Chocolate Covered Cherries

"Come on, come out with us." Catherine tried to sound nonchalant but she was having difficulty keeping her voice down below a teen's twittering. She was disgusted to find herself holding back a giggle. The kind of giggle that would turn into a giggle-fit if not stopped head-on. Another aspect of her teen self she thought she had outgrown. Much like the uncomfortable, giddy feeling when you talked to a hot guy, even though there was no chance. Actually, the fact there was no chance, somehow, made it that much harder to compose herself.

She didn't look at Spike while she organized the baking supplies into piles. Her professional spatulas, whisks, pots and pans, and the schools scuffed and worn, off-brand shit. She hoped Spike couldn't see how red her neck felt. Her face must be red too but the flyaways from her ponytail, hopefully, hid that. Her ponytail would hide her neck if she had it over her right shoulder, the one facing Spike. She had heavy black hair that came to just under her shoulder blades if it was in a ponytail, like it was now. When it was like that she had the habit of bringing it over her left shoulder and playing with it. It wasn't a nervous habit, it was just a habit. One her husband found adorable. She threw her hair back over her shoulder in annoyance and accidentally put one of her pristine, stainless steel mixing bowls in the school's pile.

"Wha', like to a pub? You two don't seem like the Friday night pub crawl type. No offense." What came out wha' in his adorable British accent. Spike was doing none of the clean-up. He came late to class and never offered to go get the ingredients, tools, or help wash. She was surprised that that didn't bother her. Somehow, she thought, it was his accent that was to blame. His old-timey, British accent came across as both edgy and childish at the same time. This persona of bad boy (emphasis on boy) was reinforced by his floor-length leather trench coat, black, biker boots (very different than her husband's more practical, light tan, tar stained, steel-toed boots), and his blood-red button-down, short-sleeved shirt that was open to reveal a black undershirt. He also had a prominent scar that cut his left eyebrow in two. She could imagine running her thumb across his forehead and feeling the softness of his eye brown, then the smoothness of the scar tissue, then back to the delicate brown hair. She needed to snap out of it. She wasn't herself and this swooning was just a symptom of that.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe we're not a pub crawl couple. But we are a late evening, beer and wine drinking, deep talking in a booth type of couple." She was feeling more grounded now. His edginess was starting to sound dramatic and comical instead of sharp and deliciously dangerous. She turned to look Spike in his gray-blue eyes. His edginess might not be sharp, but his cheekbones were. His chin too. If his nickname was derived from his facial features she would not have been surprised.

"How about this? How about we compromise. There is this dive bar called the Goatee. It's dark, smelly, dirty, and you can throw your peanut shells directly on the ground. Just like a civilized savage." Catherine put one hand on her prominent hip and held a spatula with the other. She was wearing a short-sleeved, powder blue, v-neck t-shirt that was covered by a white apron. She'd cross-stitched a floral design and a quote on the front of it.

THE SWEETEST HONEY

IS LOATHSOME

IN HIS OWN DELICIOUSNESS

She had other aprons, but she thought this one would be funny to wear to a desert class. Her husband thought she was being purposefully antagonistic. Maybe she was.

She also had on a pair of black jeans, but they were the hip hugger, skinny jean type rather than the boot cut type like Spike was wearing. Gesturing at him with the spatula she said, "Then, when you're good and drunk, you can tell us all about this lady you're trying to win back. What was her name? Drusilla?"

"I call her Dru." He said with a sigh. Like he missed saying her name.

"We're going to the Goat? I thought you hated that place." David said, leaning against their workstation behind Catherine. He had just gotten back from putting their chocolate-covered cherries in the fridge. They were supposed to chill for 5 minutes then they could take them home.

"I don't hate it. I just don't like it… at all." Catherine turned to her husband and tippytoe kissed him, trying to avoid touching his grimy work shirt. "Besides, you're dressed for the Goatee. I felt embarrassed taking you to McFadden's last week," she said while smirking to show she was joking. But she had been embarrassed. They didn't have time for him to shower or change before coming to this class, so here he was, in a gray t-shirt with KYLE'S ROOFING printed in orange block letters across the front. There were black tar stains on the belly and sleeves, and on his worn pants right around where he would put his hands on his thighs to get up from a kneeling position. There were more tar stains on his knees. While the stains told a story of a lot of knee and back pain to come, the gut told of a love for beer. It wasn't a large gut. Just a noticeable gut. So maybe it was less a love and more a "beer with benefits" sort of relationship.

"Hold on you two. Is it the Goatee or the Goat? Bloody Americans, just call it one thing." Spike said this last part under his breath while running his hand over his slicked back, bleach blonde hair. Whatever was holding it in place must have been aerospace-level adhesive, because nothing seemed to move or dislodge that sun yellow helmet. No matter how many times he ran his hand over it.

