked.
The exasperated woman shot him a hard look. "You're not helping here, William," she said warningly before looking back at her daughter. "I think you're jumping to conclusions."
"Bra." Buffy gestured to her mom's balled up fist where a tiny bit of lace poked between her fingers. "Glasses." she waved at the open cupboard. "My boyfriend!" Buffy glared at them both in turn.
"You're connecting dots that don't exist, drawing a completely inaccurate picture."
"Okay... enlighten me with accuracy."
Joyce sighed, trying to gather her thoughts.
"Don't look good in green, luv," Spike interjected before Joyce could say anything more.
Buffy turned her incredulous eyes on him. "This is a totally different shade of green," she informed him, pointing at her face. "This is puke green, like, seriously? My mom! More than once?"
Spike snickered, flipping Xander's eggs over with a flick of his wrist, no sodding spatula required, just like the homely matron Farmer had taught him. "Right sexy woman, your mum. But it wasn't like that."
"I really wish someone would tell me what it was like!" Buffy demanded, on the verge of hyperventilating. "And stop using the word 'sexy' and 'Mom' in the same sentence!"
"Where do you reckon you came from, sweets?" Spike teased. "Still believe in storks or cabbage patches, do you?"
"I don't think about it, thank you very much!"
"Buffy, listen," Joyce began before Spike could speak again, drawing her daughter's attention from the vampire chef. "I came in very late after a long day at work. I didn't know anyone else was up. I slipped my bra out from under my shirt as I came into the kitchen to get a drink and... and William was there. He... startled me. I... I just tossed the bra into the cabinet to get it out of my hand as I was getting a couple of glasses. That's all there was to it. I forgot it was even in there."
Buffy shook her head, letting that sink in, trying to banish the visions of... of things she really never wanted to have visions of from her mind. "What about... the other time?"
Joyce rolled her eyes. "That's best forgotten too. It was during my chocolate-induced teenage-Joyce phase."
"Bet Rupert won't soon forget it," Spike added, smirking.
"Still not helping, William," Joyce muttered darkly, poking him in the ribs with the end of a dirty spoon she had in her hand.
"Can we just forget this whole morning and start over?" Buffy mumbled, rubbing her eyes, trying to get the pictures her mind had conjured to vanish.
"I bet there's a spell for that," Willow offered. "But I think the goddess would want a pretty high offering for something that cool. Do you want me to check—"
"No!" five voices answered as one.
"Alright, geez. I was just trying to help," Willow defended.
"Thanks, Wills, but I'll figure out another way to deal with this latest birthday-adjacent trauma, like I have all the rest," Buffy assured her. "Though, after this morning, I'm starting to feel like the whole Angelus thing was less wigsome than I originally thought."
Willow snorted at the joke as Spike turned from the stove with the frying pan and slid Xander's eggs onto his plate.
"You lot want any eggs?" he asked, looking at Oz and Willow.
Willow shook her head, but Oz said, "Na, I'm good, but just wondering, do you guys take this show on the road, or are you strictly an in-house act?"
Spike chuckled, touching a kiss to Buffy's forehead. "Never a dull moment with my girl jumping puddles and landing in ponds."
Joyce headed around the island toward the dining room, bra clutched into nothing more than a wad of fabric in her hand. "Thank goodness she didn't find my panties—she'd be spluttering in the Pacific by now," she called back over her shoulder before she disappeared.
"What?" Buffy shrieked, her voice cracking, as Spike barked out a belly laugh.
"There is something seriously wrong with you people!" Buffy declared unequivocally.
"Have a pancake or ten," Xander suggested, sliding the platter over towards Buffy. "Pancakes fix everything."
From the floor, the dog lifted his head, blinking away the bacon-daze. He trained a sleepy-eyed glare at the silly, Floppy Boi. Cheezeburgers were the universal fixer of everything, not pancakes. Everybody knew that.
-X-
The pancake cavalry left after breakfast with the promise to be back later for the official National Hot Chocolate Day celebration. When the clean-up began, Spike slipped away. Feigning exhaustion from his culinary labors and citing 'creature of the night' bollocks as an excuse, he headed upstairs and grabbed a shower to get all the dried batter and flour out of his hair and other places it had somehow managed to migrate to. Glistening wet and fully 'defloured'—though, unfortunately, not in the traditional sense—he retired to his room.