"It's technically The Goatee, but only people who don't like it call it that. Those who feel at home there call it The Goat. Its logo is even a goat head," David said, scratching Catherine's back as she put her cooking tools in a very professional-looking tote.

"You caught me. It's not my favorite. But I think Spike would like it, and you sure do." She patted Davids's slightly plump belly and wiped her hand on her apron. "So I will make the sacrifice for my two favorite boys." She put her hands on both of their arms and winked at her husband.

"Sounds good to me! I'm in." Spike clapped his hands and rubbed them together. Catherine couldn't tell if he was mocking her.

"Awesome! I'll just go get our chocolates," David said, showing no sign he registered any sarcasm. "They should be done now I think. Everyone else is getting theirs. You want me to grab yours too Spike?"

"Nah. Leave it. I'll get them on my way out. They're crap anyway. I'm probably not even going to use them." Spike put his hands in his coat pockets and shrugged his shoulders.

"Really? I thought you did great! The chocolate got a little gloopy there at the end, but other than that I was really impressed." Catherine said. And that was her professional opinion. He was a natural when it came to baking, she thought. She couldn't tell if he was just being modest or actually had no idea how talented he was at this sort of thing. Baking really wasn't her thing, but she could appreciate it when someone else had a knack for it. Like Spike.

"Bull. They're fine for a first try I guess, but they're not good enough. Not good enough for Dru. I have some ideas for my second try. You go ahead, mate. Get yours and I'll meet you at this Goat place," Spike said fiddling with his keys. David nodded and went off to get their confections. People were starting to say their goodbyes and file out of the small, community college classroom, with its dim lighting and its slightly yellowing walls. The workbenches were new, shiny, stainless steel, and the appliances (stoves, ovens, mixers, etc.), while cheap, were also pretty new. But the atmosphere was still small, community college, second chance feel. The teacher was waving to each student as they left. 'See ya'll later' and 'bless your heart sweetness, have a good one yourself' came flitting across the classroom in a sweet southern accent that seemed entirely put on to Catherine. She shivered at how fake that voice sounded and dreaded smiling when it was her turn to wish the young prof a nice weekend. But Spike just stood there.

"So where's this place at?" He said, shrugging his shoulders again in slightly amused annoyance.

"Oh right! Sorry. You know where the 55 freeway ends? There at Triangle-Square?" Catherine said a bit flustered but recovering nicely. Spike nodded.

"Well, it's directly across the street from that shopping mall. Where Harbor hits Newport blvd. But the parking is around the back." She finished.

"Got it. Thanks love. I'll see you. Unless I decide not to of course." With that teaser hanging in the air he left in a flap of leather, passing David on his way to the fridge, and then out the door. Catherine stood there a little stunned at the sudden uncertainty of their plans.

By the time David and Catherine got to the Goatee the parking was already impossible. They ended up having to park a couple of blocks away, along a residential street, and walk from there. They expected the bar to be crowded given the parking and they were not disappointed. They would have to hover if they wanted a table.

"Any sign of him?" Catherine asked as David came back from his search. She had been the one tasked to hover over a table that looked almost ready to go. Three actually. Two tables and one booth. These ones looked like they were bar hopping so they wouldn't stay. The two tables accumulated a few more people so they were bound to last a bit longer, but the booth finished their pitcher and started packing up. There was another hovering party so Catherine edged in closer. She angled it just right so that she was blocking one direction for the kids to go and they had to sidle past the other vultures, blocking their entrance to the booth and allowing Catherine to slip in no problem. She was a pro after all and this place was chock-full of kids. It depressed her how much these obviously drinking age patrons looked and acted, to her, like children. David had come back with a pitcher of something, light and thin, and a tall glass of something super dark and frothy (probably Guinness, that was David's favorite) in one large rough hand, and a glass of red wine in the other. He put the wine glass down in front of Catherine, the two beers in the middle of the table, and then took a seat next to her.

"Nah, and he's not easy to miss. I could spot that dome in this place easy. No one bleaches their hair anymore." It was super loud in the Goat, but the booth dampened it a little. They had to talk loudly but not yell. "He left before us, didn't he?"

"Yeah, maybe he had some errands to run." She hadn't told David about Spike's cryptic salutation to her before he left. She thought it entirely possible that he had just decided to do something else, with more fun people than them. He obviously knew funner people than them. "What's this?" She said gesturing at the tall, slightly smudged wine glass in front of her.

"Not sure. They didn't have what you wanted. So I said to give me something sweet and red that's not too dry and that's what they gave me. If you like it we can get more. If not, we can try something else. I'll get it for you of course." He said this so casually; as if it was perfectly reasonable. It probably was in his head. But for the life of her, she couldn't figure out how. She'd tried. She really tried to put herself in his mind and work through these decisions and come out with the same conclusion, with total confidence, as he did. She never could. So she took a second so as not to sound exasperated.

"Honey, if you don't know what it is, how can you order it again?" She asked, still sounding annoyed despite her best efforts. He paused too. She drummed her fingers on her legs but kept her smile sweet and nonjudgmental. She hoped.

"Well… I left the tab open." He said, and then started to drink his Guinness as if that was the end of a thought.

"So?" She said after a few seconds, raising her hands in exasperation. She was really getting irritated. No one could take her from zero to hand-numbing irritation like David could.

"So, they can look at what I ordered and either order me another or order me something else if you don't like it." He took another sip of beer. His expression didn't change but she could tell he was getting tense. Good. Now they matched.

So he had a solution. But she was pretty sure he didn't have one before she asked the question.

"Shouldn't we wait for Spike?" She asked, gesturing to his now half gone Guinness.

"What if he doesn't come?" David answered her question with a question, gulping his drink now. It only took him two swigs to finish off the pint. "I'll scan for him again on my way to get me another. How about you take a sip and see if you like it. I can get you something else if you don't."

She took a sip, still with her eyebrows drawn. It was actually really good. A little dryer than she usually liked, but it was still sweet, and she could get a hint of raspberry. It wasn't her favorite. But it would do to get her drunk. She felt like that's what she wanted tonight anyway. She nodded at David and gave him a thumbs up. He nodded back, as if he expected nothing less than approval, and pushed his way through the crowd. He was a tall guy so it was comical seeing him move through a group of people a full head shorter than him. She had a funny image pop into her head of the scene in The Lion King where Simba took refuge on a lone tree to escape the herd of buffalo. David was that tree. David was her rock. But he didn't change easily. She pushed that thought away. She'd think more on that once she had a glass or two in her.

"That looks like piss."

Catherine jumped, sloshing her wine. He kept doing that. She never saw him coming. Never heard him either. Spike slid in across from her on the opposite side of the booth.

It was odd. The Goatee was one of those run-down farmhouse-style places. The kind with miss matching wooden chairs at tables with peeling teal paint and random nick-nacks all over the wall. Completely unrelated pictures in frames and trinkets on shelves. And far too many mirrors. In fact, there was a mirror on the far wall facing her. It was three booths down but she thought she should have seen movement in it if he had come from behind her. Sitting in the booth now he was out of the mirrors line of sight. It was just something she noticed and then discarded.

She was glad he had come.

"Probably tastes like it too," Catherine said, recovering quickly from her start by taking a sip of wine. "If it makes you feel any better I think David got it for you. He doesn't drink the light stuff. But he knows most people do so he took a shot. I guess not huh?"

"Not my thing much, beer. And definitely not this watered-down rat piss. But with my history, I've learned not to waste nothin'." He grabbed the pitcher and downed it. It was like he wasn't even taking breaths as the liquid disappeared. He plunked it down and belched loudly. His gaseous expulsion was loud and long enough to get a few people's attention even in the nearly deafening environment of the overcrowded bar. When his exhalation came to an abrupt end a few people applauded. One joker asked for an encore.

"Yep, rat piss. I prefer a bottle of whisky myself. Doesn't really matter what kind. I used to care. Not so much anymore." That accent made it sound like there was a W in rat so it was more like wrat piss than r-at piss. And bottle came out b'ttle. It wasn't exactly that dramatic, but it made Catherine smile, take a sip of wine, and somehow admire the over-the-top burp instead of being disgusted by it. The accent was like a spell.

"You're going to let that slide?" David said coming up the three steps to the landing their booth was on. That was another thing about this place, it was like a maze of platforms, hallways, and balconies. Their booth was up on a mini platform that included three booths along the back wall and four tables in the center with a railing that overlooked more tables. Both Catherine and Spike looked to their side to see David bringing two more Guinness's and one more wine. The bar was on the other side of the wall opposite the railing.

"If you had an accent I'd let yours slide too," Catherine said, taking the second wine glass from him.

"About right. I've found it covers a multitude of sins. So long as the bird doesn't have one of course." Spike chimed in, definitely playing it. About came out a'boot, right was 'wrot', and of was just 'o'. He looked so proud of himself.

"I take it your 'bird' has an accent too?" David slid one of the Guinness's to Spike and made air quotes for 'bird'. He turned to Catherine and gestured to her wine. "I asked; it's a Bogle Zinfandel."

"Thanks, sugar." She said and pecked his lips with a kiss.

"Yeah, except we don't see it that way. We're not the ones with the accent, you blokes are. But that's the way of it right? You're new someplace and your sodding normal shit is off, to everyone else. Sometimes it's exotic or sometimes it's a target, but it never goes unnoticed." The couple couldn't tell if he was genuinely upset about it or just passing along an observation. He wasn't wrong so there was no discussion to be had there. He didn't seem upset either. Or at least not about that. He downed the beer in front of him and Catherine decided to change the subject.

"Actually David, Spike doesn't like beer."