He forced himself to get a few hours of sleep, wanting to be fresh for the party, which he hoped would go very late into the night, especially given his grand plans for an intimate 'after party' that had a guest list of two—him and Buffy. Now, lying in bed with the afternoon light bleeding in around the drapes, Spike couldn't help the smile that played over his lips as he thought about everything that had happened over the last couple of weeks.
His heart felt fuller than perhaps ever in his life—dead or alive. He'd come to Sunnydale hoping to find a friend, and he'd found so much more. He'd found Buffy, and, god, was she a revelation. But he'd also found her mates, who now seemed to have adopted him as theirs. Even the sodding numpty, though Spike wasn't sure how much that had to do with a promise of a free room when he needed it, but at least the boy wasn't bad-mouthing Spike to Buffy at every turn.
Even the Watcher seemed to be tolerating him. And Joyce had been nothing but supportive, if stern with her rules about 'ritual courting displays'. Not that that had been a real issue—Buffy wasn't there yet, and the sodding dog seemed to know it. His bleedin' interruptions were too well-timed to be dumb luck. But Spike was alright with that, because Buffy continued to show him that she genuinely cared for him in every other way possible. He could wait for her to be ready for more.
Spike stretched with a groan as sore muscles protested the movement. Who knew that DIY took so much out of a bloke? But he couldn't deny that they had made progress on the house. Red had helped him get the utilities turned on, and they'd all come over each day after school to help with whatever they could. They'd taken today—Saturday—off because it was Buffy's party. No, not Buffy's party, the National Hot Chocolate Day celebration.
The only thing that dampened Spike's mood was that with everything happening with the house and with Buffy, he hadn't had any spare time to spend with Lydia, doing the interview that would get Buffy her employment contract and salary. The woman pestered him about it every chance she got. A right bloody nag, she was. But she was also right—she didn't know how long she'd be in Sunnydale, and if Spike wanted those perks for the Slayer—and the promise of future favors for her, as well—he needed to buckle down and get to it.
Perhaps while Buffy was at school next week, he could meet with the Council bird. It could be a royal cock-up to have her come to the house, though, because Buffy might come home early. He never wanted Buffy to know he had any hand in getting her what she deserved. Joyce's lecture about confidence and earning your own money had left an impression—this needed to look like it was from the Council, not from him. Buffy already seemed to be a bit suspicious if he just spoke to the woman, like in a meeting or whatnot. He certainly didn't need to add fuel to that green-hued fire. Maybe he could find a way through the sewers to the B&B. He'd have to check one night to see if there was a tunnel leading out there. But that could wait for another time. Today was about celebrations.
Spike looked over at the clock. He'd need to get up soon, the shindig/hootenanny was meant to start in just a bit. Her friends would be showing up for the cake and gift-giving, then there was to be dancing at the Bronze. Dancing with Buffy. Dancing with his Slayer. Dancing with the most amazing woman he'd ever met. Dancing with the woman he loved, though he'd certainly not admitted that to anyone else.
He felt a small pang when he thought of all the times he'd danced with Dru. He'd loved her, there'd been no doubt, but she'd never been capable of loving him. Dancing with Buffy would be different. Her heart was her own—damaged and broken and put back together, just like his—but hers to give. One day maybe she'd give it to him, fully and completely. He certainly planned to do everything in his power to make that possible.
-X-
"Happy National Hot Chocolate day to you, Happy National Hot Chocolate day to you! Happy National Hot Chocolate day dear Buff-ffy, Happy National Hot Chocolate day to youuuuuu! And many mooorrre!"
"Think that's supposed t' be 'we hope you score,'" Spike whispered against Buffy's ear as her friends finished singing.
Buffy laughed, her face flushing adorably as she turned glittering eyes to him. "You are so bad," she whispered back, giving his cheek a light, affectionate slap. "Behave."
"Thought I was," Spike retorted, biting down on his bottom lip, and giving her one of his patented smoldering looks.