"Could have fooled me," David said, waving his hand at the empty pitcher and the empty pint. Catherine shrugged.

"Nah, she's right. But alcohol is alcohol. Next few rounds are on me. Hope you guys are up for some shots." With that, he slid out from the booth and down the steps. Catherine casually checked out the mirror as Spike left. She wasn't sure why. It was just a tickle. An annoying thought that she should have seen him in the mirror when he was behind her. He must have gotten out of the booth at the exact right angle because she didn't see him in the mirror again. Very odd, she thought, and drank the last of her wine. She misjudged the amount of wine that was left and felt self-conscious about how long she drank before it was gone. If David had noticed he didn't react.

Spike wasn't as tall as David but he did manage to slide through the crowd like a spot of black oil in water. His incredibly blond hair bobbing along unimpeded. It was like people instinctively avoided him. He wasn't a rock like her David, he was a plague.

"So, what'd you think of the second class? Any better than last week?" David asked, taking Catherine's hand. The one not holding the stem of her second wine glass.

"It's growing on me. I still can't stand her accent though." Catherine said, taking a smaller sip of her new glass. If they were going to have shots she needed to slow down.

"Really? I think it's cute. So British accents do it for you but not southern?"

"Basically. I don't know. I think she puts it on. She hams it up. I think she lays in bed at night and writes down nonsensical sayings that sound sweet. Or probably in the morning while she eats her perfectly cooked eggs and grits." Another sip of wine. Not quite a gulp, but close.

"You think? That would be clever if she did." David said straight-faced, slowly drinking his beer. She knew he was kidding, but it was really hard to tell sometimes.

"Ha. Ha. I just mean she's too much of a caricature and her accent is a big part of that. If not all of it."

"And Spike isn't?" He asked with an eyebrow raised.

"As a matter of fact, no. I don't think he is. He's too British to be putting it on."

"Wait, so you think Sarah is overdoing her accent because she's not authentic, but Spike's accent is so exaggerated because he is authentic? They're both from where their accents say they're from. How is one being honest and the other isn't?" When he said it like that she felt stupid. He was right but mostly wrong at the same time. There were a lot of feelings mixed up in it but it boiled down to Spike being accessible and vulnerable, and Miss. Sarah Moore (Cooking Moore on YouTube) being a persona created for optimal likes, follows, and subscriptions. Catherine was projecting too much on both.

"Apparently they don't usually sell the entire bottle. I had to pay extra to get it. Bloody thieves. Had them throw in the shot glasses though. We can keep them. One for each." Spike was back with his contribution. He sat down and set a shot glass, more or less, in front of each person. He banged the bottle of dark whisky down with the label towards him. Catherine couldn't see what it was. She supposed it didn't matter. She didn't like whisky so whatever it was would be bad. But effective. Spike poured.

"Drink up maties." He said and threw it back. She did the same and chased it with her wine. Her cook's pallet tingled. Not a bad pairing. She'd have to remember that. Wine and whisky. Interesting. David chased his with beer and his face never changed. Her face, on the other hand, had gone through a spasm of unpleasantness before she soothed it with the smooth red.

She smacked her lips and felt a tingling and heat in her face. She was already getting tipsy. Was that good?

"I'm glad you decided to come." She said to Spike, not sure how to start the conversation. Heaven knows David wasn't going to.

"Yeah, I said I would." Spike poured another round. "Drink."

She let that go and took her shot with her chaser. Her teeth buzzed happily.

"How was parking?" David asked.

"Bloody terrible! Had to kill a guy to get a spot. Bloody Huntington Beach."

"Costa Mesa actually," David said. "Yeah, we had to park a couple blocks away in a residential. It's the worst. At least you got a spot." He drank his beer and Spike took another shot by himself.

"So Spike, tell us about this Dru girl. How long have you been broken up?" Catherine took a sip of wine and realized she was almost out. Bad timing.

"It's not how long, it's how many." He said. She wasn't sure if he was trying to be cryptic or just dramatic.

"How many times I've tried to get her back. How many times she's rejected me. How many times she's cheated on me. And how many times I've cheated on her." He wasn't slurring his words, but he was swaying a bit. He'd taken probably three more shots by himself now.

"Oh my," Catherine said quietly. Reverently. David looked at her with his eyebrows raised. That look said, are you sure you want to get into this? She was.

Spike nodded and took another shot.

"Hundreds." Shot. "Thousands." Shot. "One." Two shots. "None." Shot.

"Slow down champ," David said, putting a hand on the top of the three-quarters full bottle of whisky. Spike ignored David but didn't pour another shot. But he did go on.

"-Respectively. Put like that it doesn't matter how long, it doesn't matter in what order, it's a tally. An accumulation of pain." He waved David's hand away and poured himself another shot, but didn't take it. "And I'm losing." He took it.

"I'm so sorry… That's awful." Catherine said, pouring herself and David a shot. David shook his head. She took hers and left David's alone. The alcohol was muffling the loudness of the bar. It was starting to feel like their booth was their own little world. At least to Catherine. "I'm sorry, I kind of lost track. Who cheated on who?"

"She cheated on me," Spike said.

"Oh my. And you want her back?" Catherine asked, truly interested. This was what she was hoping for. Not that Spike had been cheated on but the passion that drove him to seek her out even after all the pain she obviously put him through; was still putting him through. It was a tragedy. And who doesn't love a good tragedy?

"Well it's not that simple, is it? She had her reasons. They were shit reasons, but I get it. I mean I get that I couldn't get it and that's the same. Her talents put so much stress on her, and she wasn't completely wrong in any case. Or entirely sane. I tried to tell her it would never go like that. I had gotten soft though, and bloody well knew it. She knew it too."

"Time out. You're going to need to back way the hell up?" David said, making his hands into a T.

"I'll need more to drink then."

"I doubt that will make things clearer," David said, but he didn't move to stop Spike from pouring himself another shot. Which he threw back right away.

"It always has in the past. You should try it sometime. How's the class going by the way? You liking it Catherine? Or do you need some more to drink first too?"

Catherine glanced at David who was looking down at his beer. Not drinking it. Did everyone know how she felt? They probably knew she wasn't exactly ecstatic about the class. But they didn't know why. And her feelings ran so deep she didn't even know their depths. But Spike had surprised her with that question. It was rhetorical. Of course she needed more to drink before diving into those waters.

"I like it fine." She said instead. "The class is fine, it's just her stupid little nonsense sayings." She took the last sip of wine. She was definitely feeling tipsy now. "I actually really like the southern accent. It's lovely." She paused again, lost on her own mental train. She brought the glass halfway to her lips, realized it was empty, and put it back down. She stared at it for a second. "You know what she said to me last week? She said 'ain't noth'n for noth'n but that's something.' What the fuck's that supposed to mean?! I think it meant she liked my apron, but I honestly have no idea." She fell silent again, not really knowing where she was going with this. That had actually made her feel warm and special when Sarah had said it. That's why she remembered it.

"Hold that thought. I'll get you another glass. I really want to hear this though." David grabbed her glass and gently bulldozed his way through the loud, now rambunctious crowd. It was going to take him a while to get that wine. The bar must be swamped. Catherine and Spike sat quietly for a few minutes. Catherine sat there studying her hands, playing with her wedding ring, looking at the random tchotchkes on the wall; a particularly creepy doll caught her eye. It was one of those old dolls with the plastic head sewn onto a stuffed, fabric body. It had probably once been a Raggedy Ann doll. Or a Raggedy Ann knock-off. It had those red dots to indicate rosy cheeks. But it had long since lost its dress. It still had red and white striped socks and black strappy shoes sewn onto its legs, but no dress. Its wild, red, curly yarn hair made it look demonic. And its big, blue, wide-open eyes made it look crazed.

"You fucking hate it don't you?"

"What?" Catherine said dreamily, coming out of her tipsy daze.

"The class," Spike repeated. "You can't stand it."

She thought about denying it. But she was a few too many wines in for that. The shots helped with the truth as well. "Yes… Hate is a strong word, but basically… I hate it."

She put her hands to her face and rubbed her eyes. "I probably wouldn't hate it so much if I weren't trying so hard to like it, or act like I like it; for David. He signed us up for it, you know. Super sweet." She noticed her hands were still on her cheeks, cupping them, comforting them. She put them on the table, then decided to take the shot David had left behind.

"Bollocks. That's not why you hate it. Jealousy is an ugly smell and you reek of it. That's how I found your booth. I sniffed you out." He made a dramatic snorting sound and smirked. "Want another shot?" He asked. He was pouring even as she was nodding. He poured himself another one too. one, two, three, shoot. They banged their glasses down at the same time.

"How are you not slobbering drunk by now?"

"No circulation does wonders for a metabolism. Drunkenness is all a mental game for me." He tapped his finger against his temple. "I only drink the stuff because the taste makes me remember how it felt, and then I feel it. It's called the placebo effect. Wicked right?"

"My brother has a metabolism like that. He can eat whatever he wants, drink whatever he wants, practically no effect. I used to test all my culinary c'ncoctions on him. Before I met David of course." Spike might be superhuman when it came to metabolizing alcohol, but she was getting close to her cut-off line. When she started to slur she knew she only had a few more sips before she was too done. But maybe that was what tonight was about. Being too done. "Stop distracting… me from your story. I've b'n wanting to hear about it ev'r since you said you were taking the…" Her mind went blank for a second.

"Class?" Spike helped. He had his arms folded and was smiling at her, clearly enjoying this.