Spike looked extra-yummy tonight. He was dressed in a Prussian-blue button-down shirt that made his eyes pop even more than normal. Sapphire, she decided—that was the shade they were today. He even had on dress slacks in dark blue rather than jeans, and Oxfords instead of his clunky boots. The hungry look in his eyes had tingling fires erupting all up and down her body. Buffy ducked her head, breaking eye contact with him, before looking back at her friends and the waiting candle on the cake.
Joyce was taking pictures with her old Kodak Ektralite camera, the flash washing the room with light as Buffy leaned in, ready to blow out the candle.
"Make a wish!" Willow reminded her as Buffy inhaled deeply.
The Slayer's eyes darted back to meet Spike's and her heart skipped and skittered nervously in her chest as the wish formed in her mind. 'Let me be enough.'
Buffy closed her eyes then and blew out the candle that said '18' which sat atop the 'Chocolate Explosion' cake. She could see the flash from the camera through her eyelids as she heard the flame flicker and extinguish, sending her wish into the ether with the curling trail of smoke from the wick.
Her mother had made the cake especially for the occasion—National Hot Chocolate Day, not her birthday! Buffy wasn't sure how to explain the '18' on the cake to the universe, but maybe it wouldn't notice and realize the ruse. Heaven knows, if it figured out this was for her birthday celebration, the cosmos would send some disaster crashing through the window to ruin it all. She didn't need that. At least not until she got to eat some of this cake!
The cake itself was something out of fairytales and storybooks. It began life as a regular chocolate cake, but then came the chocolate explosion part. The perimeter was ringed all around with KitKat bars, which were topped with malted milk balls and Oreo Cookies. These formed a delicious dam which held in a plethora of colorful M&Ms, Reese's cups, Twix bars, Snickers bars, chocolate bark, and some chocolate concoctions even Buffy didn't recognize. It was a true masterpiece in chocolate confectionary.
She and her friends—Willow, Oz, Xander, both Spikes, and her mom—were gathered around the dining room table. The room was decorated with festive streamers and a banner that said, "Happy National Hot Chocolate Day!" Everyone had mugs of her mother's famous hot chocolate, though Buffy thought maybe a nice glass of milk would have been better with this cake. God, was she actually thinking there was too much chocolate here? Could that even be possible? She checked herself for a fever, but felt okay—phew! She would hate to be sick on National Hot Chocolate Day.
Joyce handed the camera to Willow for a moment as she cut the cake and began serving generous helpings topped with vanilla ice cream to everyone. As she did that, Buffy began opening her gifts.
"That's from me!" Willow provided helpfully when Buffy picked up the first colorfully wrapped box. The wrapping paper had mugs of hot chocolate on it topped with whipped cream—very fitting.
Buffy paused in her opening of the gift to grab one of the pieces of KitKat from the slice of cake her mom slid in front of her, and chomp down on it happily. Willow, of course, took a picture of Buffy with chipmunk cheeks full of KitKat.
"What could it be?" the Slayer wondered after finishing the candy, shaking the box and listening carefully. "Stakes?" she guessed.
Willow rolled her eyes. "That wouldn't be a very good gift for this auspicious day."
"It wouldn't?" Xander squeaked, clearly worried. "Cos, I thought Slayer and stakes are things that go together like coffee and donuts, rock and roll, Ben and Jerry, Kirk and Spock..."
"Slayers and vampires?" Spike suggested, arching a brow at the boy.
Xander spluttered. "Slayers and dusty vampires! Thus... stakes!"
Willow looked at Xander like he'd grown three heads while Buffy laughed, tearing into the cocoa-themed paper with gusto. "Boots!" she announced with childlike glee, ripping the box open to get to the cute, knee-high black leather boots. Buffy bounced up from her seat and was around the table in the next moment, pulling Willow into a bone-crushing hug. "They're perfect!"
"Eeep!" Willow squeaked. "Air."
Buffy released her friend with another laugh and an apology as Joyce took back the camera so she could capture all the moments—moments that would never come again. National Hot Chocolate Day only turned 18 once... or something like that.