"Yes, you were taking the class to impress Dru. That was sooo ro-mmmantic. Sorry, you might be able to drink this much but I'm out of practice. I think I'm done for a while." Catherine slumped down into the bench, her arms flopped by her side, vaguely aware of how this position pushed her larger than average breasts up under her chin. She was proud of them, even if they were a lot of trouble. All her weight seemed to always go to her boobs first, then to the rest of her. It was funny thinking of luck as a prideful thing. She smiled at the thought, and at catching Spike glancing at her emphasized cleavage.

"Go on. I'm all ears." And boobs. She giggled a little. Being drunk made her silly.

"Well, not much to tell. Dru has this talent you see. She can see the future and stuff. Well, she saw me shacking up with Buffy. Which is outrageous! It's sick is what it is. Me with the Slayer."

"Dru's psychic? What's a Slayer?" Catherine asked.

"I thought you were all ears love."

"I said all boobs."

"You're that too sure. David's got big hands I guess."

"The biggest," Catherine said giggling some more.

"Well, a slayer is like, well she's like, the captain of the other team. Yeah! It's like she's the captain of one team and I'm the captain of another team. You think you hate Miss. Moore? I could really kill this Buffy." Catherine was a little scared at how Spike's sharp jaw clenched. He was baring his teeth and looked almost demonic. His teeth seemed sharper somehow and his blue eyes were on fire. But then he didn't look so intense. He took another shot. The bottle was half gone now. "So Dru's vision was just mad. I mean she is a little mad, but this was mad even for her. She was off her head. Completely." He was losing steam. He slid down, mimicking Catherine's posture, flailing his arms in defeat. "Yeah, she's psychic, and she's never been wrong. So she shacked up with a chaos demon."

Catherine nodded sagely. She'd slept with her fair share of "chaos demons". Had relationships with a few. The way she figured it, people who didn't have their own emotions figured out ended up stealing yours. Like emotional vampires. She'd heard that term before and liked it. It described her past boyfriends perfectly. Which is why David's cool and steady nature appealed to her so much when she met him, and why she jumped at the chance to marry him when he proposed a few years later. He was the antithesis of emotional chaos.

"But you didn't actually sleep with anyone. You never actually cheated on her. Right?"

"Well no. But if Dru had a vision abou' it, it happened. Even if it's in the future." Catherine noticed that the t in 'about' blended into the word 'it'. Adorable.

"Don't you two look comfy?" David said as he came back up the stairs. He had a glass of wine, another bear, and a bowl of peanuts.

"Dru can see the future," Catherine said, pointing at David unsteadily. If her finger had been a gun she would have shot the roof above his head and the table behind him, but missed him entirely.

"That's interesting. You're drunk. I don't think you get this." He said holding the wine back dramatically. Catherine felt anger rise unjustified to her face, flushing it.

"Give me it! I know when I'm done." She held her hand out and scowled at him.

"All right, fine. But the line to the bathroom is impossible. I checked. You'll end up puking out back." David said, sounding a little annoyed but not mad. Catherine took the glass roughly, spilling a little. She sipped at it to make a point and stuck her tongue out at David. She was being playful now and he blew her a kiss to show he knew it.

"So Dru's psychic and Catherine can't stand southerner charm. I guess I'm caught up."

Catherine was swirling her drink, focussing on the hypnotic maroon whirlpool in her glass. Decidedly not looking at David.

"So here's a question, David, if your wife hates this bird so much why'd you get her a four-week baking course with her? It sounds like old loathing. Old enough for you to know about." Spike sat up smiling and put his elbows on the table. He seemed more engaged now that the spotlight was off him. David, on the other hand, was quietly drinking his beer.

"...I don't know. I guess that's on me." He finished his first beer and started on his second. Catherine had her chin to her chest and her hands resting under her breasts now, having put her wine back on the table. But she looked tense.

"I actually thought I was being clever. We both have our YouTube accounts logged in on our TV. So I just looked through her YouTube history to find out what she was into, cooking-wise, and I lucked out big time. Or at least I thought I had."

"You snooped on her account?" Spike goaded.

"It wasn't really snooping. We could switch between accounts at any time. The only reason we have separate accounts in the first place is so my recommendations aren't inundated with cooking vids, and her's isn't overrun with true crime crap."

"I love true crime. Very inspiring," Spike responded.

"Yeah, very interesting. I think so too." David said, making a slight nod. Spike nodded back. They had something in common now. "Anyway, I found this one channel, Cooking Moore, that Catherine had watched probably twenty videos on, and, as luck would have it, I had seen billboards saying she was doing a class at O.C.C. Not long term, just a short class, for valentines day, as a promotion of the school. I managed to get us signed up just before it filled up. Actually, I think we were probably the last ones to get in before they had to start putting people on the waiting list."

"Yeah, I know, I was on that waiting list. Apparently a couple people in the class "couldn't make it" and I was able to get in." Spike made air quotes and smiled at this apparently private joke. "I didn't know she was a celebrity. Makes sense though. She's very good." He glanced at Catherine who was melting even farther down in the booth.