Willow beamed at her friend. "Glad you like them. I thought they'd be good both for dancing and kicking of evil ass. A multi-purpose gift for a multi-purpose day."
"I love them," Buffy gushed, hugging the boots to her chest as she made her way back around the table to her spot.
She paused to take a few bites of cake and ice cream with her friends before moving on to the next gift which was wrapped in chocolate chip cookie themed paper. Xander's.
Buffy shook it like she had Willow's, listening carefully. "Hmmm, I wonder what it could be...?" she teased as wood rattled against wood inside the package.
Xander rolled his eyes. "How was I supposed to know? I thought stakes were a Slayer's best friend."
The dog stretched his neck, lifting his head up above the level of the table, and eyed Xander disdainfully for the second time today, letting out a huff of breath before settling back down to wait for something devour-able to fall.
"Bloody common. More I get to know you, more I see why you only date demons. Only chits that'll have you," Spike chided as he slipped his arm across the back of Buffy's chair.
"Cordy's not a demon!" Xander protested. "Technically..." he added when Willow tsked in disagreement.
"Oh! Look! Stakes! Bunches of them!" Buffy cooed admiringly, pulling one from the box.
"There are eighteen, you know, cos... eighteen," Xander explained.
"They're actually really nice," Buffy admitted as she turned it over in her hand. It was hefty, thick-grained wood, and smooth as silk with nary a splinter to be found. Then she stopped and blinked at it. "It says 'Spike' on here," she announced, her grin fading, her lips drawing into a hard line as she looked back at Xander.
Spike snorted, taking it from her hand to look at it. Sure enough, carved in the side was his name.
"Do they all have Spike's name on them?" Buffy wondered.
"Only nine of them, the other nine say 'Angel.'"
Spike couldn't help but bark out a laugh at that. "You're sodding pathetic, but points for consistency, whelp."
"You do know that if Spike is dusted, then your room at Chez Westfield goes poof too, right?" Buffy reminded him.
Xander sagged. "I made these before that whole deal was dealt and I didn't have time to change them."
Spike sniggered, reaching into the box and pulling out all the ones with his name on them. "I'll just keep these, then," he proposed, lining them up on the table. "Then you can say Buffy staked me, good and proper... nine times."
The boy sighed. "Not exactly what I had in mind, but I guess that'll have to do. This whole house-owning, room-providing, vampire boyfriend thing is going to take some getting used to."
"Poor Xander. His head might explode," Willow teased, patting her friend on the head like a puppy. Joyce made sure to capture that moment, also.
"Good thing there's nothing in there t' make a fuss about when it does," Spike taunted.
Buffy's bottom lip stuck out in a pout. "Spike gets monogrammed stakes for National Hot Chocolate Day, and all I get are ones that say 'Angel' on them," she complained.
Xander rolled his eyes and reached over the table to take the box back. "I'll change them," he offered. "Do you want 'Buffy' or 'B.S.' on them?"
Spike chuckled. Buffy elbowed him in the ribs. "'Buffy' is fine, smart ass."
Xander grinned, taking one of the stakes out and tossing it back to her. "Just in case you feel the need to give Angel a dusty gift," he explained.
Buffy rolled her eyes, but put the stake with her new boots. It really was a nice stake.
The next gift, wrapped in plain brown paper, was from Oz and was rather heavy for its size. Buffy tried not to frown, but it felt like a book. A book? She'd expect a book from Giles, but from Oz? She ripped the paper off and, lo and behold, it was a book. 'The Concise Oxford English Dictionary,' to be exact.
"Um, thank you?" Buffy offered lamely, trying to not look as confused and disappointed as she felt. Later photographic evidence would show that she failed.
"Open it!" Willow encouraged. "There are bookmarks."
Buffy looked down and saw five colorful bookmarks sticking out of the pages. Curious, she turned to the first one. The word 'reckless' was highlighted in yellow and in the margin, in Oz's cramped handwriting, it said, 'Note lack of Buffy here.' The Slayer smiled, understanding dawning on her, as she remembered their conversation from just a few days ago...
"Liking Spike. That would be kinda… ummm… reckless, wouldn't it?" she'd asked the werewolf.