"So I told Catherine about it, got stunned silence and a cold look in response. Definitely not the response I was expecting." David sighed. "If you hate the class so much we don't have to finish it." That sounded trite and petty but he rubbed her leg to show he meant it.

"Yeah Catherine, avoiding your rivals is the way to get better right?" Spike was grinning now with his hands behind his head.

"I don't hate the class," Catherine whispered.

"Really?" David didn't sound mad, he actually sounded hopeful. "Then what's the matter? Why the ice?"

"She's better than me," Catherine said, sitting up but still slouching.

"Well, I don't know about that. She's better at baking maybe, but that's why I thought this class would be so good. That's why I thought you would be extra excited for it," David said, trying to head off her self-depreciation.

"No, I mean she's better at the marketing side of it. I don't care that she's a better baker. That's not what I do. Barbeque, slow cooker, meats, stew, pasta even, that's my thing." Catherine vaguely realized she was starting the confession she had been dreading. But alcohol was the tongue's lubricant. It was word grease. She was glad this was coming out. She also realized, at that moment, that she really needed to pee. That was going to be a problem.

"She knows how to put herself out there. She knows how to sell herself," she continued, surprisingly coherent.

"What does that matter? You're not a YouTuber." In an instant David got it. He didn't even need Catherine's hurt look to tell him. It just confirmed it. "Oh…"

"I have enough TikTok followers that I was thinking I could move up to YouTube. I've been watching Cooking Moore so much because I'm trying to figure her out. My to-the-point way of explaining what I'm doing might be popular on TikTok, but I don't see that style doing so well on YouTube. But that's where the money is." She looked at David to gauge his reaction. He was a smart man. And quick when he wanted to be. She saw him working things out, his eyes going back and forth until they settled on hers. She didn't see anger, or worse, pity. He was smiling. He grabbed her hand.

"Yours will though. Hers, I think, are only really popular with newbies. And wannabes. It's a big crowd. But she doesn't appeal to intermediates. That's where you shine." David said, holding her hand with both of his. She squeezed his hands back. They both ignored Spike rolling his eyes, even though he did it so dramatically it would have been impossible for them to not have noticed.

"You really think so?" She asked, squirming a little. Her need to pee was ruining this moment!

"I really think so. I watch every TikTok you do and read all the comments. You have both groups and they all love you. There are one or two trolls, but not nearly as many as I see on other people's videos. And your people shut them down right away."

"You shut them down."

"I shut them down."

Catherine got up, kneeling on the bench, to kiss David with an open mouth, straight to tongue, kiss. Her hands on the back of his head, his hands on her waist, right under her ribs. He would never know how close she came to pissing herself right there.

"Oh come on! Knock it off! I'm not drunk but you're definitely going to make me vomit." Spike was still leaning back with his hands behind his head. He was looking off to the side, purposefully not looking at the grotesque display of forgiveness, understanding, and love. They both smiled at him. Catherine was tingling with relief. Nothing could bring her down. She was still surprised at how easy that had been. She didn't say most of what she had prepared to say. The arguments. The defensiveness. She realized she had prepared those things in preparation to convince herself she could do it. Not David. It had been David's voice in her mind as she rehearsed this battle. But it had been her doubt she had really been struggling with.

"Fine," Catherine said smirking and putting her legs across David's lap and leaning her back against the wall. Her need to pee had gone back down for the moment. "So Spike, last we left you Dru saw you cheat on her with this Buffy, but you didn't, and then she went off and found some unstable people to hook up with as revenge? Is that about right?" She meant it to be light teasing, as a way to needle him for interrupting her and David's moment, but Spike was looking sheepish. Not hurt, but actually a little guilty. "You did sleep with this Buffy girl!"

"No! We never slept together! I might have proposed to her though. And there was a lot of kissing." He was still avoiding eye contact.

"So she was right?" David asked genuinely surprised. He didn't believe in psychics, but this was interesting.

"Of course she was right!" Spike fanned his arms out in exasperation. "But it wasn't real." He leaned forward. "We were under a spell. Buffy's stupid friend, who's a witch, put a spell on us and that's why I proposed."

Catherine and David looked at each other with an eyebrow raised each. This wasn't as mysterious as it had seemed. Catherine was a little disappointed but amused.

"So a witch put a spell on you that fulfilled Dru's prediction? Are you sure you didn't just go out on a rebound after she hurt you?" Catherine asked.

"No. Even if it was that simple I definitely wouldn't have hooked up with the Slayer. You have no idea how wrong that is. Besides, when I told Dru about it she just brushed it off and said that wasn't what she was talking about. She said there was actually more to come." he took a swig directly from the bottle.

"I don't know Spike, it sounds like a lot of denial to me. But it will have to wait. I need to pee crazy bad." Catherine scooted her butt over David's lap, feeling a bump there that she would explore later, and blew him a kiss as she went down the stairs and melted into the pack of people.