"Reckless?" Oz shook his head. "Not in you."
Buffy frowned. "It's, like, totally in me. I'm a wreck of recklessness…"
"Have you consulted the OED on that?" Oz challenged.
Still smiling fondly, Buffy flipped the book to the next marked page. There, the word 'responsible' was highlighted and Oz had written, 'Buffy lives here'. Buffy felt tears prickle at the back of her eyes and had to blink them back as she turned to the next mark. 'Thoughtful,' had been colored in yellow on this page and Oz had pasted a picture of Buffy in next to it. The other bookmarks brought her to the words: 'true-blue' and 'trustworthy'.
Buffy felt her throat tighten and she had to brush back the dampness that had gathered in her eyes before she could speak.
"There are more highlighted," Willow provided as Buffy composed herself. "You know, that aren't bookmarked. It's like an Easter Egg hunt—which I wouldn't know anything about since, Jewish!—but from my understanding of the concept."
Buffy nodded and finally looked up at Oz. "Thank you. It's... I love it."
"You love a book? It doesn't even have any pictures in it!" Xander pointed out. "Who are you and what have you done with Buffy?"
The non-birthday-girl snorted, closing the dictionary, and hugging it to her chest. "I can't wait to find all the eggy-goodness."
"Luckily, they won't draw rats or go rancid and stink up the yard like actual Easter eggs," Oz allowed. "So, you have time."
The Slayer laughed and nodded, setting the book down with the boots and the stake. She paused in the unwrapping to take another bite of her cake and ice cream, the latter of which had begun melting. Everyone else was way ahead of her devouring their chocolate explosions, which was just wrong.
Spike agreed with the whelp with this one, which was scary in and of itself. With his arm across the back of Buffy's chair, he subtly rubbed her shoulder, getting her attention. When she looked over at him, her eyes were still glimmering with emotion. Spike tilted his head, his blue eyes soft and questioning—more of a sky blue now.
Buffy gave him a reassuring smile, meant to convey that she had not lost her mind, and whispered, "Later," to him.
The next package to be slid her way was wrapped in aluminum foil shaped like a Hershey's Kiss. The little tag streaming from the top was attached to a card that she could tell was from Spike by the left-handed slant of his familiar, old-fashioned handwriting.
Buffy picked it up, hoping that it was a giant Hershey's kiss, but no, it was too light. She bit her lip, looking at her boyfriend—her boyfriend! Squee!—with some trepidation. She lo—liked Spike beyond measure, but she also wouldn't put it past him to embarrass her with something completely inappropriate for her mother's eyes to behold, or her camera to document.
Her boyfriend raised his brows, his eyes glittering with anticipation and a bit of mischief, a barely contained smirk twisting his oh so kissable lips. Oh, dear, that just couldn't be good.
"Go on, then," he encouraged, letting the smirky smile emerge in all its glory.
Not good at all.
Buffy cleared her throat and looked down at the package. She envisioned Spike taking care to sculpt the foil in just the right shape, and wondered how long he'd worked at it and how much of the roll of aluminum wrap he used to get it right. The mental image made her smile as she pulled the card free and slipped a finger beneath the flap. Hoping she'd started with the safest option, Buffy slid the card from the envelope, and naively read the front aloud, "We're like Hot Chocolate and Marshmallows," she began before opening it and continuing, "You're hot and steamy, and I like it on top."
Willow giggled. Xander groaned as if in pain. Oz just arched an appreciative brow. Buffy bit down on her bottom lip, face flaming, her eyes darting over to her mom.
Joyce shook her head and covered her ears with her hands. "I'm going to pretend I have no idea what that means."
Buffy tittered nervously, deciding to read what Spike had written silently rather than blurting it out to the room,
'In truth, I'll take it top, bottom, or sideways—pour that hot, steamy body over me any way you like it, pet. Happy first of many Hot Chocolate Day celebrations, Buffy. HYYBF - S'
The Slayer turned to look at Spike, her face still aflame. 'You are sooo bad,' she mouthed, widening her eyes scoldingly, but she couldn't completely stop the grin that hovered just beneath the surface. "Where in the world did you find a hot chocolate card?" she asked aloud.
"A gentleman never reveals his secrets," Spike revealed haughtily. "And neither do I."
Buffy laughed and turned back to the rest of the gift, her worries about what it might be redoubling. Would her mom need to cover her eyes now too? Oh no, Joyce had the camera up, aiming right at Buffy. With trepidation, the Slayer began to gingerly unfurl the shiny wrapping, her heart quivering in a nervous thrum in her chest.
She needn't have worried. It wasn't any of the worst things she'd imagined. No sexy negligee, or nude pictures of himself, or sex toys tumbled from the wrappings. What she did find was a pack of M&Ms and a postcard. She began to laugh, remembering him leaving treats for her (and furry Spike, as well) in her bag when they were on the road trip to rescue Dru. That was clearly what the M&Ms were meant to remind her of. And the postcard. Her heart tripped over itself as she looked at it, remembering all the days she'd hurried home, hoping one would be waiting for her. Somehow, it seemed like when she really needed them most, they were there.
This one was from Sunnydale—where else? It was an overhead view of the terra-cotta tiled roofs that were so common in the older section of town, looking out at the mountains and the ocean in the distance. The words, 'Greetings from Sunnydale' were superimposed over the photograph. Just like all the others he'd sent to her from Mexico, there were vampire fangs drawn into the landscape for her to seek and find—which she did immediately. Buffy was beaming when she turned it over to read the message, which she did silently, having learned her lesson...
There was a bright lass from the 'Dale
Who made all the dark demons quail,
She soon met her match,
A right bloody catch,
Spike's kiss made her wet without fail.
HYYBF —Spike
Buffy's face remained flushed, but she couldn't help the laugh that burbled from her throat as she looked up at him. The small change in the signature he'd used on both the card and postcard didn't escape her, either—'Hate you, your boyfriend.' Another little whoop of joy skittered around her brain and sent glimmering sparkles of joy tumbling through her entire body.
"You wrote me a poem," she observed, grinning like a madwoman.
"That I did, Slayer."
"It's so romantic," Buffy gushed, fluttering her lashes coquettishly as she fanned herself with the card.
"Oh, can I see?" Willow asked, beaming.
"Uh, maybe later," Buffy declined, casting a furtive glance at her mom before looking back at her boyfriend.
Spike's eyes burned as he curled his tongue over his teeth delectably. "Never let it be said Spike doesn't go all out for his girl."
"All out!? You got her a cheap card, M&Ms, and a postcard!" Xander protested. "What did that run you, $1.29?"
"Oi! It's the thought that counts, innit?" Spike retorted, never taking his eyes off Buffy. "And I've got lots o' thoughts. Very romantic-like thoughts."
Buffy squirmed under his intense gaze, her face heating further as flickers of tingling desire rippled through her like a burning waterfall. She leaned over, cupping his face with her free hand, and kissed him. She'd meant for it to be soft and chaste, but, well, that just didn't work out like she'd planned. His lips were so soft, so willing, so delicious. Then he reached out, tangling his long fingers in her hair, holding her in place, as if there was anywhere on Earth she'd rather be. Soon, their tongues were writhing together, tasting of cake and ice cream, and exploding with more than chocolate, with lust and longing and need. They lost themselves in it, in each other, in the sweet delight of the kiss, as it went on and on and on.
It wasn't until Joyce cleared her throat that they remembered where they were and pulled apart, both panting raggedly. Buffy's skin was damp with a light sheen of perspiration, and her blood was singing as it rushed through her veins.
Spike felt the loss like a blow, but steadied himself, releasing the hold he had on her golden tresses. They slipped through his fingers like liquid sunshine; it was a sensation he longed to drown in. His cock, already aroused from the kiss, stiffened further as the thought of her wrapping those silken locks around his hard length flashed through his mind. Spike's teeth clamped down on his bottom lip, which was warm and wet and still tasted of Buffy. He was pleased beyond measure that his little gifts had elicited such a response from his girl. She understood the meaning behind them. It wasn't about the money; it was about the connection they'd shared even before either of them had known, or admitted, there was one.