"I wasn't kidding about that line. She's going to be gone a while." David chugged most of his bear. They both sat there silently for a few minutes, looking off at nothing in particular.

"You really want Dru back? Why?" David asked before slowly finishing his bear. Letting Spike take his time with his answer. He could see Spike was taking it seriously. David got the sense that Spike wanted an answer to this as well. One said out loud.

"I don't know… She needs somebody and I wanted that somebody to be me. I wanted her to want that somebody to be me. She gets in her head for long periods of time. And no one else will wait for her like I will. I saw that with Angel, I saw that with Darla. They can't wait for her. They need her for themselves and they just abandoned her when she wasn't useful to them anymore. But I want to be useful to her and that's it. I don't have a purpose if it's not to take care of her. I honestly don't know what to do with myself when I'm not with her." Spike threw his hands up in exasperation and then slapped them to the table. "There, that's it. It honestly doesn't matter what she does to me, or how much she hurts me, I'll still need her. I'll still need her to need me."

Spike was quiet for a minute staring at the now mostly empty bottle of whisky. He drained it and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. "There is another thing. If I'm with her I won't end up with the Slayer. If me and Dru are back together her vision won't come true."

Silence. David knew Spike needed to get that out, but what were you supposed to say to that. Nothing. That's what.

"That's all bullshit, you know that right?" David said, not able to let it go. "There's no such thing as psychics and fortune-telling. Your girl doesn't know shit about the future. You know what I think happened? You want to know what I think is going on here?"

"What?" Spike said sulking again.

"I think your girl fucked up and played you so she didn't have to face herself. I think she got scared that you were going to abandon her and use her like these other clowns–"

"Darla was recent."

"Fine, like… what was his name? Angel?" Spike nodded. "Ok like Angel. The longer you didn't abandon her the more sure she was that you would. So she told you you would. And, because you buy into this whole psychic bull crap, you believed her. And because you believed her she believed herself, are you following?"

"Yeah, I'm following. She really is psychic, but I get your point." More sulking.

"Whatever, so you believe her, which makes her believe her and so she abandons you first. That about right?" Spike doesn't answer, just stares at him with his arms crossed. David feels in the zone. He is picking up on all the subtleties. It helps that he's mostly buzzed too. "What you said about needing her to need you sounds incredibly codependent, and honestly I think you need to get help for that first. But once you figure that out you could probably actually get her back in a healthy way. This making her chocolate treats in order to win her back is a gimmick. Get help. Then you can help her." David spread his arms to show he was finished.

"Fascinating." Spike says in a sarcastic tone. "I'll do that."

They both sat there silently for a while. Catherine was still not back yet.

"Well, I think I better take off." Spike says scooting out of the booth. He still sounded a little irritated. David suspected he didn't like being given advice. Especially when it was sound advice.

"Tell Catherine it was a pleasure. And here's a thought, what if she just asked Sarah to help her out? She probably would. I don't think that southern hospitality is an act. Just a thought. You can even tell Catherine it was your idea. You're full of good ideas. She'll believe it." Spike says as he walks away with a wave. That was the last time David saw Spike. He felt a little bad being so honest. Apparently Spike wasn't ready to hear it. He really hoped Spike could get help. The guy was alright. Neither David nor Catherine knew how close they had come to death in aiding Spike on his mission of true love.

Spike ditched the bar out the back and made his way to the darkest part of the parking lot. He had left his brand new vehicle the way the late owner had parked it; diagonally across two spots. It was a lifted truck with tinted windows and an extended cab. He liked to think he didn't discriminate when it came to killing humans. But there was a satisfaction and delicious sense of righteousness when killing assholes. Buffy would disagree, and stake him in a heartbeat (not his of course) for killing this prick, but she wasn't here. She was still in Sunnydale. And he was going to kill someone anyway, might as well be someone who annoyed him.

He used the liberated keys to unlock the massive and spotlessly clean truck. The dead body in the back seat looked at him indifferently with unblinking eyes as Spike climbed in. He thought about draining this guy and using his blood in the chocolate-covered cherries but thought that it might work better once the sugars had broken down into a syrup. They would probably mix better. Plus, he thought the blood might interfere with the invertase chemical in the breakdown process. He couldn't ask the teacher that in class though. He just had to guess at this part and hope it worked out. Of course, the inversion process would take two weeks. He'd get fresh blood and inject the candies right before giving them to Dru.

Spike pulled out of the parking lot and into the darkness of a new moon. David didn't know what he was talking about. Spike didn't know what codependency was, but it sounded made up to make people feel bad about caring. He wasn't going to let that get into his head. He had seriously thought about killing David. Why didn't he? He thought maybe it was because he needed David and Catherine to work. Because if they worked it out, Dru and he would work it out too. It was like a spell. And by not killing them he had cast it.