Buffy cleared her throat and drew back, fanning herself again with the postcard. "Maybe you could tell me about these thoughts later," she suggested coyly.
"Be my pleasure, pet," he rumbled.
"I gave Cordy an awesome necklace, set me back two months' allowance, and I didn't get kissed that much," Xander complained.
Spike blinked, finally taking his eyes from Buffy's, and looked over at the boy. "Ever think maybe you just aren't worth snogging?"
Xander scowled. "Hey! I'm snoggable! In fact, I'm snogg-a-licious! I'm the snogg-a-licious-est!" he protested hotly, before adding, "And I hope that means what I think it means, and doesn't involve someone named 'Bubba'."
Everyone laughed.
Joyce took more pictures.
Buffy turned back to her boyfriend and whispered, "Hate you, too," before she tucked her goodies from Spike into the box with the boots and stake, and busied her lips by eating her cake. It was perhaps the first time ever that her mouth, lips, and tongue would've rather have been devouring something other than rich, delicious chocolate. She glanced back over at Spike, who was drinking his cocoa, though his unwavering gaze was on her. Melted marshmallow clung to his upper lip when he put down the cup. His tongue slowly and sensually removed all trace of the froth before he bit his lower lip and winked at her. Buffy groaned inwardly, wishing for a moment that they were alone so Spike could take another drink and she could use her tongue to clean the sugary goodness from his delicious lips. Buffy's heart flipped and flopped around in her chest, thinking of the card, of her being the hot, steamy beverage on Spike's lips and tongue.
Oh my. Yep, her lips definitely would rather be devouring Spike right now. Bad Buffy! Cake! Eat the cake!
-X-
When the treats were gone and everyone was chatting amiably, making plans for the night of dancing at the Bronze, Joyce produced another box that Buffy hadn't seen. It was about the size of a shoebox, wrapped in paper festooned with chocolate hearts with the words 'powered by chocolate' sprinkled liberally around the design.
"One more," her mom announced, sliding the box over to Buffy.
Buffy's brows drew together as she took the gift, giving her mom a questioning look. "I thought our trip to the mall was my birth—errr, the National Hot Chocolate Day gift."
Joyce shrugged. "It was," she agreed, tilting her head at the present. "Just thought this was deserved too."
Not one to kick a gift horse in the mouth, Buffy ripped into the neatly wrapped paper and opened the box. Inside there was a lot of colorful tissue paper, and for a moment she thought her mom was having a laugh, giving her an empty box, but then she found it. A small jewelry box at the center of the kaleidoscopic packing.
The tiny, hinged box was covered with cracked, worn leather, and Buffy recognized it immediately. Her eyes flew wide as she pulled it out, looking back at her mother. "The magic ring?" the girl questioned, her expression excited, her heart whirling like a top inside her chest.
'The magic ring' was what five-year-old Buffy had named the family heirloom contained in the old leather box, an opal and pearl ring. When she was young, she would beg her mother to take it out so she could just look at it, watch the colors shift and change, sparkle and glitter like magic in the sunbeams that streamed through the window. It was incredibly old. It had belonged to Joyce's mom – Gran, as Buffy knew her – and Gran's mother, and all the women in their family for as far back as anyone could trace. Buffy had always known when her parents were going somewhere special, when the occasion was auspicious, because her mom would wear the ring. It became larger than life in her young mind, something from an enchanted fairytale, like Cinderella's glass slipper.
Buffy opened the old box with great care, a small gasp escaping her when the light hit the treasured keepsake, making it shine in all its vibrant glory. On either side of the generous opal were two small pearls, lovely in their own right, if more subdued than the larger stone. The band was ornate, with swirls of gold setting off the gems.
Another flash of the camera washed over her, but Buffy barely noticed. With bated breath, she lifted the ring from the box and slipped it onto her right ring finger, marveling at how well it fit. It was just as beautiful as she remembered.
Though she'd long ago stopped begging her mom to take it out for her to goggle over, she'd seen Joyce wear it to premieres and fundraisers at the gallery. Joyce had always said it would be Buffy's 'one day'; Buffy had no idea that day would be today, though.
Buffy looked up at her mom with glimmering eyes. "Are you serious?"
Joyce gave her daughter a reassuring smile, nodding. "I think you're ready for it, don't you?"
Buffy looked back down at the ring, feeling a bit overwhelmed. She thought she could sense all the lives that had come before in the warm gold band, see the hopes and dreams of generations of women in the magical flashes of color in the opal, sense the matriarchal strength that had been passed down through the years. She couldn't help but wonder if she would be the last to feel the familial connection. After all, who would she have to pass it on to? Slayers didn't have daughters; they didn't live long enough for families.
More tears prickled her eyes, but Buffy shook those dire thoughts off and blinked back the moisture. Today was not the day for doom and gloom. Today was the day to embrace the happiness and joy of National Hot Chocolate Day. She slid her chair back and threw herself into her mother's arms, feeling as elated and grateful and alive as she ever had. She'd made it to eighteen, who was to say she couldn't make it to twenty, or twenty-five or even thirty? If anyone could break the stupid rules, it was Buffy, the Vampire Slayer, and her cadre of friends and family... including her two Spikes.
"Thank you so, so much," Buffy gushed, hugging her mom tight, but not too tight. "I love it. I'll take care of it."
"I know you will, honey," Joyce replied, hugging her little girl... her adult daughter. Tears welled in her eyes too. How had they gotten here? Just yesterday she was bringing baby Buffy home from the hospital and now, suddenly, her baby was a woman. Strong and smart and kind. "I'm so proud of you, baby girl."
Buffy's tears came then in force, streaming down her cheeks, the words a balm to all her deep, lingering insecurities. "I love you, Mom."
"I love you, too," Joyce replied, still holding her daughter tight. She met Spike's eyes across the short distance and locked gazes with the vampire.
There was a plea in her soft brown eyes that Spike could read clearly: keep your promise, keep my daughter safe. You said you would.
Spike gave Joyce a sharp nod, his mouth drawn into a serious line. He'd bloody well do his best to give Buffy a long, happy life. He hadn't lied to Giles when he said a century with Buffy wouldn't be enough, not by a long chalk.
Their silent communication was severed when Buffy pulled back, absolutely glowing with delight, even as tear tracks marred her cheeks. She swiped at them as she showed off the ring to her friends, who made all the appropriate 'oooing' and 'ahhing' sounds over it.
Joyce, of course, took pictures.
When Buffy got to Spike, he took her hand lightly in his and examined the ring with solemnity. "It's beautiful, pet," he agreed before looking up to meet her shimmering eyes. "Just like you."
Buffy blushed and slapped playfully at his chest. "I bet you say that to all the Slayers."
Spike grinned devilishly but shook his head. "Just the ones who celebrate National Hot Chocolate Day with streamers and enough sweets t' trigger diabetic comas."
Buffy laughed and leaned in to kiss him. This time she managed to keep it closer to PG-13 as her mother had requested, though it was a close thing.
-X-
Chapter End Notes:
Some of you may be thinking, this is rated NC-17 , where's the NC-17? I promise that it's coming. Sit back and enjoy the plotty goodness, the flirting, and the relationship building for a while. You will be rewarded later.
Chocolate Explosion cake: . /how-to-make-a-chocolate-explosion-cake/
The Hot Chocolate Card: products/chocolate-marshmallow
The Boston Cooking School was founded in 1879 "to offer instruction in cooking to those who wished to earn their livelihood as cooks, or who would make practical use of such information in their families." The school became famous following the 1896 publication of The Boston Cooking-School Cook Book by its principal at the time, Fannie Merritt Farmer. Farmer left the Boston Cooking School in 1902 and created Miss Farmer's School of Cookery. She began by teaching gentlewomen and housewives the rudiments of plain and fancy cooking.
The Tremont Street subway in Boston's MBTA subway system is the oldest subway tunnel in North America and the third oldest still in use worldwide to exclusively use electric traction, opening on September 1, 1897. The original five-mile route ran between an entrance at the Public Garden and an entrance near Haymarket Square. Train cars could enter and exit either end of the subway to continue on to destinations above ground.